DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.

Chapter 8

There is nothing in the world so wrong but that the spirit of humanity, which is the spirit of love ... may make it, if not right, at least possible to be borne without too much bitterness of heart.
-Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

Severus felt vaguely that the arrival of the Weasleys ought to have been more of a pleasure than it was proving. After all, it made a very neat solution to the problem of when and how to try and make contact with the magical world. And yet, somehow, as he sat in his accustomed place in the living room, awkwardly clutching a plate full of Christmas biscuits in one hand and a saucer and cup of tea in the other, it didn't feel as welcome as he suspected it should.

He had carved out a niche for himself in Hermione's family. Wendell and Monica were as pleasant as his own parents were not, and, though he didn't view them as parental figures in the slightest—there were, after all, no more than ten years separating him from them in age—he had come to think of them as something along the line of friends. The arrival of the Weasleys had upset that, at least for him, as thoroughly as if it had never happened. He felt distinctly out of place, sitting there in the comfortable old wingback chair and watching as, directly across from him, Hermione folded her thin little body up and snuggled a little closer into Ronald Weasley's armpit.

Severus felt a formerly-habitual scowl preparing to once again take up permanent residence on his face.

"Having dispensed at last with the requisite Christmas pleasantries," he said, keeping the venom out of his voice as much as possible for Wendell and Monica's sake, "I wonder if you would do us the courtesy of explaining exactly what has transpired since August." He pretended not to see the cool, appraising expression in Wendell's eyes as he looked from Hermione back to Severus.

"Ah," said Arthur.

Severus, who was very carefully not staring at Hermione and Ronald, pretended to ignore the protective attitude with which the Weasley boy squeezed her hand.

"You have to understand, Severus, we looked for you everywhere. There was an entire team assigned to finding you," said Molly regretfully. "But when they dumped your body—well, the body that looked like yours, and thank goodness for that, because we really felt rather lost without you—" he made an impatient motion with his hand, and she sighed before continuing "—we had no reason to suspect it wasn't you."

"I am not accusing you or the Order of anything, Molly," said Severus, surprised to realize that it was true. He recalled the relief in Hermione's voice when she had first been captured, her unguarded joy at knowing he was still alive. It was a painful memory. "I am more concerned with the results of the most recent Ministry elections and the veracity of the report that Potter was killed, questions which you have, for the last hour, refused to answer directly, and which I see as being far more vital than whether or not any of us would like another cup of coffee—with my apologies, Monica." He nodded gravely in her direction, and she gave him a tremulous smile. The Weasleys exchanged glances, and he scowled. Let them be surprised to find that Severus Snape could be a gracious guest to those who unguardedly treated him as an equal and a friend.

"We'll get to politics in a minute, Snape," said Ronald angrily. "Sorry you still haven't got human feelings, but we haven't seen Hermione in four months and I care more about making sure she's okay than about filling you in on old news."

Severus found it incalculably gratifying to see Hermione reward this declaration with a frown.

"I want to know too, Ron," she said, pulling away from him a little. Severus ignored the sudden glow of triumph in his chest. She wasn't so besotted that she'd left all common sense behind, anyway. "You don't know what it was like, having to rely on them for news and not even knowing if it was true or not. I am glad to see you, you know I am, but I want news just as much as Sever—as Snape does."

If anybody else noticed her almost-use of his first name, they didn't show it, although Ronald's ears went a bit pink.

"What exactly did they tell you?" said Arthur cautiously, breaking a biscuit in half and then staring at the two pieces as if he wasn't exactly sure what to do with them.

