Chapter 8

It did not go the way Albus Dumbledore had envisioned. He'd probably had even more convoluted plans and plots up his flashy sleeves than Hermione would make in her entire lifetime, and that cemented his brilliance. It truly did. It did not however, make him benevolent, or kind, or lend him a trustworthy visage - what with the twinkly eyes and general all-knowing personality, he was, at best - shifty.

How she had failed to factor in his reluctance to share, his dodgy ways of making sure that Harry obeyed him and his failure to capitulate on opportunities that they, Hermione and her friends had taken easy advantage of, was unknown to her. She had simply been too caught up in what was actually going on around her, to worry about the ulterior motives of someone who wasn't supposed to have ulterior motives with regards to children.

Was it all her fault? She was the supposedly smart one. The brains of the Golden Trio. As if Ron and Harry were a pair of moldy pumpkins.

Wasn't she absolutely the most observant girl? Her mother had always insisted so. It was true, up till the point when her nose wasn't stuck in a book.

The Final Battle. The Battle of Hogwarts.

It had gone so strangely, so terrifyingly the way she had expected, that she almost clapped herself on the back.

It had been pretty much okay too, derailing along the way somewhat, a pile of dead bodies in their way, hairy monsters and ghastly beasts-if only someone had offed that bitch, Bellatrix, it would've gone completely Harry's way. Disregarding the bodies, of course.

Everything was on course to becoming the biggest victory ever seen on Hogwarts soil. The teachers, older students, Order members, herself with her boys, had all been ready. The house elves were being mobilized as above, wizards and witches made plans, and inside the Forbidden Forest, all manner of creatures salivated at the prospect of finally attacking Hogwarts.

One long year. On the run. It was finally looking as if all those months of going hungry and worrying about Harry, Draco and Ron would pay off.

Somewhere in Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy was waiting to see Hermione Granger again.

In the wilderness, Hermione was hell-bent on completing Horcrux hunting so she could get back to Draco.

They waited.

Harry waited for Ginny. Ron for his family. Hundreds of wizard-folk on the run waited. People at home waited. In the streets, they looked at the dark sky for one chink in the black armor. They too, waited.

Hogwarts waited.

The castle was abuzz with news of Harry's return. The students gathered then, to fight.

Hermione saw Draco again. He was close, closer than he'd been in a year, if she discounted the night in Malfoy Manor when he had stood by the fireplace and bitten his lips raw and dug his nails into his flesh and watched. As she suffered. She suffered as she'd never suffered before. Pain became a friend, so close was it to every nerve of her body that only a flash of white-blond above her kept her centralized, even as her skin was broken into and carved and reshaped. Forever marked by the truth of her parentage, her perceived inferiority, her thievery of magic.

But that was then. And this was now.

The Room of Hidden Things burnt. Crabbe died. A scrap of Tom Riddle died.

They separated.

What was a girl to do, except look back at her love's face when to her friends, he was neither love nor dear, unworthy of further notice?

She ran.

The Final Standoff.

She was standing across the room from Draco. Her heart tripped over its rhythm to reunite with the beat of the one, that had taught it what it was to truly run faster than hate's hounds, and embrace the love being offered.

As Harry's wand emitted red, Voldemort's emitted green.

The spells rebounded.

Except, when the green should've hit Voldemort, it hit Bellatrix, who had scarpered off during her duel with Molly Weasley.

Another flash of green. Harry dead.

No, no, nooo. This was not supposed to happen.

Shit had hit the proverbial fan.

A raucous cheer went up from the Death Eaters' side. Another green flash. Another. And another. And another.

She locked eyes with Draco. Her wild hair blew around her from the force of a nearby spell, and she blocked it with a strong shield. As she started to run, at just the very moment when she would've crossed the great divide between them, Narcissa Malfoy came into her field of view.

Narcissa and Lucius had been beside Draco, and only now she noted the grip that both had on their son who was writhing and shouting something unintelligible, as he strained to get to Hermione.

Once more she got to look at him, before Narcissa pulled a wand out, stunned her son and apparated away, Lucius in tow.

He was safe. It was fine, he was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Pandemonium.

Her classmates were dying. These were the people she had breakfasted with, had walked the halls of her school with, had conversed with and connected with, and they were all dying.

Children were dying.

Voldemort did not care anymore about keeping himself separate from the skirmishes, and sent curses and hexes and indigenous spells at anyone he fancied.

The floor shook, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall cracked and splintered and rained on the battling forces beneath.

She had to get away. Madly, as if she believed it could really happen, she sent an Avada - her first - toward Voldemort. It missed him minutely, and it caught his attention.

He turned around, black robes billowing around his white face, chalky skin broken between by ruby-red slit-eyes that beat at her in unleashed fury.

A breathy whimper left her throat.

She raised her wand again in his direction. He looked utterly unconcerned, but undeniably furious.

