Chapter 10 is here!
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Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and world of Harry Potter.
"Severus," McGonagall began as he opened the door to his quarters later that evening. Her sharp eyes swept over him, scrutinizing every detail, though her tone betrayed a rare softness. Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed past him and entered, the hem of her robes brushing the floor. "Albus told me you went after that man. Is it true?"
Snape's lips thinned as he closed the door behind her, his dark eyes studying her expression. Genuine concern was etched across her face, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to acknowledge the odd comfort of it.
"Yes," he said simply, his tone devoid of embellishment.
"Severus Snape!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with uncharacteristic anger. "Why on earth would you go after him alone? He is a dangerous man, and –"
"I wouldn't have gone after him," Snape interrupted sharply, "if someone had bothered to inform me of his escape earlier." He stepped past her and threw himself into the armchair by the fireplace, his usual composure cracking slightly. "Merlin's beard, Minerva,I sent a student into the forest!"
McGonagall's face paled, her breath catching. "A student?" she repeated, her voice lower now, tinged with alarm. "Oh, Severus… Albus will have a lot to answer for." Her brows knit tightly. "Who was it? Who did you send out there?"
"Miss Granger, of course." he replied curtly. "As you know, she has two weeks of detention."
McGonagall's hand flew to her chest as her expression shifted, her worry now firmly directed toward the young witch. "Oh, heavens. Is she all right? Are you all right?"
Snape sighed, his fingers pressing against his temples as the lingering ache from Dolohov's Cruciatus curse pulsed faintly. "Yes, Minerva. She is fine, and I am fine."
But the witch wasn't so easily convinced. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on his posture and the tension in his movements. "You don't look fine," she said, stepping closer. Her gaze dropped to his hands, narrowing. "And what's wrong with your hand?"
"My hand?" he asked, raising it almost absently. "There's nothing wrong with my—" He stopped abruptly, catching sight of the faint bruises and inflamed crescent-shaped marks marring his skin.
"Teeth marks?" she said incredulously, reaching out to examine it before he could pull it away. "Severus, who on earth bit you?"
Snape stared at his hand for a moment, his mind replaying the scene in vivid detail. Then, unexpectedly, a low chuckle escaped him. It quickly turned into a rare, genuine laugh, a sound so foreign it left McGonagall blinking in astonishment.
"Attacked," he managed between the fading laughter.
"He bit you?" she asked, still baffled.
"Yes," Snape replied, his lips curving into a rare smirk. "Quite mad, I'm afraid."
"Well," the other professor muttered, shaking her head as if trying to piece it together. "Azkaban can do that to people. And the dark magic certainly wouldn't have helped."
"Indeed," Snape said curtly, his smirk lingering as he crossed his arms.
McGonagall shot him a skeptical look but refrained from pressing further. "At the very least, get that hand treated," she said firmly. "If you won't see Poppy, then deal with it yourself. You know the dangers of leaving injuries like that untreated."
"As always, your concern is touching," Snape replied, his voice laced with dry sarcasm as he stood.
"Severus," his colleague called softly as he shifted in his chair, her tone losing its earlier sharpness.
He turned his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable.
"I'm glad you're alright," she said, her voice quiet and sincere. "Even if you're too stubborn to admit when you're not."
Snape held her gaze for a long moment, the flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
McGonagall straightened, smoothing her robes as she stepped back toward the door. "Take care of that hand," she added firmly. "And Severus… try not to make a habit of going after dangerous men alone."
His lips twitched faintly, though whether it was amusement or irritation was unclear. "Goodnight, Minerva," he said in his usual clipped tone.
"Goodnight, Severus," she replied before slipping out of the room, leaving the potions master to the quiet solitude of his quarters.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Snape glanced at his hand again, the faint imprint of teeth marks still visible. With a low sigh, he reached for his wand, muttering a charm to ease the swelling. "Granger," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly as he began tending to the mark.
Hermione sprinted through the Forbidden Forest, the thick canopy above swallowing what little light the moon offered. The only illumination came from the tip of her wand, her whispered Lumos casting a faint glow ahead of her. She didn't dare stop, her heart pounding as her instincts screamed that something – or someone – was following her.
