The New Year approached like a tentative oriole, the song of the year's rebirth dancing in a soft snowfall. The world held its breath as though to listen more closely, as though if it were tranquil enough the fragile creature would flitter into sight. As though the barest sigh would shatter the fragile song into separate strings.

The Wizarding UK was slowly piecing itself back together, with neighbors meeting in unspoken understanding, and unspoken fear. They had seen how easily their society fractured and turned inward; mostly people worried about getting their lives and those of their loved ones back to a sense of normalcy.

It was different for Hermione. She had no sense of normalcy to return to.

When did it begin?

Her memories surfaced through the flood of her mind, and she saw herself, small and bright and believing she had finally found a place she belonged.

Little Hermione who truly thought it was the responsibility of everyone to correct one another, to share knowledge.

"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one." And then she saw their wands and drew her own, impressing herself upon the two boys.

The hat on her head debating which house she belonged in. What would have happened had she gone to Ravenclaw?

Through the veil of her tears, she recalled the troll, the secret dragon, the moment Ron broke her out of her panic for the first time.

She remembered endless stillness breaking into an overload of reality, Ron and Harry telling her all about the battle she missed— and how that stung! That she wasn't there for her boys, or for Ginny with whom she soon shared a bond of feeling like an outsider, of being used.

Clinging to Harry as she tried to suppress the fear in her gut, cold wing biting at her exposed skin (so she'd had to bury her face against him, and that part wasn't so unpleasant).

A Burrow of Weasleys, the thrill of being seen for the first time. Her heart skipped a beat every time she remembered that first bolt of acknowledgement as their eyes met. And sure, his English wasn't the best when speaking, but fairly good in writing, and surprisingly witty. Their correspondence allowed her to practice her German and start learning hints of Bulgarian. It was only fair.

But she trailed away from him as she remembered his last letter.

What came next? Harry's pain, and Umbridge.

And the full realization that nothing she did would ever make her equal in their eyes. She would always be that horrid word.

At first it ruined her, and she wanted to scatter all of her knowledge, all of her hard work as pages torn and burned in furious grief. But there was so much to be done, she realized as she saw the weight on Harry's shoulders. He had no parents, no guardian, no mentor or support. Only them.

The images surfaced more cleanly through the glassy sheen of the water, coming to life, rising. Hermione was doing what she did best: logistics. She knew where this was going; she had read her history books.

Books and hidden practices, perfecting wand movements. Watching, listening, learning so she wouldn't destroy the two who loved her most. And, as always, worrying over Harry. Harry and that damned book! Harry and his obsession (that, granted, was warranted in the end) with Draco Malfoy. And then Ron.

Ron. Ron's smile, euphoric after his first win; Ron's reddened ears when she caught him staring. Ron knowing that Hermione was preparing for the three of them. That deep trust in her that no one had ever shown. Not even her parents. Her knew her; he knew He knew who she was beneath the library that was her front. He knew who she was at the bottom of that well, deep in her bricked and mortared heart. And he trusted her.

Her trust in him splintered when he left them in the woods, and she longed for him to return. He would return, wouldn't he? Harry took her mind off the horrors of their current life, always on the brink of being caught. If they were caught there was only one end for the two of them. She was a Mudblood, and he was the Boy Who Lived.

So, they danced, and lay together in the evenings, and whispered their nightmares in the darkness. How she feared her modified spell had taken her parents from her. It would be better, though, for them to not know they had a daughter who'd been magical, just in case. Harry's confidence that she would get them back.

Reuniting.

Snatchers, that creep sniffing at her.

The manor, the place she now hid.

It was all returning from the depths, this whole wild journey to an end worse than she'd imagined.

And then Ron again returning to her, returning from death, returning to tell her she had had to stay, her suffering had been necessary. A betrayal that rent her heart almost as deeply as his passing.

And…

She poured over the memories she'd compacted for so long. Yes, she rushed through or passed by the worst of it, but she accepted that it was there.

The memories were brought to the light, rebound and organized in its proper place, though how strange that some were categorized differently than before.

She was different herself .

"Alright there, dear?"

One of the reorganized (not necessarily recategorized) subjects spoke to break her from her reverie. She had been staring out at the snow drifts as she immersed herself. It must have seemed catatonic.

"Yes. Better, even," she responded, throat less constricted now.

Lucius stared down at her for a long moment before a smile glinted in his eyes. "There is welcome news."

This moment was fresh in light of her state, alien once again although there was a new context to the interaction.

At her own smile, he continued with the cause for his interruption. "I need to speak with Severus, and as it turns out, I am invited to the Longbottom residence for tea. As are you. I thought you might like to accompany me?"

"You're being allowed outside the manor?" Awe spread across her features. "That's wonderful!"

"Only to select locations, and only if I am in the presence of someone the Order, or whatever they are now, find trustworthy." His usual bite returned.

"Well, it's a start." Hermione unfurled from the cozy seat she'd claimed as her own, eyes shining like amber as she beamed up at him as she stepped into her soft slippers. "I suppose that's why I am accompanying you to see, er, Professor Snape? Can't risk the big, bad Lucius alone?"

"Ah." His gaze flicked away. "You are not listed among my keepers."

Something dropped in her chest. "Oh." Her brows quirked toward one another.

Lucius cleared his throat.

"So, to Hogwarts?" Her voice only broke a little.

She was escorted to the Floo, which spat her dizzingly into the Headmaster's office. It was not as she'd expected, so her attention was focused on the newly reinstalled paintings and the trinkets that had among them little cats.

"Unfortunately, one can only Floo within Hogwarts from this particular fireplace," Lucius interrupted as though in explanation. "Come."

The fire roared green once more as Lucius said, "Severus Snape's quarters."

If she had been surprised at the office, it was nothing to her shock at standing in a cozy little room obviously within the dungeons, where her former professor was currently seated on a plush settee.

His eyebrows climbed his forehead at her appearance alongside his invited visitor, but Lucius was quick in diverting him.

"Good afternoon, Severus. It's nice to see you outside of your stuffy robes for a change.

Hermione had not yet gotten to that, but now that it was mentioned, she made a quick study of the dark man.

He was in a long sleeve button up, crisp white, and black trousers. He wore house shoes . Surely this was a sight not meant for her. She quickly averted her eyes, pulse fluttering her throat.

"We are taking tea with the Longbottoms', so I hope you don't mind Hermione coming along with me. It seemed unnecessary to return to the manor for her, and the two of you are on friendly terms."

Hermione nearly choked on her own breath. Was Lucius Malfoy truly using such tactics on Snape, of all people? It was— it was— ludicrous. A tiny giggle wormed out of her and both men snapped toward her.

"I'm sorry," she attempted to squash her flight of euphoria. "I just— this is— I don't think I can even put it into words!"

Their stares only increased the preposterous humor of the situation, and she burst into a full, boisterous laugh. Hermione gave herself a moment to gather her wits, wiping away tears at the corner of her eyes. "Now. Hello, professor. I hope you're well."

His mouth opened, he closed it with a frown, then spoke, "I am, or well enough, I suppose. Please, Miss Granger, don't let manners interrupt your fit."

"Don't be so stiff." Lucius nudged his friend. "Hermione, dear, come, sit."

And that was how Hermione found herself chatting in the quarters of the bat of the dungeon.

Notes:

I am really trying to write more. The VA is helping me a little more, but the struggle has been real. I'm needing to change my writing set-up, which includes getting back support of all things. I feel so old.

Anyway, I hope I keep writing at this pace. Thank you all for the encouragement.