Chapter 1: The Birthday Storm
Prologue
"NO!" Hermione cried in anguish and a burst of accidental magic spilled forth from her, sending everyone around her, both allies and enemies, flying away from her body as she gathered up her robe in her left hand and ran, wand outstretched. Jumping and treading carelessly over bodies she made her way swiftly to the black-clad form crumpled on the ground. A fierce diffindo aimed at the creature standing over the man curled on his side severed the flesh of its neck and it fell to its knees, claws pressed to throat, trying to staunch the blood flow. With a horrid gurgle it fell forward on its face, but Hermione paid it no mind. Falling to her knees she took Professor Snape's shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Tears streamed down her face and a whispered chant escaped her lips, "No, no, no, no, no!" She racked her brain trying to remember some sort of spell that would fix him – something that would stop the blood pouring from his stomach and would close the gaping wound. But for all her reading and cleverness she had never spared more than a passing glance at healing spells. Why? Self-loathing set in for not having anticipated needing to know such things. Just because Madame Pomfrey was always available at the school did not excuse careless negligence.
She threw down her wand in disgust and buried her face in his chest. His eyes were glazed in pain, but he was still alive – she could hear and feel his heart beating erratically against her ear.
"Miss Gra-anger," he rasped. She lifted her head from his quivering chest to see his glazed eyes looking through hers before they focused with difficulty. Blood was leaking from his mouth and down his left cheek, disappearing in the hair behind his ear. She felt his arm move against her stomach, trapped between their bodies.
"Don't –" she began, willing him not to move and hurt himself worse. He scowled at her and she felt his hand fumble against her own. Reluctantly she tore her gaze away from his and looked down at his shaking hand as he pressed her wand into her palm. She clenched her fist around it; it was slick with his blood.
"Miss Gra-" he coughed up more blood and Hermione wailed in distress. Again he scowled. "What…have I…told you…about…putting down…your wand?" he gasped.
Sobbing, Hermione managed to choke out, "To never."
He gave one curt nod and rasped, "Never," before his eyes unfocused and glazed again.
"Sir!" She grabbed his face in her hands, the bloody handle of her wand pressed against his cheek, as his body began to relax, falling limp against the dirt and leaves. "No!" Touching her forehead to his, she closed her eyes and a memory came to her, unbidden.
The gravelly voice of an old wizard lecturing, soothing a past frustration, "Magic simply is, Hermione." He smiled benevolently through his grey and white beard, his blue eyes twinkling beneath bushy brows.
"But why can't I get this spell to work? I'm saying the incantation right, aren't I? I'm moving my wand correctly…" She glanced from blue eyes to black. Professor Snape merely raised a brow, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders slightly hunched.
"Perhaps you are not paying proper respect to the force you are manipulating," the first wizard replied. At her questioning gaze he elaborated, "Saying an incantation is like…a request. You are requesting magic to do your will. But when you demand that magic cater to your whims, it may refuse simply to prove that it does not have to do what you ask of it."
"I thought an incantation was to focus the spell?"
"It is, I believe, meant more to focus your mind on the outcome of the spell. You do not need to say 'magic words' or speak a request out loud. Magic knows what you want and, if you are respectful, will see it done."
Kneeling in dirt and dead leaves under the shade of many tall trees, Hermione was only distantly aware of the sound of a horn blowing in the distance, the clanging of metal, the grunts of beasts, and the rush of falls nearby. Eyes still closed, she breathed the forest air deeply and whispered, "Please."
Five Months Previously
Hermione leaned against a windowsill, looking out as the orange half-moon slid into view from behind a bank of dark, stormy clouds. A rumble in the distance grew louder and louder, announcing the coming storm. For the moment, though, there was only the scent of rain in the air and a warm, eerie wind teasing her hair and ruffling the Hufflepuff flag flying below the window. Staring at the moon, she breathed in the scent of rain and earth deeply and held her breath as black clouds flitted over part of it. For one brief moment the moon looked like a single sinister cat eye, peering down at her before the clouds obscured it completely.
Gooseflesh broke out from her fingers to her toes and Hermione scowled, casting a mild warming charm on herself before wheeling around to continue patrolling the corridors. Her dorm-mates, Lavender and Parvati, would say she had just seen an omen. Of what, she had no earthly idea, nor did she care to know. It was silly nonsense, the lot of it.
Annoyance from earlier in the day magnified into a nasty bout of irritation that had her boot heels clicking loudly on the flagstone and her blue robes and black cloak swirling impressively about her. A small form that looked suspiciously like a second or third year in the shadows up ahead caught her attention and she found herself snapping most uncharacteristically at it – him? – before he whirled around and stepped out of the shadows, looking up at her in surprise and not a little degree of alarm.