Branches clawed at her robes as she pushed forward, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She could hear the crunch of leaves and snapping twigs behind her, the sound too deliberate to be an animal. Whatever it was, it was closing in.
After what felt like an eternity, she stumbled into a small clearing, her legs trembling as she came to an abrupt halt. Panting heavily, Hermione doubled over, clutching at her side where a sharp pain flared from the effort of running. She tried to calm her breathing, but the sense of dread remained, a cold weight pressing down on her chest.
A low moan broke the silence, carrying across the clearing like a ghostly whisper. Hermione's head snapped up, her wand trembling slightly in her grip. The sound came from the opposite side of the clearing, hidden within the shadows of the trees.
Her first instinct was to move toward the sound, to investigate, but just as she took a tentative step forward, a cold hand clamped down on her shoulder.
A shiver shot down her spine, and terror exploded in her chest. She screamed, the sound ripping through the stillness of the forest as she spun around, her wand raised and ready to cast.
"Granger!" She heard a voice in the distance.
"Hermione!" The voice cut through the haze of her fear, steady and soothing. Slowly, the grip of panic began to loosen.
She opened her eyes, only to squeeze them shut again as the brightness from a wand's light momentarily blinded her. The light dimmed as the wand was placed on her bedside table, and she felt hands gripping her shoulders, steadying her as she trembled.
"It was just a dream. You're all right," the voice assured her, calm and soothing.
But Hermione couldn't stop the trembling or the shallow, rapid breaths. The fear still clung to her like a shadow, pulling her back into the nightmare.
"Hermione!" the voice snapped, sharper this time. "Look at me!"
The command cut through her spiraling thoughts, and she forced her eyes open again, finally registering her surroundings. Her trembling slowed as reality began to settle back into place.
"It was just a dream," the voice repeated firmly, but with an edge of reassurance.
Her gaze finally focused on the figure in front of her. "Malfoy!?" she gasped, her voice laced with confusion and disbelief. She instinctively pressed her back against the headboard, putting a little distance between them.
Draco let his hands drop from her shoulders, taking a half-step back. "I heard you screaming," he said simply, his voice quieter now. "You were having a bad dream."
Hermione blinked, still trying to process the situation. "Screaming?" she echoed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She had been having nightmares for quite some time now, but she had never woken up screaming before. Or had she?
"Did this… has this happened before?" she asked hesitantly, her voice trembling slightly.
Draco folded his arms, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "I don't know," he said with a shrug, his tone somewhere between casual and serious. "You tell me. I only heard it tonight."
Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. The idea that someone else might have heard her, especially Malfoy, made her stomach twist. "I… I didn't realize," she murmured, her eyes falling to her lap.
Draco shifted awkwardly, glancing at the door as though debating whether to leave. Finally, he sighed. "Look, if you frequently have these dreams, maybe you should… I don't know, talk to someone about it. You don't have to scream the whole castle awake."
His words were blunt, but his tone lacked its usual bite, and for a moment, she thought she detected something almost… sincere.
Hermione gave a small nod, unable to meet his gaze. "Thank you," she said quietly, unsure of what else to say.
Draco looked at her for another moment, then nodded once and turned to leave. "Try to get some sleep, Granger," he said over his shoulder before closing the door behind him, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts and the lingering echo of her dream.
As soon as her roommate closed her door, she cast a Silencing spell and she made a mental note to cast it again every night until her nightmares stopped. She looked at the watch and sighed. It was almost five o'clock in the morning and she got up from the bed as always. It was enough sleep for one night. The girl paced through her room, unsure of what to do. She felt tired and she wanted to go back to bed, but she had had enough of those nightmares for one night so she decided against it.
Grabbing a notebook and quill, she made her way to the small desk by the window. The moonlight spilled across its surface, and Hermione set to work. First, she jotted down her lingering thoughts about the dream, trying to make sense of it. Writing had always been a way for her to organize her feelings, and she hoped that by putting them on paper, they might seem less overwhelming.