"Before Hermione's ... arrival ... I received periodic updates on Death Eater victories," said Severus, just as cautiously as Arthur. "Almost immediately afterward, they informed us that your youngest son was killed in action. This, obviously, was patently false." He inclined his head in Ronald's direction. "We were later told that Lucius Malfoy was elected Minister for Magic, and that Potter was captured, tortured, and killed." He closed his eyes, running mentally through the litany of other things they'd been told over the weary months. "We were also informed specifically that Hogsmeade was closed to all half-bloods and Muggle-borns, for reasons of their own safety, that Kingsley and Minerva were either killed in action or wounded gravely enough to be put out of commission entirely—they seemed unsure about that themselves—and that the Wizgenamot, under Malfoy's influence, was debating the passage of a forced-marriage law in the name of half-blood and Muggle-born protection." He opened his eyes again, feeling suddenly as weary as if the past month of respite in Oxford had never occurred. "It was further implied, although not explicitly stated, that the Snatchers had been re-commissioned, and that the Muggle Prime Minister was subject to Death Eater influence, presumably through the Imperius Curse."

"Well, they do say that the best lies have a grain of truth to them," said Molly, in a defeated tone that made Severus's heart sink and Hermione's face go pale.

"Mm," said Arthur, putting down the two still-uneaten halves of his biscuit and brushing some imaginary crumbs off his robes. "Well, it's both better and worse than they told you, Severus."

"Better and worse?" echoed Wendell suspiciously. "I'm with Severus, Arthur. It's about time we had a full explanation of what's been going on."

Arthur sighed. "We heard from Rodolphus Lestrange two days after Hermione was taken. He told us that she was alive, and that if we didn't capitulate to his demands, they would kill her and make her death known publicly. I'm sorry," he said, turning to Wendell and Monica, "but what could we do? Negotiating with Death Eaters has never ended well, historically speaking, and as far as we knew, she might have been dead before Lestrange ever contacted us. To be honest, I'm not sure why he didn't kill her."

Severus felt privately that anybody really familiar with Rodolphus Lestrange could have explained it well enough. He enjoyed torturing her more than he could ever have enjoyed merely killing her. Looking at Monica's pale, horrified face, however, he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. If Draco had risked Lestrange's—and presumably his father's—wrath to help them escape, they had probably been slated for execution at last.

"Anyway," said Arthur hastily, "we had a tough time of it in the Order for a while after that. Harry and Ron were all for hunting down Lestrange and forcing him to tell us where you were, Hermione, but Kingsley and Minerva wouldn't stand for that. And rightly so, if you don't mind my saying it. You know we love you like our own daughter, but the Order decided that you wouldn't want us to compromise our principles in order to rescue you."

Hermione nodded. Ronald's ears went from pink to red, but he said nothing.

"Lestrange wanted more concessions than we could possibly give him. In exchange for Hermione's life, he demanded a ceasefire and full amnesty for all remaining supporters of You-Know-Who, as well as release of prisoners from Azkaban and a substantial ransom. I think he knew it would never happen, and I still doubt very much whether he would have released her even if we let him have what he was after." Arthur seemed to be saying it more to Ronald and Molly than to Severus, who didn't need convincing. Indeed, he was fairly impressed by Arthur's perception.

"They sent us her wand a week later," Arthur lowered his head, which had, since Severus had last seen him, gone far more gray than ginger, "and they announced publicly that Hermione had been tortured to death as a direct result of the actions of the Order. You can't even imagine what it was like after that. Hermione is so well-known—a war hero, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, one of the best friends of Harry Potter, recipient of the Order of Merlin—it was a huge blow to everyone. And Lestrange played it well. There were so many people who were just war-weary, who wanted to believe that if we gave the Death Eaters what they wanted, they'd really just quiet down and let things go back to normal.

"It was national news, of course. Lestrange made sure it was. And the country split. A lot of purebloods, even purebloods who didn't support You-Know-Who or his policies, began to think that we ought to give up the hunt and just let things settle down. We might have held out, except that then they dumped something that looked like your body, Severus, in the middle of Diagon Alley. The Ministry insisted on a state funeral—an honor to you, but a foolish decision, because all it did was inflame people even more. The country split completely: the Order, half-bloods, Muggle-borns, and a small proportion of purebloods on one side, and the so-called pacifists on the other, demanding that we let the Death Eaters have everything they wanted, for the sake of peace."

Severus frowned. "What do you mean, 'the country split'?"

