Characters and locations from the Magical World of Harry Potter.
There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go. ~Tennessee Williams
The broadest, and maybe the most meaningful definition of volunteering: Doing more than you have to because you want to, in a cause you consider good. ~Ivan Scheier
What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. It is always the same step, but you have to take it. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939, translated from French by Lewis Galantière
The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keeps out the joy. ~Jim Rohn
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Dumbledore stood hunched before him. His withered hand was clutching desperately at his still wet robes. His face remained benign even as he whispered please.
The astronomy tower was deathly still, the bitter air of the Scottish sky biting at the tears clinging to his face, bringing them to his somewhat shocked awareness. Slowly, every detail of the night fell still, as time manoeuvred deftly, warping around the two men and stopping the scene for the cold distant stars that shone down in witness.
The please seemed to elongate. It echoed in every whisper of wind, not ending as Severus looked on at the man he had always, always trusted- with Lilly's life, with her sons, with his own, and his wand arm rose as grief swelled to hatred.
He awoke with the flash of green light blinding him, before an old, dusty and dark bedroom greeted his eyes; flooding his senses with smells of mildew and something stale and unfamiliar. Bringing his breathing into focus he settled his occlumency shields in response to the stabbing pain at his temples making itself known as his heart rate slowed.
That would be the whiskey.
He let himself un-tense on the mattress beneath him as his mind replayed the events of last night, safe now behind his shields. He witnessed his thoughts, allowing them to bubble up to the surfaces before dissipating without comment or judgement. Separate completely.
Why was he here? He had delivered her research, he had passed on the notebook for correspondence, that's all he had wanted. Then he had made sure Narcissa wasn't exposed to Skeeter, or done his best, given the interfering witch had put him in the situation in the first place. Now he had agreed to research Caligula, and that was fair, it was logical and it allowed him to keep his distance from the unsteadying young witch. So why had he rushed in, drunk, and foolishly played the rescuer? More importantly, what was he still doing here? It was not too late to return to his hovel, where isolation beckoned it's safety. What would he get himself embroiled in next, if he stayed? The questions mounted with the wave of anxiety that swelled outside his shields, and he did his best to make himself numb once more.
Outside the faint trill of bird song belied the darkness of the dawn clad room; and slowly he rose, back and knees creaking nearly as much as the mattress protesting beneath him.
Still deep within his shields he descended the decrepit spiral staircase, softening his footfalls as he spied the still, sleeping form of Hermione Granger. She'd apparently slept on the sofa and as if from far away a flicker of guilt fought against the anxiety threatening to swamp his shields, before it simply dissipated.
He stood for a moment, in the faint light of dawn, staring blankly down at the woman who had somehow lured him from his self imposed isolation. He knew he should be making his way to the door before she woke, but he stalled. He silently took in the scene, as though stealing the moment away to take with him, eyeing the tea-cup on the low coffee table, the scarring on her outreached arm, and then double taking, as he examined the tattered yellow envelope flattened just inches from her fingertips, recognising the inky script he was reading far too much of recently.
WWW radio Potterwatch - find magical radio
Find a way to contact Beauxbatons
Find a way to contact Minerva ( H. reg)
Buy days' newspapers
Brief Kingsley. (Also ask what the **** he was thinking)
Emelda Frey - Civic affairs. Narcissa dinner invitation?
Was Granger capable of functioning without a list of some sort?
The thought flitted through his shields, but brought with it a dampened amusement and slight comfort that startled him. He re-read the list and supposed that tasks to complete, orders to follow, were close enough, almost, to the recipe of a brew. Severus reviewed the list and let logical conclusions trickle into place, noting the combination of points, calculating the implicit instructions. She was going to Hogwarts. His shields shuddered further, as a disquieting thought bubbled, grew, and then refused to dissipate. He was in a position to offer further help. His eyes strayed once more to the exposed forearm of the sleeping woman, where her sleeve had rode up and the word mudblood screamed out in angry ochre scarring upon otherwise creamy skin. Reaching into the pocket of his cloak, he retrieved his tonic and downed the blue liquid while he steeled himself for the possibility of several long distance apparitions.
"Hangover potions are cheating" Hermione sound out, still emerging from the depths of sleep with half a yawn before shrugging upwards into a seated position. "Although, I haven't seen a blue hangover potion before. Is it your own?"