Swiping through the pages of the hand-sized notebook she used to track her dreams, Hermione paused to study the most recent entries. Each page was filled with detailed accounts of her nightmares – every haunting image, every frantic emotion, carefully recorded in her tidy handwriting. As her fingers moved across the pages, a pattern began to emerge.
Ever since the school year had started, the nightmares had become relentless, plaguing her almost every night. Her journal entries were so specific, noting the times she woke up startled and the fleeting fragments of the dreams she could recall. If she were to sum up the number of hours of disturbed sleep she had recorded on each page, the total would be alarmingly low.
Hermione frowned, flipping back further into the journal. The contrast was stark. Over the summer, the nightmares had been sporadic, occasional reminders of the war, but manageable. Now, they were nightly occurrences, vivid and inescapable. She tapped her quill against the edge of the notebook, her mind racing for an explanation.
Was it being back at Hogwarts? The castle held so many memories, both beautiful and tragic. The same walls that had been her sanctuary for years had also been the backdrop for one of the darkest nights of her life.
She set the quill down and leaned back in her chair, staring at the open pages in front of her. There has to be a reason, she thought, though she couldn't quite pinpoint it. Perhaps it was the combination of returning to the place where so much had happened and the weight of her new responsibilities as Head Girl.
With a determined breath, she picked up the quill again and began to write, hoping that somewhere within her carefully recorded notes, she might find any sort of clues. If the nightmares were going to persist, she needed to figure out why, and more importantly, how to stop them.
By Saturday morning, Hermione found herself alone in the common room. Ginny had gone to meet Harry and Ron in Hogsmeade, and her other friends were busy with their own plans. She sighed, looking out the window at the crisp autumn day, but she didn't feel much like venturing out. She couldn't get too far anyway, thanks to her reckless behavior on her birthday.
The past two evenings had been consumed by her detention with Professor Snape, an experience as draining as it was frustrating. On Thursday, she'd scrubbed cauldrons until her arms ached, Snape's sharp remarks about her "inadequate effort" cutting through the silence.
Friday had been more varied but no less exhausting. After finishing the tedious task of organizing his ingredients earlier in the week, Hermione had dared to hope her detention might involve something more intellectually stimulating, perhaps even brewing. Instead, Snape had assigned her to copy his notes on obscure potions techniques onto fresh parchment.
She had worked for hours in the dim light of the dungeon, painstakingly replicating his precise handwriting while Snape loomed in the background. Occasionally, he had glanced over her work, his expression unreadable. The only acknowledgment of her efforts had been a curt, "Legible enough."
As Hermione sat in the quiet common room now, she huffed at the memory. I'd give anything to actually brew potions during detention, she thought. At least then I'd be putting my skills to use. But no, her tasks were as dull as they were grueling, leaving her feeling more like a house-elf than a student.
Still, there was no denying the underlying respect she had for Snape's meticulous organization and methods. Every jar, every note was a testament to his discipline, and though she'd never admit it aloud, she had found herself mentally cataloging ways to improve her own study habits during those long hours in the dungeon.
Shaking her head, Hermione grabbed her bag. Enough of that, she thought firmly. It's Saturday! I'll just head to the library and focus on something worthwhile.
It took her tired mind a few moments to register the glaring flaw in her plan. She paused mid-step, the realization hitting her with a frustrating finality: she was still banned from the library. One more week of interdiction remained, and she could already feel the sting of wasted time looming over her.
She groaned softly, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. Brilliant, Hermione. Just brilliant.
The library had always been her sanctuary, the one place where she could find calm amid the chaos. Without it, she felt adrift, left to sort through her thoughts and worries without the comforting distraction of books and research.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced around the room. Her desk was littered with half-finished notes and a stack of borrowed books she had yet to return to Madam Pince. Not exactly the peaceful escape I was hoping for, she thought with a sigh.
Forcing herself to move, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out of her room. She needed fresh air, or, at the very least, a change of scenery. Maybe a walk around the castle will help, she decided, though the prospect didn't excite her much. Anything was better than stewing in her own thoughts.