"Civil war," said Arthur. "Split more or less on geographical boundaries, as it happens. The southern and western parts of the country didn't see as much action during the last eight years, mainly because You-Know-Who was so focused on the Ministry, Dumbledore, and Harry."

"The so-called pacifists," interrupted Molly, her voice bitter, "seized the Ministry. They weren't exactly lying to you, Severus. Malfoy is Minister—of half the country."

Arthur laid a hand on her knee. "We've moved the center of our government to Hogsmeade. Kingsley's serving as provisional Minister, for now. No, he wasn't killed, though he was seriously wounded, and they've been noising it about that he's dead. Minerva ... is under the care of Madam Pomfrey. It's unclear at this point whether she's going to pull through, but we've high hopes."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "You've set up in Hogsmeade? Have they got London, then?"

"The city's split in half. They've got the Ministry building and St. Mungo's. Diagon Alley is as close as it gets to neutral territory, although you'd be unwise to go there alone regardless of what side you're on." Arthur ran his hands through his hair, leaving it rumpled and standing on end. "I don't know that you can rightly say we're any closer to the end of the war than we were after the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I knew Malfoy was still a Death Eater," said Hermione, sounding as bitter and angry as Molly had.

Arthur shook his head. "That isn't entirely clear. Malfoy is, above everything else, a Slytherin—with apologies to you, Severus—meaning that he's a consummate opportunist. Malfoy's out to protect his own interests. If that means compromising with Lestrange, that's what he'll do."

"Draco said—" Hermione began, but Arthur cut her off, his voice sharp.

"You spoke with Draco Malfoy? When?"

"It was Draco who assisted us in our escape," said Severus. "He led us to believe that Lucius would hunting for us, with a view toward returning us to our captors."

"We were in communication with Draco Malfoy until just over a month ago," said Arthur. "It's been unclear exactly where his father's loyalties lie, but it's become painfully obvious that once he started compromising with Lestrange, he had no choice but to continue to do so."

"I find it difficult to believe that Rodolphus Lestrange would have dealings of any sort with Malfoy after the events at Hogwarts," said Severus, "unless he somehow managed to convince the Death Eaters that his and Narcissa's contribution to the fall of the Dark Lord was some sort of ploy, which is not," he added, "an entirely unimaginable proposition."

"Before we lost contact, Draco gave us reason to believe that Lestrange is forcing Malfoy's hand."

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"You see," continued Arthur, "they also have Narcissa. That we know for sure. They have her, and she's alive, or was a month ago. They haven't bothered sending news of that to our side; we were getting it from Draco." His voice grew angrier. "We knew this is what he would do. Once it became clear that Malfoy and his allies would compromise if they had sufficient motive, it only served to prove to Lestrange that his tactics were effective."

They sat in silence after this pronouncement. Severus felt the weight of the unknown shift in his mind as it became the known. Nobody looked at anybody else.

"What about Harry?" Hermione's voice seemed small as it broke the silence. Severus looked away, but not quickly enough to avoid the sight of Ronald's hand guiding her head back onto his shoulder.

"Everything will turn out all right, dear," said Molly, reaching across to where they sat and patting Hermione gently.

Hermione, however, was having none of it. She shied away from both Weasleys, a rebellious flash in her eye that warmed Severus's heart. "You mean he's dead?" she said, her voice choked with emotion.

"Not dead," said Arthur quickly. "But ... well, he's with Minerva in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. They hit him with some sort of curse, we don't know exactly what it was, but he's in some sort of coma." His eyes moved to Severus. "Perhaps now that you're coming back, you'll be able to help him."

"Perhaps." Severus looked down, studying his hands. "I will certainly do all that I can to aid the cause. However," he looked up again, setting his jaw, "I will need a new wand. And ... it may take me some brief amount of time to recover fully from the effects of such a long incarceration without access to magic."

"You're definitely going back, then?" said Monica, who had sat in silence throughout Arthur's long recounting. "What about Hermione?"