Severus pushed the rush of anxiety firmly beneath his shields, wandlessly vanished the vial and damned himself for not leaving when he'd had the chance. He crisply turned from the witch moving to the divan opposite, dispensing the dust from its surface with a distracting flourish while he ignored the faint horror of being caught standing over her while she slept. He then recalled her question and did his best to obfuscate.
"Awake less than two seconds and already asking questions. Truly astonishing." His voice was even, and lacked the emotion to make the remark vitriolic,and yet it hit its mark.
Hermione woke gradually, and blinked at the brief cloud of dust. The man before her was all stiffness and silence, and she cringed for a moment at the feeble joke, taking a moment to adjust. This was a sober, far more reserved Snape, a different breed from the laughing one of last night, and apparently to be approached with greater care. For a brief moment, she wondered at the small sense of loss she felt, before she remembered his parting words last night. I don't require the same approach you showed Creevey, You've already secured my cooperation. Hermione became aware of the awkwardness between them settling as she floundered for words.
"Thank you, for bringing me here, and your cooperation. I'm sure you have plans to get back to, or, uhm, if you were going to begin the research, I'll keep the journal on me." Hermione faltered, doing her best to remain polite while offering him an exit from the entire awkward situation.
Snape sat completely still, confusion flaring up as he bristled at the obvious suggestion he should depart.
"I had thought you would require assistance with side-along apparition" he replied, cutting off his emotions once more behind his occlumency shields, ensuring that nothing resembling hurt or dismissal remained in his mind.
"Oh, er, right. If it isn't any trouble." Hermione faltered slightly, sleep clinging to her thoughts as she tried to remember any fixed plans for where she was supposed to be, feeling decidedly put on the spot. Glancing down at the flimsy robe beneath her leather jacket, her mind fixed on its first coherent thought. "I do need to retrieve my bag from Luna…" Hermione trailed off at the look he shot her, straight out of her memories from the classroom which seemed to ask if she was completely trollish.
"You want to return to the address where the ministry is waiting for you?" He slowly enunciated and Hermione was sure that only his damaged vocal chords stopped a scathing level of acrimony from eviscerating her immediately.
"No! Of course not! Luna will be at her Father's by now."
She watched as Snape absorbed this information, and tried to assess why he seemed so distant. His face was closed off, and he nodded at somewhere in the mid distance.
"It still seems highly likely her whereabouts are being observed, but the point is moot." Severus turned towards her once more, continuing; "I don't know of her father's residence, in order to apparate."
Severus watched as Hermione took her turn to nod, and he catalogued the way she swallowed, fidgeting slightly before looking away once more.
"I suppose it's okay then."
Severus waited several beats for her to ask again, before breaching the awkward silence once more.
"I thought it was your intention to visit Hogwarts?"
"What?" Hermione faltered at the question that came so left of field.
"I understood you wished to contact Minerva." It was not a question, and Hermione let her eyes glance to the yellow envelope still sitting on the low table before her where she had scribbled a few late night amendments to her plan of attack, and cringed. Snape glanced at the witch once more and wondered if he had perhaps misinterpreted. A part of him was disappointed and he realised he had somewhat relished the possibility of her actually asking him for help outright. He immediately began to double back, as though to defend his conclusions.
"Minerva will be able to make contact with Bueaxbatons, I assume for Mr Creevey's education, and she will also have kept abreast of all news publications pertaining to the marriage law. Further, I believed it was your intention at some stage to examine the Hogwarts register." Severus caught the surprise flit across Hermione's face and he remembered that beyond her own shorthand, he had gleaned that information from reading her duplicated notes. Pressing on to obscure the moment, he continued.
"I will also find the visit beneficial; I had a sapling of Caligula delivered to the Hogwarts greenhouses. I will need to retrieve it to begin my research."
This was not entirely true, and Severus ruthlessly suppressed the thought of another sample sitting in his own lab, strengthening the cold of his shields so as to stop him reflecting on what he was getting himself involved in, or worse still, why.
Hermione felt a pang of panic as his logic piled up against her and she remained silent. She didn't know how to admit to Snape, and herself really, that she had been putting off seeing Hogwarts again.
"I had planned to simply owl Minerva". She quietly replied, tugging at the sleeves of her jacket as Snape slowly raised an eyebrow, fixing her with another 'are you a dunderhead' stare.