The castle was quieter than usual as she walked through the corridors, the faint sound of laughter and footsteps drifting from the direction of Hogsmeade. Her solitude wasn't unwelcome, but it made her wistful. She couldn't help thinking of the Saturdays she used to spend with Harry and Ron, their lively banter filling the hours.
Later that day, having spent most of her day locked up in her quarters, Hermione decided to step out for some fresh air. The unseasonably warm early October sun bathed the grounds in golden light, and the clear sky beckoned her outdoors. She pulled on her favorite t-shirt, a comfortable pair of jeans, and her trusty sneakers before heading out.
The castle grounds were alive with activity. Students darted around, laughing and shouting as they played impromptu games or lounged on the grass in groups. Hermione paused near the edge of the courtyard, observing the scene with a small smile. The vibrancy was infectious, yet it felt too noisy, too chaotic for her mood. With a quiet sigh, she turned and walked in the opposite direction, heading toward one of her favorite places: the Astronomy Tower. Well, one of my favorites, she reminded herself, recalling her love for the library and the peaceful alcove near the lake.
It took her nearly ten minutes to climb the spiraling staircase to the top of the tower, but the effort was worth it. The breathtaking view stretched out before her, the rolling hills and shimmering Black Lake framed by the distant horizon. Hermione leaned against the cool stone railing, letting the tranquility of the moment wash over her.
She was just about to sit down and let her thoughts wander when a voice startled her from behind.
"Enjoying the view?"
She froze mid-turn, her heart skipping a beat. The voice was familiar, achingly so, and the warmth of recognition filled her chest.
"I could recognize that voice anywhere," she thought, turning fully to face the speaker.
"Ron?" she asked, her surprise evident.
And there he was, standing just inside the doorway, a grin spreading across his freckled face.
"Hello," Ron said, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Hermione blinked in surprise, but a genuine smile spread across her face as she crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Ron, I'm so glad to see you!"
"I missed you so much…" she thought she heard him murmur, his words muffled as he buried his face in her hair.
Pulling back slightly, she studied his familiar features. "But what are you doing here?" she asked, curiosity mingling with the warmth in her voice.
"I wanted to see you," he admitted, his tone soft and a little uncertain.
"And how did you know I'd be here?"
"You weren't in the library," Ron said, a small grin appearing, "and I hoped this might be the next best place to find you."
"Oh, I see…" Hermione replied, her voice trailing off as a sudden silence settled between them. She looked away, her thoughts tangling. She was glad to see him. It stirred something nostalgic, a fleeting ache, but it also brought back so many complicated memories.
Ron shifted on his feet, breaking the silence. "Hermione… I… I want to apologize for… you know…" he began awkwardly.
Hermione sighed, folding her arms. "Ron, it's fine. I'm not mad at you. Don't worry." She hesitated before continuing, her tone soft but firm. "Sure, I was a little sad at first, but that was mostly because of how I found out. Ron, you should have told me yourself! Finding out your boyfriend is cheating on you from The Daily Prophet is not exactly the best way to learn about it."
Ron winced, taking a small step toward her. "I know. I'm sorry, Hermione. I should've handled it better. That's… that's why I'm here." He paused, his blue eyes searching hers as though trying to find the right words. "Hermione –"
"Yes?" she prompted gently, hoping to encourage him to finish his thought.
"Hermione, I…" He hesitated again, but then he seemed to steel himself. "I'm getting married."
For a moment, she just stared at him, unsure if she'd heard correctly. "Ron… you're joking, right?" she asked, a small laugh escaping as though hoping he'd deny it.
But Ron's face fell, his expression wounded as he stepped back. "No, I'm not joking," he said, his voice quiet but resolute. "I love Claire, and I'm going to marry her."
Hermione took a hesitant step forward, her brow furrowing as she sighed. She didn't know who Claire was, but she could guess. The name had been mentioned in passing in the Prophet article.
"Ron," she began carefully, "are you sure you want to do this? You know that magical marriages are –"
"Forever. I know," he interrupted, his tone steady. "And yes, I'm sure. I love her, Hermione. And I want you to be there. You're part of the family, after all."