"Good heavens, Miss Granger!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, a gnarled hand over his heart. "You gave me quite a turn!"
"Oh! Professor Flitwick! I'm so sorry!" Utterly mortified, her irritation fled and she was left drooping in the hallway, cheeks and ears burning in humiliation.
"Oh, quite alright, my dear. Quite alright," he soothed, stepping forward and taking her hand and patting it between his own. "Although I do believe I can sympathize now with students who get caught out of bounds! Had your voice been a great deal deeper I would have thought you were Severus Snape swooping down on me!"
Hermione groaned. A rotten day complete – she had just been likened to Professor Snape. Professor Flitwick dropped her hand and beckoned for her to walk with him. "Now, dear, what has you in such a foul mood this evening?"
She shrugged and considered evading the question but at Flitwick's expectant look sighed and offered, "It's just been a frustrating day."
"How so?"
"Well," Hermione hesitated and decided to plough on, her words coming faster as she vented her frustrations, "My parents sent me a package this morning, which was lovely, but I was late to Ancient Runes because I thought I'd have enough time to put it away but, of course, the stairs decided to make me take the long way around."
Professor Flitwick made an amused sound and smiled sympathetically, "They do tend to do that when you're in a hurry. Continue."
"Then I had Defense Against the Dark Arts and…it was just…well, eurgh!" She ran her fingers through her hair. "It was a frustrating class," she said to avoid speaking ill of another professor. Flitwick nodded sympathetically and gestured for her to go on. "Then Professor Sinistra taught us a new concept in Arithmancy that I just don't get! I can't understand it! It looks like it should make sense, but it doesn't! And other people in class understood it, but I don't!" To her consternation, tears began leaking out of the corners of her eyes.
Professor Flitwick twirled his wand and effortlessly conjured a bench that nestled itself against the wall. Taking her hand, he guided her to sit down next to him and put his arm around her shoulders.
"There, there," he said. "No one is perfect at everything, Miss Granger."
"I know," she wailed, but he shushed her and handed her a handkerchief.
"But I don't think you do. Miss Granger – Hermione – look at me." She raised watery eyes to meet his, brown and kind. "Failure is a part of learning. When you fail, you fix it and you move on. Every great wizard and witch has failed at some point in their lives. That's what pushed them to be great. You are an extraordinarily gifted witch. You excel at nearly everything you put your mind to. So, it sounds to me, that you were already frustrated by the time you got to Arithmancy – " She nodded. "Precisely. Which means you weren't putting your mind to it. Simple as that." She furrowed her brow and he patted her hand. "I'm confident that with a clear head and perhaps a visit with Professor Sinistra you will master that vicious concept. But I'm sure that's not the end of your day. You would have had one more class, if I'm not mistaken."
"Potions," she nodded.
"Ah, yes." Professor Flitwick looked thoughtful for a moment. "Professor Slughorn has – ahem – talked about your class frequently. It seems Mr. Potter has taken a shine to it with a new professor teaching."
Hermione scowled. "Ah, I thought that might have something to do with it. Are you not happy that your friend is improving?"
"Of course I am," she defended. "It's just – " he's cheating! remained unsaid. As much as she found the Half-blood Prince infuriating, she did not want to get Harry in trouble for it.
Flitwick sighed and patted her hand again. "Always doing your best is an admirable trait, my dear. But trying to be the best at everything will do nothing but wear you down until you are best at nothing."
"I'm not the best at everything! I'm not the best at Defense. I'm not the best at flying."
"No, no. Those are Mr. Potter's areas of expertise if I'm not mistaken. What about Mr. Weasley? Is there something at which he excels?"
"Erm, well…chess! He's beat everyone in Gryffindor at chess."
"Really? Well, now, I'll have to set up a tournament between him and Miss Turpin. She's the reigning champion in Ravenclaw!" Hermione smiled weakly.
"Now," he continued, "I can see that classes have been a source of frustration today. But that's not all, is it? There's something else."
Hermione blushed and looked away. "It's nothing."
"Of course it's nothing. Nothing less than nothing makes you startle poor professors into early graves," he snapped, though not unkindly. "Now, tell me. What's really bothering you today, Miss Granger?"
She flushed again at his response and mumbled, "It's my birthday."
"Well, Happy Birthday, then! That makes you six- no! Seventeen! Why, you're of age now! Congratulations, dear!"
"Thanks," she sniffled.