"I am certainly returning." Severus felt the briefest of sighs escape him and knew that he would probably live to regret forsaking his sanctuary, however limited it was.

"Hermione, I don't think you're in any shape—"

"I've got to, mum," said Hermione, glancing quickly at Severus. "I can't stay here at home while they keep fighting the war without me. You knew I'd have to go back at some point."

"But not yet," Monica pleaded. "You're still so weak. What if we lose you again?"

She seemed to grit her teeth. "I'll recover faster with magic, and if I die—you've got to accept it as a possibility, mum, it's already come close to happening more times than I can count—if I die, then—then you ought to be proud to know that I died for my country."

"For your wizard country," said Monica, as scathingly as she could while close to tears.

"For your country," said Severus, before Hermione could respond. "I fully sympathize with your desire to keep Hermione home and safe, Monica, but she's right. We need her, and she will be unhappy if she remains here while the rest go back to fight. And, if we lose this war, you will ultimately suffer as greatly as any witch or wizard."

"We were told the war was over," said Monica.

Severus didn't wait for Hermione to prevaricate or the Weasleys to justify. "You were misinformed," he said.

0 0 0

It took less than an hour for Hermione and Snape to gather up their things in readiness to return to Hogsmeade with the Weasleys. It took a bit longer than that to say goodbye to her parents, and Hermione was unsure which pained her more deeply—her mother's tears, or her father's stoic, resigned silence. As for Snape, he lurked in another room until she and her parents had said all there was to say, and then entered at the last minute to say goodbye.

It didn't entirely surprise Hermione that her mother wept for Snape's departure as well, or that she refused to let him go without a long, tight hug, which he bore with reasonable composure. At times it had seemed to her that her parents found Snape easier to talk to than their own daughter, a thought that made her uncomfortable and a little jealous.

The man now known as Wendell Wilkins shook Snape's hand firmly. "Listen, Severus," he said, catching Snape by the eye, and lowering his voice so that Hermione could barely hear it. "The Weasleys mean well, but we don't know them like we know you. You've protected Hermione so far. I'm trusting you to take care of her out there."

Whatever Snape said in reply, Hermione didn't hear it. Ron chose that moment to tap her on the shoulder and ask if she had anything else she needed him to carry down from upstairs, when he knew full well that she didn't. She did her best not to be annoyed.

"I take care of you just fine," muttered Ron sotto voce, as he busied himself very loudly doing nothing.

Hermione decided that she'd prefer to continue being happy to see him rather than to be irritated by his jealousy of Snape, which was, after all, completely unwarranted. Or at least, unwarranted as far as Ron knew, which was really the point. She and Ron were reunited, her loyalties lay solidly with him, and whatever had happened in that terrible cave could remain behind her in the darkness and be forgotten, as it ought.

"Ready, everyone?" said Mr. Weasley, sticking his head out the front door to make sure nobody was looking in their direction—which of course, nobody was, as the house was secret-kept. "Excellent. Monica and Wendell, if you'll just step back, we're going to be traveling by Floo. Quite simple, really, but I hear it's a bit startling for Muggles who have never seen it before. I just got word back that they've hooked you up to the network for the next fifteen minutes."

Her parents obeyed, looking bemused. Mr. Weasley produced a small box from somewhere inside his robes, took a pinch of glittering green powder out of it, and passed it to Snape, who followed suit and passed it to Hermione.

"Is it safe?" said Snape sharply, before Hermione could open her mouth to ask.

"We've got several of the people from the Floo regulation offices on our side," said Mr. Weasley. "It's really two separate networks now. Safe as houses. Still, if it makes you feel any better, I'll go first, just in case. Hog's Head Tavern!" cried Mr. Weasley, drawing his wand, throwing the Floo powder into the fire, stepping casually into the suddenly roaring green flames, and spinning out of sight.

"All ready to go?" asked Mrs. Weasley kindly. "Make sure you've got that bag held tight, dear, so you don't bump someone else's fireplace and drop it. Severus, you'd better go next, then Hermione, then Ron, and I'll follow last and make sure we leave the hearth tidy. It's a very convenient way to travel," she added, addressing Hermione's parents, "but it can leave a bit of a mess behind, the way the men clump about in the fire."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw her mother nod mutely.