Hermione hesitated, her mind racing. The idea of being at Ron's wedding, watching him bind his life to someone else's, felt strange, almost surreal. "Ron, I don't think that's such a good idea…"
"Why not?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency. "After everything we've been through during the war, all those years, we've been there for each other through so much. I want you at my wedding. Please, Hermione. Say you'll come."
She sighed again, conflicted. She knew what a magical marriage meant in their world: a lifelong bond, unbreakable and absolute. And despite everything, she truly wanted Ron to be happy. This was his moment, and if he wanted her there, how could she say no?
"All right," she said finally, offering him a small smile. "I'll come."
Ron exhaled in visible relief, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Thank you, Hermione. It wouldn't feel right without you there."
"When's the wedding?" she asked after a moment, her curiosity winning out over her unease.
"Two months from now," he replied, his grin widening.
Hermione blinked, her concern rising. "Isn't that a bit… quick?"
Ron shrugged, his confidence unwavering. "Maybe, but when you know, you know. Claire and I don't see any reason to wait."
Hermione bit her lip, debating whether to voice her doubts, but the happiness in Ron's eyes gave her pause. Instead, she nodded. "I see. Well, if you're happy, Ron, then I'm happy for you."
Her words were genuine, though they carried the faintest twinge of melancholy, a quiet acceptance of how much had changed between them.
Five minutes later, Ron suddenly pushed himself up from his place next to her on the floor, moving with a hurried energy. "Oh! I have to go!" he exclaimed, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. "Claire's waiting for me at Madame Rosmerta's with Ginny and Harry. I promised her we'd look at some locations for the wedding."
Hermione blinked at the sudden shift, startled by how quickly he seemed to remember his other plans. "Right," she said, her voice steady despite the faint twist in her chest.
"I'll see you soon!" Ron called over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. But just as he reached the first step, he stopped abruptly, turning back to her with a hesitant expression.
"Hermione," he started, his tone softer now. "I… I meant what I said earlier. It really does mean a lot to me that you'll be there. At the wedding, I mean."
She offered him a small, reassuring smile. "Of course, Ron. I wouldn't miss it."
His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the familiar grin returned to his face. "Thanks, Hermione. You're the best."
With that, he turned and hurried down the staircase, his footsteps echoing faintly as they faded into the distance.
Hermione sat still for a long moment, staring at the spot where he had stood. She exhaled slowly, letting the quiet of the Astronomy Tower envelop her once again.
A part of her was genuinely happy for him. Ron deserved to be with someone who could love him completely, without hesitation. But another part of her, a quieter, more reflective part, couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment.
This is what moving on looks like, she thought, wrapping her arms around her knees. It wasn't sadness she felt, exactly, but something close to it, like closing a chapter in a book she'd been reading for far too long.
After Ron left, Hermione sank back down onto the cold floor of the Astronomy Tower, resting her head on her knees. To an outsider, she might have appeared to be crying, but her eyes were dry, she was simply lost in thought.
She was happy for Ron, truly. He deserved love and happiness, and she hoped Claire was everything he needed. But as much as she wanted to feel only joy for him, worry crept in at the edges of her mind. He was still so young, and marriage seemed like such a monumental step. Have they thought this through? she wondered. Will they regret it later?
And while she was happy, there was a sadness she couldn't entirely ignore. She was going to lose him. A marriage changed things, people. She knew that nothing would ever be the same between them.
Her thoughts wandered further, and a new worry took root. Harry will be next, she thought, the inevitability of it settling heavily on her chest. She loved Ginny, truly, but their marriage would also change the dynamics of her friendships. And in that process, she feared she'd lose Ginny too.
Hermione sighed, forcing herself to confront the truth: she was going to lose them all eventually. One by one, they would move forward, away from her. And what about her? What did her future look like?
She wasn't interested in relationships, much less marriage. Her only goal was to finish school, begin her Apprenticeship, and one day, return to Hogwarts – not as a student, but as a professor. Her future was clear and predictable, while her friends' lives seemed to be unfolding into something distant and unfamiliar. Yet, strangely, that thought didn't scare her, not as much as she thought it would.