"That seems like the less expedient option. How much of what you need to ask can be risked in writing, should your missive be intercepted?"
Hermione began to bristle despite herself. He was infuriatingly logical and worst of all, right. The sinking feeling of dread seemed to envelop her and for a moment, she considered voicing the shameful feeling and pleading that she hadn't been back to the school once during the restoration, not for any of the memorial services, not at all since the night she had seen so many killed.
But Severus sat stiffly before her and the awkward tension in the air stifled her complaint. If he were willing to return to the place he himself had almost died, in the advancement of her research, how could she shirk the task?
She had no real plans on how to proceed for the day, beyond the small assemblage of objectives that he had already deftly corralled into possible achievement in one fell swoop.
"Okay. Hogwarts then." Hermione said the words quietly and rose from the sofa, gathering her satchel and the crumpled envelope from the low table. Severus said nothing as he watched Hermione capitulate with quiet resolve and only the strength of his occlumency shields stopped him from worrying the issue of her strange reaction over in his mind. He shook the curiosity off and rose to his feet, attempting to clear his mind once more. He walked towards the front door without a glance behind him, assuming she would follow, and the small niggle of self deprecation refused to abate. He had meant to escape her, to return to his solitude, and had proved so incapable of turning his back on even the slightest camaraderie that he had actively embroiled himself further. He did his best to convince himself that he was aiding a worthy cause, and that it was time for him to commit fully to his penance, but found himself remembering the laughter of the previous night, and scowling as he brought the shields down furiously into absolute numbness once more.
On the doorstep outside, the Parisian street was slow to rise into the movement of the early sun, it's cobblestone streets empty, the road devoid of cars and only the faint twill of birdsong dispersing the silence. Hermione met the dead, resonating stare of Severus Snape as he extended his arm to her. For half a beat, she wondered what had happened to the man she'd sat so comfortably with last night, and why he was so intent on helping her, then her hand gripped the sinewy muscle of his forearm and she was squeezed into the distorting whirl of disapparition, cognisant only of the fact she trusted him.
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Emmanuel entered the dinghy shop front of Slug and Jiggers, pushing past the door now heavily posted with an array of signs stating they were out of all forms of contraception, love and lust potions, and suggesting that their customers simply bugger off. The store had just opened, seemingly, and the counter was empty as the shop displays and jars magically floated out of storage and into place, while the old bronze register rattled loudly, gold silver and bronze coins rattling as they counted themselves. Nearing the counter and ringing the small bell for assistance, Emmanuel shifted his cloak around him and tried to marshal some patience into his demeanor.
They had lost Hermione Granger last night, and Burges was less than happy. His team remained at the Parisian address of Luna Lovegood, but it was increasingly unlikely that Granger would return. The search would have to start from scratch and Theodore Burges' patience was not well known. It was just as well he'd placed his order when he had, and that Non Ducor Duco took only three days to mature. Failing at mastering his patience, he rang the small bell again.
"Alright, Alright, I'm coming. Keep your hair on! You better have read the signs, we've no love potions, no lust potions, no contraception potions and if you've got questions you can bloody well- oh. Sorry to keep you sir." Mellard Fallow stopped short upon reaching the counter, hastily smoothing his greasy grey hair back from his face and adopting the closest thing he had to an appeasing smile.
"I did read the signs, amazing it's come to that for some people." Emmanuel made the required small talk to put the man at ease, still impatiently tapping his fingers along the counter.
"You'd not believe it sir. Some of the hags I've had in here. Witches that is, not that you'd tell the difference. Some weren't even muggleborns if you'd believe it."
"I suppose it's heartening to see so many rallying behind the new law." Emmanuel watched the old man's grimace at this and wondered at his sympathies.
"It certainly made this place busier." Mellard seemed genuinely irritated by this, and Emmanuel smiled more benignly, his suspicions acquiesced.
"I've come to collect my brew." He prompted, and watched the clerk withdraw a small vial from below the counter, the label around its neck almost dwarfing the glass completely.
"Here you are sir. There's enough here for three uses, that's all that could be gotten from the… sample you provided. That'll be 60 Galleons. Discount rate of course sir."
Emmanuel proffered the gold onto the counter, severely doubting the discount as he did so, and eyed the vial with glee. Three uses. That would be more than enough. Granger could run no longer, and Burges would be as close as he could physically be to happiness. Or, at the very least, forgiveness.