Snape hitched his bag a little higher on his shoulder, turned, and bowed low to her parents. His hair, which had been cut so short that in the front it only just barely reached the tip of his nose, fell over his eyes, hiding their expression. Before they could say anything, he turned again, cast the powder into the fire, stepped in after it, and was gone.

It was, Hermione realized, with an odd sensation, the first time they'd been separated by any significant distance in four months. It made her feel oddly tense, and she wondered how much subconscious influence his presence had had on her sense of safety and well-being. Shrugging the question off, she passed the box of Floo powder to Ron and stepped up to the hearth.

"Mum, dad, I love you," she said, swallowing against sudden tears. How long had it been since she'd wanted to cry when saying goodbye to her parents? Usually she couldn't wait to get back to what she considered her real home, but things had changed somehow. They had become more a part of her new life, and less a remnant of the old one. "I'll be in touch."

"We love you, too," said her father, with a somewhat watery smile.

Hermione threw the powder into the fire, waited until the flames turned green, and then stepped into them. The tingle of magic suffused her body, and her doubts about returning to the magical world were momentarily quelled. This felt right and good. She belonged with magic.

"Hog's Head Tavern!" she said, enunciating carefully and being sure not to get any ash in her mouth. Immediately she began to spin, and in a moment she had lost sight of her parents altogether. She caught a few glimpses of other fireplaces, but the spinning began to make her feel a little sick, and she shut her eyes tightly until, just a few seconds later, she found herself stumbling into the cold, stale-smelling back room at the Hog's Head, tripping over her feet, and nearly knocking Snape to the floor.

He caught her and held her long enough to give her a chance to regain her balance. Just as he released her, Ron emerged from the Floo, red in the face and coughing. Mrs. Weasley followed a few moments later.

"I must say," she said, drawing her wand and vanishing the spill of ash that had spread itself out over the floor, "that turned out to be a much pleasanter visit than I thought it was going to be." She tucked her wand away again and pulled Hermione into a fierce hug that seemed to last the better part of a minute. She was a little teary when she finally did let go. "I can't tell you how wonderful it all is to—" she stopped abruptly, evidently unable to continue, and turned away.

Hermione felt Ron's hand slip into hers.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, after they had all stood there for a moment in somewhat awkward silence. Hermione supposed they were wondering exactly what one says to someone who's just returned from the dead, as it were.

"I require a wand, Arthur," said Snape, all business and evidently not about to suffer any more tears in his presence. "Immediately, if possible."

"Of course," said Mr. Weasley, sounding relieved to have a new topic introduced. "As it happens, that will be an easy enough problem to solve for both of you. Ollivander decided to bring his shop here rather than re-establishing in Diagon Alley. I have to say," he added, a trifle more cheerfully, "some of the best are on our side if only because the Death Eaters weren't smart enough to treat them well when they had dealings in the past. Ollivander refused to stay even in neutral territory for risk of being too close to them." Without warning, Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand and rapped both Hermione and Snape smartly on the head with it. Hermione felt the sensation of something icy-cold and wet dripping down her head and, watching Snape slowly disappear before her eyes, she concluded that they'd been disillusioned.

"What about Gringotts?" asked Hermione curiously, blinking as they stepped out of the perpetually murky Hog's Head and into wintry daylight.

"Officially a neutral zone. The Goblins are staying well out of it, at least for now. Granted, there still aren't many people just popping round to Wizarding London these days, but we're finding ways to work around it. Ollivander will be able to withdraw funds directly from your Gringotts account, if that's what you're worrying about."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I've only ever paid gold directly before."

Mr. Weasley shrugged. "Most of us prefer it that way, but direct-from-Gringotts debit is becoming more popular, with the way things are in Diagon Alley. Right, here we are, Ollivanders."