Her musings were interrupted by a sharp cracking sound overhead. Startled, she raised her head to see what had caused it and was surprised to find the once-clear sky now dark and heavy with clouds. A moment later, cold raindrops began to fall, splashing against the stone floor and her upturned face.
The normal reaction would have been to seek shelter, but Hermione stayed where she was, closing her eyes and letting the rain wash over her. She had always loved the rain, the way it made her feel alive, grounded, and small in the best possible way.
It wasn't until a familiar voice cut through the sound of the downpour that she realized she wasn't alone.
"What on earth are you doing here?" the voice demanded, low and sharp.
Hermione didn't have to turn to know who it was. She could recognize that voice anywhere, even through the crackling sound of thunder. Still, she turned to face him. There he was, standing in the rain, yet somehow untouched by it. A shimmering bubble of air surrounded him, keeping him perfectly dry.
"Professor Snape," she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the storm.
His dark eyes scanned her, his expression unreadable. "Miss Granger," he began, his tone clipped, "is there a particular reason you are standing in the rain, looking like a drowned rat?"
Hermione huffed, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. "I'm just… thinking."
"Thinking," he echoed, raising a single eyebrow. "In the pouring rain."
"Yes, in the pouring rain," she replied, the edge in her tone betraying her frustration.
He took a deliberate step closer, the protective bubble expanding to encompass her as well. Instantly, the rain stopped pelting her skin, and the warmth of dry air surrounded her.
She blinked in surprise, but he ignored her reaction. "And is there a specific reason why you felt the need to engage in such reckless behavior? Or is this just another one of your infamous Gryffindor impulses?"
"I wasn't being reckless," Hermione retorted, crossing her arms. "I just… needed to clear my head."
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze piercing. "And what, precisely, required such dramatic contemplation?"
Hermione hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "It's… personal," she said finally, her voice softening.
He regarded her for a moment longer before letting out a quiet sigh. "Very well," he said, his voice low but no longer sharp. "However, I would suggest you find less self-destructive methods of reflection in the future. Hypothermia is hardly an ideal way to clear one's mind."
Hermione's lips twitched into a faint smile despite herself. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor."
"See that you do," he replied curtly, though there was a subtle softness in his tone that hadn't been there before.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the storm raging around them, the bubble of dry air their only sanctuary. Then, with a flick of his wand, Snape dispelled the bubble and gestured toward the castle.
"Come along, Miss Granger. Unless, of course, you prefer to continue communing with the storm."
Hermione followed him without protest, her thoughts still swirling but oddly lighter than before.
As they walked through the cold corridors, Hermione hesitated before speaking. "I'm sorry about your hand, sir. I thought you were his partner or… something."
"You don't need to apologize," Snape replied curtly, his gaze fixed ahead. "You did nothing wrong."
His response left her momentarily speechless. There was no sneer, no mocking retort, just a simple reassurance. It was so unlike him that Hermione almost tripped over her own feet in surprise. She decided not to press the matter, though her professor's odd behavior lingered in her thoughts.
Instead, she voiced the question that had been nagging at her since the forest. "Sir, how did he get out? You can't escape from Azkaban without help. So if someone helped him, that means that –"
"Granger," he interrupted, his tone sharp but measured, "if someone helped him escape, then it means I will find them. Him, her, or them. That is my concern, not yours."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. The set of his jaw and the faint flicker of something – determination, perhaps even weariness – behind his dark eyes warned her to let the matter drop.
"Now," Snape continued, his voice cool once more, "if you don't have any further questions, I have matters to attend to. Goodbye."
He turned on his heel with practiced precision, his robes billowing dramatically behind him as he strode away with purpose. The echo of his measured footsteps lingered in the corridor long after he had disappeared from view, leaving an air of finality in his wake.
Hermione stood there for a moment, watching him disappear into the shadows. His sudden departure and clipped responses left her with more questions than answers, but for now, she decided to let it go. Since they retreated from the pouring rain, the warmth of the charm he had cast still lingered around her.
With a quiet sigh, she headed toward her quarters, her thoughts heavy with the strange encounters – first Ron, then Snape – and the growing mystery surrounding Dolohov's escape.