"And would I be correct in guessing that two distracted teenage boys forgot that today is a special day for you?" She nodded miserably and choked on a sob. He rubbed her back and sat silently with her for a few moments. "Having been a teenage boy myself once – difficult to imagine, I'm sure – " a small chuckle escaped Hermione in the midst of her tears. Flitwick quirked a smile and continued, "I can assure you that they will feel like right gits as soon as the cobwebs clear in that vacant space between their ears. Shall I assign them a detention? I'm sure I can manage to think of some infraction or another they're certain to commit tomorrow."
Another chuckle slipped out as Hermione dabbed at her eyes. "No, no," she said. "It's alright."
"It most certainly is not alright!" he said as he slapped his knee in mock fury. "Why, I'll bet you haven't even had any birthday cake today, have you?" At her response in the negative he sat up straight and said, "Well, that settles it, then." With a snap of his fingers a house elf popped into view and bowed low.
"What is Mazy doing for Mister Filly, sir?" she squeaked.
"Do you think you could whip up a birthday cake by the time I walk from here to the kitchens?" Flitwick asked.
"Ohhhh! A birthday!" Mazy hopped up and down, clapping her hands in delight. "Yes! Yes! We can be making a birthday cake! Whose birthday is it being?" She peered curiously at Hermione.
"Miss Granger here has just turned of age."
The house elf immediately stilled, ears drooping, and eyed her cautiously. Flitwick looked curiously between the two of them and Hermione sighed in exasperation. "I promise I'll leave all of you alone," she said.
Mazy's eyes lit up and she clapped her hands again. "We is making the birthday cake for Miss!" and she popped out of view again.
"Now what was that all about?" Flitwick asked as they stood and he vanished the bench. Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes, telling him about S.P.E.W. as they strolled leisurely through the castle, making their way steadily down to the kitchens.
Two hallways away from the painting of the fruit bowl that marked Hogwarts' kitchens, the sound of crisp footsteps reverberated off the stones. A moment later Professor Snape strode into view and paused, nodding curtly. "Filius, Miss Granger."
"Ah! The real Severus!" Flitwick chortled.
Snape's eyebrows shot up. "Do I have an imposter running about?" he asked.
"No, no. But your intimidation techniques appear to be rubbing off on Miss Granger here." Snape's eyes snapped to her and he examined her curiously. "She came swooping down on me so fast I nearly wet my robes!"
Hermione gasped and looked down at her feet, hiding behind her hair and hoped to Merlin and beyond that they couldn't see her cheeks, ears and neck burning red. She couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking though. Flitwick was funny! She dared to peek out from under her lashes and through her hair. Snape appeared to be at a loss for words, opening his mouth and closing it with a sharp shake of his head.
Professor Flitwick saved them both by carrying on as if he hadn't even made such a remark – wetting his robes, really! (she snorted and bit her lip fiercely) – and said, "You must join us, Severus. We were just on our way to the kitchens for some birthday cake."
"Thank you, Filius, but I must –"
"Oh, come now! When was the last time you had birthday cake?"
"I'm sure I don't recall."
"Then it's been far too long. Come!" And to Hermione's astonishment the diminutive man grabbed Snape's sleeve and marched forward, tugging him along. Snape rolled his eyes heavenward and allowed himself to be dragged a few feet before disengaging his sleeve from Flitwick's grasp and following reluctantly.
"I suppose it's your birthday, then," he said, frowning at Hermione.
She nodded shyly as Flitwick piped up, "Yes. It seems her bookends have forgotten her coming of age so it has fallen to me to make sure she celebrates properly. Rictumsempra!" They had pulled up to the portrait of the bowl of fruit and Flitwick's tickling hex aimed at the pear well above his head gained them entry.
A sea of beaming faces met them and they were quickly escorted to one of the long tables in the middle of the room. Hermione realized it was the equivalent of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall above them and glanced uneasily at Professor Snape who was sitting across from her. He was looking over her shoulder with a grimace. Twisting around, she saw a group of elves bearing a platter, on top of which sat a beautiful yellow cake with vanilla icing and plump strawberries. The elves placed the cake in front of her and stood to the side respectfully.
"Happy Birthday, Miss Granger!" Flitwick squealed happily, clapping his hands and looking pointedly at Snape.
"Many happy returns," the Defense professor said dryly.
"Now, make a wish! And make it a selfish one!"
Hermione contemplated the seventeen sparkling candles and closed her eyes. Having been feeling on the periphery of her friends' lives lately, she indulged in a little bit of selfish fancy. I wish I could have my own adventure that doesn't involve Harry, Ron, or Voldemort, she thought, and then she blew out the candles.