The new Ollivanders premises was just around the corner from the Hog's Head, in a squat little building with a thatched roof. Hermione found herself hoping that there were plenty of fire-retarding charms on it, given the approved method of testing wands for fit. He seemed to have simply transplanted the sign and window display from the London premises, without so much as brushing the dust off the wand in the display case.

"Well, well, well," said Ollivander, looking up as the group entered the store, "Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. We were informed that you'd been killed." He blinked owlishly at their invisible forms through his improbably thick spectacles. "Come here," he added, pointing his wand at each of them in turn and lifting the disillusionment charm. Hermione kept her exclamation of surprise to herself.

"Not killed yet, Ollivander. The wizarding world has yet to meet fortune that great," said Snape dryly.

"Put a sock in it, you great git," muttered Ron, so quietly that only Hermione could hear. She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Be that as it may," said Ollivander vaguely, "if you'll step this way, Mr. Snape, we'll just get you fitted up again." His ubiquitous magical measuring tape was already curling itself around Snape's ankle and crawling its way up his body. "I notice," said Ollivander, without looking at the tape at all, "that you've grown another inch since the last time I sold you a wand."

"I was sixteen," said Snape, raising his eyebrows.

"Very true, very true," said Ollivander, in a misty voice that reminded Hermione a bit of Professor Trelawney. "Ten inches, ebony and unicorn hair. Solid. Particularly good for potions, well, hardly a surprise there."

The measuring tape had found its way up to Snape's neck and was busy measuring its circumference. Snape's face went from sallow to sheet-white, and he convulsively ripped it off his neck and threw it away from his body as if it had burned him. Ollivander, busy digging through the piles of boxes on his shelves, didn't even notice.

Hermione tried to catch Snape's eye, to offer some sort of mute reassurance, but he refused to look in her direction. Very well. Let him be as Snape-ish as he liked. She didn't care. She scowled and directed her attention to Ollivander instead.

"Let's give this one a try, shall we?" he was saying, extending a slim box in Snape's direction. "Yew, twelve inches, unicorn hair. Quite flexible."

Snape opened the box and wrapped his long fingers around the wand handle. Hermione held her breath expectantly, but nothing happened, and a moment later, Snape dropped the wand unceremoniously back on its cushion and closed the box again. "I think not," he said.

They repeated the performance perhaps a dozen times, Ollivander moving faster and faster through his piles of wands. At last, he produced yet another of the ubiquitous boxes, practically glowing with excitement. "Oak and phoenix feather," he said, sounding a little breathless, "nine and three-quarter inches."

Even from several feet away and with next to no experience in selecting wands, Hermione knew that this one was different. The air fairly tingled with magic as Snape opened the box and withdrew the wand. The oak was highly polished and stained dark, and it seemed to vibrate a little bit as he picked it up—she wondered why she'd never noted before that he was left-handed—and gave it just the briefest of flicks. Rather than the shower of sparks that Hermione was expecting, the wand produced a thin, sinuous stream of translucent emerald-green smoke, which curled itself into the shape of a tall, graceful tree, and then dissipated.

"Perfect," breathed Snape, his eyes fixed raptly on the wand and a curiously unguarded expression of pleasure on his face. Then, abruptly, he was Snape again, more so than he had been in months, and any vestige of the man Hermione thought she'd grown close to seemed to have disappeared. He tucked the wand into his sleeve and returned the empty box to Ollivander. "You may bill my Gringotts account. I believe you still have the information on file."

"Naturally," said Ollivander, who already seemed to have lost interest in Snape. The measuring tape was busying itself in determining the exact length of each spike of Hermione's still too-short hair. "Now then, young lady, you do seem to run through wands at a somewhat alarming rate."

Hermione felt her face go hot. "I'm quite careful with them, actually," she said, feeling suddenly guilty. "Only—" but she stopped, unsure of what exactly there was to say. The measuring tape constricted around her neck, and she understood why Snape had felt a need to yank it away. She was still jumpy enough to fear, even if only for a few seconds, that at any second Ollivander might snap his fingers and have the thing strangle her. Before she could pull it off, it slithered down and began to circle itself around her breasts in a sort of figure-eight. Her face got even hotter. Ron smirked.