A black force-wave spilled from the edges of his robe and spread outwards. She scrambled back and threw yet another Avada at him. He dodged it, and turned his unwavering attention towards her.

His red eyes bore into her, and as if their crimson fire had taken flight and resettled inside her, a scorching, burning feeling erupted in her mind. She clutched her head and kept her eyes focused on Voldemort who was just standing there, looking at her.

Tension built between them, palpable, physical and it pushed neighboring duelers at least three feet away from the path that connected her to Voldemort.

Just as she saw him gliding towards her, his awful, awful eyes raking over her battered form, a voice birthed itself in her mind.

Run, little mudblood. It hissed.

Voldemort smirked at her, all traces of burden gone from his posture as he held out his hands wide in front of him.

"Go, Mudblood," Voldemort ordered. Her shock at being told to flee, to escape, held her frozen.

Go.

"I will find you when it is time,'' Voldemort continued. "Go. I will find you. When you are half-dead in anticipation, only then will I grant you mercy, the pathetic weakness: death." He swept his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Everyone was dead anyway. Professor McGonagall herself had taken a killing curse for her. Ron was dead. All his family was dead. Remus. Tonks. Lavendar Brown. Seamus Finnigan. Neville. Luna. Cho Chang. Marietta Edgecombe. Dead.

Dead, dead, dead. The voice sang. Now, ruuuunnn ...

She did exactly that.

Somehow, she did not think herself a coward. That thought alone made her less of a Gryffindor and more like a Slytherin, more like Draco.

She was okay with fact that she had fled, that she had left people behind. People who had been dead the second they decided to come battling at Hogwarts.

The Sorting Hat had still put her in Gryffindor.

She didn't know what to make of that.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

A pause. Then, "Yes."

"How could you? I'm not agreeing to this, I'll not lose you."

"I'm the only one left. It has to be me. I'm already dying, love."

"That doesn't make sense, we'll find someone else."

"But-"

"I don't want to argue with you over this. We'll find someone else."

Somehow, Severus Snape had survived Nagini's attack.

That made sense. At the very least, it was certainly plausible. As Hermione lay in the Hospital Wing bed, still only half-conscious, she thought about the careful way he used to handle Potions ingredients while giving demonstrations in class. How knowledgeable he was about all the ingredients, their substitutes, the substitutes of the substitutes, and all the different bases for a single potion.

How paranoid he was about his personal stores.

Of course the single-most brilliant Potions professor at Hogwarts would've scoured any and every source for an antidote to Nagini's poison. However he may have achieved that, sneaking around the snake which happened to have two souls, must have been quite ingenuous in its own right.

Sirius watched as Hermione's eyes moved underneath the lids, frantically chasing dreams. He considered going and getting Lily. He did not actually know Hermione, and however much he wanted to change that, getting in her face about the whole 'I carried you from Hogsmeade' thing was not the way to go about it.

He stood up and turned to get away from her bedside, when-

"Sirius?"

He whipped his head around, shaggy black hair swinging with the turn of his head. It was the first time she had spoken his name.

Hermione's eyes were wide open. She fluttered her eyelashes to get rid of some of the bleariness. "What're you doing here?"

This was not supposed to happen so soon. But he really could not keep his mouth shut. "I carried you from Hogsmeade." Then immediately, "How're you feeling?"

She blinked. "Why did you have to carry me up?" She did not yet remember her dream.

"You-you blacked out, I believe. And then, then...then I-" Why the hell was he stuttering? He was not some pansy boy who did not know how to speak to girls.

"Then you carried me?," she asked. He nodded, short and awkward.

"Thank you. Didn't any professor ask questions?"

"There were no professors about when we brought you in. I and Lily and James. I mean, I carried you-"

"So you've said."

"-and they accompanied me."

They fell into silence. Hermione then started to get up, putting her hands down by her sides to brace herself.

"I-I don't think you should..."

"Ah, Miss Granger, you're awake! Don't get up, you've got quite a strained core. You must not agitate it further." The voice of a younger Madam Pomfrey interrupted Sirius. The mediwitch bustled out of her office and headed for the Potion stores at the far end of the wing.

"Mr. Black, kindly leave now. My patient needs to rest." She stated firmly.

Sirius looked at Hermione who nodded lightly. "I'll send Lily up," he said before making a hasty break for the door.

Hermione looked around at the other beds after smirking at Sirius' retreating form. The older Sirius had been quite up-front and brash, and he would not have shown such hesitance as his younger self did just then. No one was about, which was a miracle, since someone with a Quidditch injury was always in the Hospital Wing.

"How long has it been since I came in, Madam?" She called to the mediwitch.

Rifling through different vials, the older witch grabbed what looked like a pain relief potion and an invigoration drought before answering, "It's been almost four days, Miss Granger. Though I must ask, what happened then, has it happened before?"

"Not really." She looked at the bland ceiling of the room, the black supports and the general sterile ambiance.

