No Place to Be

At the edge of the trees behind the Gatehouse, Hermione halted, shivering. If her hands were free, she'd have hugged herself.

Now that she was physically and magically fully recovered from her sojourn in the monastery, the surplus of magic in her system built up quicker and quicker.

By now she could tell the exact minute when her magic reached its maximum. She felt … full then. Replete. Perfectly balanced within herself. She was tempted to pick up a wand then. Sometimes she even tried. She shuddered and forced herself to swallow the sour taste of bile that suddenly filled her mouth.

Initially, this feeling of equilibrium lasted a night or even a day. Now this sense of balance vanished within just a few hours.

At first, the surplus of magic made her feel restless. Her body would tingle, her skin prickle. In the beginning, she'd mistaken the symptoms for simple randiness. And Severus had obliged her neediness more often than not. Now that Hermione recognised her condition for what it was she wondered how sex could even begin to take off the edge of the fire flowing through her veins.

Because that was the next stage of her symptoms. Restiveness was replaced by a fiery ache in the veins of her arms. And no matter how hard she rubbed her arms, the burning sensation wouldn't lessen. Later, her spine would begin to hurt, and she would start feeling strangely lightheaded.

They hadn't tried out what would happen after that. In all likelihood, she would lose control of her magic and bad things would happen.

Hermione rolled her shoulders, bit down on her lower lip and shifted the heavy parcels in her arms. She hesitated just a second longer before venturing out on the path along the cliffs and towards the castle. Before her captivity she'd love the path along the cliffs. Shell Cottage had been one of her favourite places in the world.

Now, however … Hermione grimaced. The sky was just too big out there. She was much too small. And the emptiness all around her pressed in on her and choked her.

Agoraphobia, she thought. Fear of wide open spaces.

But she fared even worse in small rooms. Hermione swallowed dryly and tried not to think about the broom cupboard that had maliciously locked her in a few weeks ago.

Claustrophobia. The fear of enclosed, confined spaces.

She thought of what Healer Mugwort had said about losing control of her magic and of the warning Minerva had given Severus.

What if there is no space, no place left for me?

At long last Hermione bowed her head, clutched her parcels closer and walked away from the shelter of the trees.

oooOooo

When Hermione reached the part of the path closest to the cliffs, a cloud drifted suddenly in front of the sun. A swift shadow passed over Hermione. She jumped, stumbled; her foot caught in a crevice of the rocks along the path; she fell. Her knees hit the stones with a crunch, the force of her full weight on them, her precious parcels flying from her grasp.

Tears of shock and pain sprang to her eyes. She gasped for the breath that the impact of the fall had knocked from her lungs.

"Shit, shit, FUCKING shit!" she cursed, grimacing as the agony that ripped through her knees raced up her spine. When her vision cleared, she wanted to start crying in earnest. The parcel with the rare potions ingredients for Severus lay on an inaccessible, rocky outcrop around seven feet below.

No problem for a witch with a wand. Just a quick 'Accio!' and she'd hold the parcel in her hands. As it was, she was helpless. The smallest mishap, and she was helpless like a small child. Hermione gathered up her scattered bags and packages. Then she looked up and down the path. Maybe she'd get lucky and someone who could help her would pass by soon …

There! A group of students emerged from the trees.

Must be Ravenclaws, Hermione thought, to be returning to the castle so early on a Hogsmeade afternoon. As they approached, she quickly saw that she was right. A group of Fifth Year Ravenclaws. Sean Cúchulainn Ferguson and his friends, all of them Purebloods, rich kids, haughty intellectuals of fifteen-and-a-half.

"Mr. Ferguson?" she called out to them.

"Madam Snape?"

She didn't like Ferguson's smirk masquerading as a smile or his supercilious gaze from icy light-blue eyes.

"I seem to have dropped a parcel," she pointed on the rock below, "would you be so kind and accio it up?"

Ferguson stepped to the edge of the cliff and peered down. When he turned back, Hermione had the impression of a cold calculation flitting across his face.

But when he spoke, he had schooled his expression to complete impassivity and his tone was almost deferentially polite.

"I am very sorry, Madam Snape, but I am afraid I can't do that," he said. "I am not of age nor a prefect. I may not use magic outside the classroom. And since you are not a teacher, you cannot permit me to perform magic outside lessons."

"I am really very sorry, Madam."

He didn't look sorry at all. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see how one of his mates had difficulties suppressing a guffaw.

"But we could carry your bags for you, if you want?" he offered full of false chivalry.

One of the girls raised a hand to her mouth, obviously to stifle a giggle.

Hermione felt her cheeks flushing hotly. Tears of humiliation burnt her eyes. "No," she choked out. "No. I'll be all right. Thank you."

"If you're sure?" Ferguson's eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. "I think one of the Slytherin prefects was not too far behind us. I'm sure he'll be happy to do absolutely anything for you."

With that, they left Hermione standing at the edge of the cliffs and continued walking towards the castle.

oooOooo

A/N: The layout of Hogwarts in this story is loosely based on the map by Charles J. Mize.

Thank you for your patience while my job kept me from writing. I hope you enjoy this set of chapters.