Unbeknownst to her, just as Hermione was contemplating her birthday candles, the wizard sitting across from her was thinking about the ridiculousness of indulging Granger of all people in an impromptu birthday party when there were so many bigger things going on in his life and the world in general – big things that he'd rather avoid if at all possible. As Flitwick encouraged the silly chit across from him to make a selfish wish, he sardonically thought, I wish I were far from this miserable excuse for a life. And then he huffed in annoyance at the same moment she blew out her candles.
Neither wizards, nor witch, nor house elves noticed one candle's flame flicker in the opposite direction of the others before they all went out.
Hermione cut and served the cake and, after being assured by all of the house elves that they didn't want a piece (to the amusement of Flitwick and incredulity of Snape), they each took a bite. She thought there must be an unwritten law of the universe that says the moment one has relaxed (or relaxed as much as one can get with a Snape across from you eating birthday cake) and taken their first bite, the telephone will ring or someone will have come calling or the floo will flare or a frantic house elf will pop in with a crack! loud enough to startle the fork out of your hand and send a delicate piece of strawberry and cake flying through the air.
"FIRE!" the elf shrieked. "There is being a fire in the greenhouse! Miss Mona is being trapped inside!"
The birthday cake lay forgotten as two professors and a prefect bolted from the room and ran to the greenhouses. Snape, with his longer legs, ran in the lead followed surprisingly closely by Flitwick. Hermione, who hated exercise in principle, rather thought it was time to see about charming a treadmill to work in Hogwarts so she could exercise while reading and save future embarrassment should she be forced to run like this again.
By the time she pulled up, huffing and puffing, to the flaming greenhouse, Snape and Flitwick were already emerging from it, each with an arm around Professor Sprout. Black smoke billowed out of the door behind them and out of a hole in the roof near the front of the greenhouse. The fire was breaking free of the spells and charms in the glass and working its way outward, panels of the glass exploding here and there with loud pops.
Being a girl of two worlds, both magical and muggle, Hermione's first reaction was one of surprise when she saw Sprout with merely a sooty face and frazzled hair but otherwise none the worse for the wear. Then her years of study as a witch took over and she remembered that witches and wizards had the ability to make flames tickle rather than burn. And, as she watched, all three professors tapped their faces with their wands to remove bubblehead charms that surely saved them from smoke inhalation. Right. She felt a bit like a dolt, but no one had to know. Instead, she deliberately stepped forward to join them as the two wizards questioned the Head of Hufflepuff.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine, thank you. Really, you two worry too much! Thank you for helping me out of there, though. It was a bit dodgy with the glass exploding." She gazed mournfully at the greenhouse.
"What happened?" Snape asked, following her gaze with a furrowed brow.
"Lightning struck. See that hole in the roof there? Of course, nearly everything in there was flammable, poor plants. Some of them took years to mature. I'll have to start from scratch and change some lesson plans around now." Flitwick patted her hand and she squared her shoulders determinedly. "Shall we?" she asked, gesturing to the fire.
Hermione joined the professors in surrounding the greenhouse and trying to put out the fire. She had been deliberately directed to a section that did not have much glass left, so she did not have to dodge or throw up a shield every so often as the others did. Instead, she paced back and forth with water streaming from her wand, moving close enough that she could feel the heat of the fire, but far enough away that it wasn't terribly blistering. She paused in her pacing to battle one particularly difficult area. She noticed a powerful stream of water hitting her section from around the corner and she redoubled her effort. What she did not notice until it was nearly too late was the large panel of glass that had managed to stay intact until then.
There was a loud pop! that sent her flying for cover with a shriek. Since there was nothing to actually hide behind, she found herself careening into someone who had also jumped back and hastily erected a shield. The person grunted and swayed and Hermione grabbed the robes in front of her trying to prevent them both from falling. Glass rebounded off the shield that she had managed to dive mostly behind, but a stray piece caught her left arm with a sting and she hissed in pain.
"Miss Granger!" Snape barked, glaring down at her. With an embarrassed squeak she hastily disentangled her fist from his robes and made to step away but was distracted by an odd sensation. The air around them felt…different…charged. It smelled sweet and all the hair on her body seemed to stand on end. Snape looked at her in horror for a split second before he reached out and shoved her away from him. She had barely felt her center of gravity shift back with the momentum of his shove when she felt freezing cold and searing heat at the same time. Red lights flashed before her eyes and she felt as if a brick wall had hit her. Every limb, finger, and toe felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds and the hairs that had been standing on end brought explosions of pain with every movement in the wind. There was a sound unlike any other, impossibly loud, so loud, in fact, that Hermione wasn't sure she could remember what anything else in the world sounded like. Then finally those flashing red lights faded to darkness and she knew no more.