Snape, who had been turning his new wand around in his fingers, glanced up and scowled.

They repeated the wand selection process without any further comments on Hermione's tendency to get her wands lost or hopelessly broken. It took only five tries before Ollivander identified one that seemed perfect—Birch and unicorn hair, eight inches, bendy. Hermione felt so exultant over it that she felt like throwing her head back and laughing. She satisfied herself with grinning widely at everyone who looked her way, including Snape, who raised his eyebrows and then permitted himself to smile back, if only briefly.

"Now, Ollivander," said Mr. Weasley, when they had finished arranging payment, "I hardly think I need to tell you that for now we need to keep this a secret. It's for the Order to decide what information we're going to make public."

"Naturally, naturally," said Ollivander with forced cheer, but his jovial persona seemed to have fallen away for the moment, and he looked scared.

"Can you disillusion yourself, or shall I do it for you?" asked Mrs. Weasley solicitously. Snape had already performed the charm and vanished.

"I've only done it once or twice," admitted Hermione, galled to concede her inexperience at something—even a post-NEWT level charm that many people never learned—in front of Snape.

Mr. Weasley obligingly disillusioned her again, they waited a few seconds for the charm to take full effect, and then all stepped back out into Hogsmeade.

They trudged back to Hogwarts in relative silence, walking in a clump with Hermione and Snape at the center so as to disguise their footprints in the snow. She was glad to be disillusioned. How many months had it been since she'd been outside, barring that one, terrifying and exhilarating day of running from wherever-they'd-been to Oxford? Being outdoors felt strange and unsafe, and she was glad when they finally crossed the threshold of Hogwarts. Here, at least, there were four walls around her at any given time, and the sunlight wasn't so mercilessly direct.

Students milled about, passing through the entrance hall on their way to somewhere or another. A few looked curiously at the Weasleys, but most just ignored them. The room rang with voices, footsteps, and the pinging sound of jewels landing in piles as House points were awarded and taken away. With the exception of a few deep scorch marks in the stone, it was almost impossible to tell that this had been the site of a battle less than a year previously.

Ron made a subtle movement with his hand, brushing it against the back of her thigh and guiding her wordlessly toward the stairs. The group made their way up, sticking close together to avoid letting Hermione or Snape bump into any students while still invisible, until they arrived at the hospital wing.

This had changed a great deal since Hermione had last seen it. Madam Pomfrey had divided it into two large rooms, separated by a hastily-built wall with a few portraits hung haphazardly on the walls of the first, and nothing at all hung in the second. This had a row of beds in it, similar to that in the first room, each with a curtain hanging by ready to be drawn if the bed were occupied. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Neville Longbottom, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, and Ginny Weasley were all there, standing in a small, silent group with Madam Pomfrey, near the center of the room.

"Arthur, Molly," said Kingsley, in a low voice. "We got your Patronus. What's going on?"

Mrs. Weasley seemed to be about to burst from suppressed excitement. Hermione saw the others eyeing her curiously, evidently wondering what it was that the Weasleys needed to tell them so urgently.

"Only this," said Arthur, gesturing with his wand into what Hermione knew must look like thin air. Instead, though, two disillusionment charms faded again, and Hermione and Snape became visible once more.

There was a series of audible gasps, followed by a flood of handshakes and hugs all around—even for Snape, who at least bore them, even if he didn't return them. Mrs. Weasley began to cry again, as did Madam Pomfrey. Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned.

"But what happened?" said Kingsley, several minutes later. "We thought—"

It took only a few minutes to explain the actual truth of things. By the end of it, the adrenaline of returning to Hogwarts was beginning to wear off, and Hermione was starting to feel her exhaustion. A bone-deep ache had settled into her joints, and her head was pounding. She opened her mouth to ask if she could just sit down somewhere, but nothing came out. Instead, the room started to spin. She clutched at Ron for support as everything began to go black.