"It is just as well," Pomfrey said as she approached her bed. She handed her the two vials and motioned for her to sit up briefly. She did so and took the prescribed potions. "Your loss of consciousness was due to a large magical influx, and the days spent in that state were necessary for your core to assimilate the extra energy. I'm rather baffled as to how it might've happened unless you performed some ... ritual of sorts.? "

Hermione shook her head at the stern glare.

"I did nothing, Madam Pomfrey. Will there be any side effects, do you think?"

"This is out of my area of expertise, Miss Granger. I deal with physical injuries mostly and some such. I certainly don't deal with discrepancies in magical cores."

She was not going to go and ask Dumbledore for help. The man would muck up her plan within the hour.

But she needed to see someone. Someone she could trust and who would have a similar distrust in the Headmaster.

She was discharged from the Hospital Wing on Thursday evening, just in time for dinner. She followed the tide of students heading to the Great Hall. Somebody with greasy, black hair was walking a few paces in front of her.

She hadn't really interacted with Snape at Hogwarts in this time. Indeed her time as a student under him was the closest she'd ever gotten to the man. Why had he asked her that question in the dream?

She now remembered vividly, the details. Everything except the part about Snape was clear to her. But what she was really interested in was how he had managed to contact her.

It hadn't been just a dream, she knew.

"Hey!"

She looked around from her perusal of the Slytherin and found Lily running up to her. Some Gryffindor girls had been with her, and now she was ditching them to be with Hermione; it was a wholly new concept to her-close female confidence.

She smiled as best as she could.

"How do you feel? Is your head fine? Are you dizzy?" Lily asked, rapid-fire.

"I feel fine now, thanks for helping me back to the castle."

Suddenly Lily threw her arms around her. She caught her easily, and hugged her back tightly. They were both within an inch of each other's height and of similar build.

Lily's face split in a wide smile. "I was so worried!" She stopped and pulled her by the arm into a nearby classroom.

"You didn't wake up like, ever."

"I guess it was a bit much," Hermione said with a small smirk. Lily slogged her in her upper arm.

"Don't joke about it. What if it had been ... you know, serious? It obviously was, but you seem fine now."

Hermione held up her hands in surrender. "I'm fine now-more than fine. But that doesn't mean it wasn't serious. We have some things to discuss."

"Come to the Heads dorm with me after dinner. Now, lets go and have some food."

They walked together to the Great Hall, talking about the assignments that Hermione had missed. Lily offered to work together for some of the projects and she agreed. It had been difficult, when she had originally been a student, to have someone as quick as Lily to discuss homework, and how much deeper it went than gaining grades.

She thought less and less about Lily as Harry's mother and more as a friend every moment she spent with her.

They were still talking when they sat and piled food on to their plates. Seated near them were Lily's other friends who were looking as if they wanted to interrupt, but were unsure about how to break the camaraderie that was apparent between the two.

"Granger, good to see you vertical," James said, from his seat near Lily. There was no one between them, but some space had been left, a good few inches.

"Potter," Hermione nodded to him.

A clanging sounded and everyone looked at Sirius who had knocked over a tumbler of pumpkin juice. James snorted and looked at Remus who was smiling at Sirius in a bemused sort of way. Peter guffawed loudly.

"What's wrong with you, Black?" Lily asked.

Sirius looked mildly angry as he mopped up his collar which was splashed with juice. Then he looked up and grinned. "Whatever could be wrong with me? I'm perfection incarnate."

Hermione's lips twitched as she remembered a blond who used to be similarly conceited about his own awesomeness. Surprisingly enough, the memory inspired warmth instead of the usual pain. She was so startled by her own emotions that she missed Sirius asking her, in stuttering phrases, whether she felt better and would be up for an actual Hogsmeade weekend in a few weeks time.

It was Lily's hissed admonition that brought her back to dinner.

"- shut your trap, Black! Didn't I tell you not to impose yourself on her? Honestly, its like your head turns every which way when you 'want some!' "

"What're you saying?" Hermione asked her.

James ducked his head and tried to hide a smile. " Just her usual put-down of my mates."

Hermione looked at the red-head in question. When Lily just shrugged, she hummed in response and they both smiled after a while.

The others around them looked at the wordless exchange with mixed expressions. James actually looked slightly jealous, while Remus smiled and Sirius looked like he wanted in with the girls but was somewhat hesitant when he did not even know what was being talked about, apart from the obvious fact that Lily. Wanted. Him. Away. From. Hermione.

They'd all underestimated the famed Black madness, though, and how it could be turned into laser focus onto whatever said Black wanted.

Whether it was power or money or fame, or even something as easy as sex - due to his mad family being extremely attractive, and that was something that he appreciated, he really did - Sirius was sure he could entice Hermione into ... well, whatever struck his fancy when that happened.

After he got past Lily, of course.