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Hermione didn't bother moving away once the unpleasant feeling of being squeezed through an infinitesimally tight tube had released her, and merely stood still, gripping Snape's arm as she waited for the world to shift around her once more. The close proximity heightened her awareness as the man beside her staggered slightly, and her grip moved automatically, clasping his arm tighter to steady him before shifting to peer up to his face.
Severus looked down into the concerned face of Hermione Granger as she clung to him, and felt his shields shudder, partly out of the sensation of pain wracking his form, and more prominently at the feeling of exposure, as she witnessed his weakness.
"Are you alright?"
Severus said nothing, focusing on his breathing and shutting out the witch beside him. Hermione turned her head to take in the vista she had largely ignored, and felt her eyes widen as she saw the expanse of deep blue sea and stark white cliffs that framed the grassy hills around them.
"Dover? You should break it into smaller jumps!" Hermione was well aware her voice was bordering on shrill, and knew that admonishing Severus Snape was far more outrageous than browbeating Harry and Ron, but her concern at the visible toll the apparition had taken on him gave her no pause. "At least take a minute to rest."
Severus felt his eyes drawn to where she still hung on to his arm, and started further when she let go, only to bring her shoulder to his side and wrap her own arm around the small of his back, as though to prop him up more substantially.
Were he not building up the occlumency shields that continued to defy him, he was sure he would have berated her for the presumption. Or so he told himself.
Hermione continued to look up into the reluctant face of the man who seemed somewhat more settled before his eyes met hers and she hurriedly looked away to the towering white cliffs. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted blue birds flying overhead, and heard the hum of her father's favourite tune. It was as a swift wave of melancholy began to overtake her that she felt Snape slowly and gingerly move.
If Severus did wrap his free arm about her shoulders, it was only to take a firmer grip, and he determinedly ignored the thoughts seeking to disrupt his shields once more. As he shifted them back into the black compressing tube of disapparition, both felt nothing but the press of the other.
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Ron sat in the back room of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, staring at the shifting photograph of Hermione that played over and over on the front page of the Prophet. The more he watched it, ignoring his now cold tea and the patent forms he was ostensibly overlooking, the more his emotions got the better of him.
He knew it was a farce. Hermione was not really marrying Dennis bloody Creevey of all people. He knew it was a part of her mad plan to take on the Ministry. He even knew that Hermione was not involved in the younger bloke.
He logically knew, despite the pain it caused to admit it to himself, that even if she was, he had no right to question or oppose it. They had broken things off and they were friends and the best he could do from now on was to work on not buggering that up.
But as he watched the photograph play on loop, noticing the small details of her face as she whispered in Dennis' ear, and the widening of her eyes as he caught her lips in an ardent kiss, Ron knew that what bothered him was the familiar look upon her face.
She did not look madly in love, nor in fact did she look particularly happy. She looked, despite her best attempts at acting he was sure, as she sometimes did when he had tried to instigate intimacy between them.
She looked, to him at least, as though she was humouring the younger wizard, merely accommodating him, and the familiarity of the look left him colder than the tea by his side.
He scratched absently at the still shiny burns that itched along his arm, as he did his best to reign in his emotions and contemplate everything with the distance of one watching a chess match at play.
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The spin of apparition deposited them with a loud crack that echoed against windy precipice of rock strewn cliffs, and Hermione found herself twisted against Snape, his arm still firm about her shoulders and hers clinging to his waist, but with her face now resting against his chest as her heart thudded and a breathy sigh escaped her. Her pulse thrummed and she felt a warmth fill her frame that defied her flimsy robe and the brisk chill of the wind around her. She daren't move, and looked out at what she dimly recognised as the Peaks district around them, before slowly peering up at the face of the man she was so inelegantly sprawled against.
Severus reeled as the crack felled his shields completely this time and the throng of emotions he had attempted to stymie swallowed him at once, the anxious need to push the woman away warring with the nameless desire to press her closer still. Hermione looked into Snape's face and watched the burning expression that rested there, so different to the one of distance he had worn just minutes ago. She wondered momentarily at the shocked, almost scared look that lingered around his eyes, before the long dark lashes closed and she was hurtled once more into the press of disapparition that she was this time unprepared for.
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Percy sipped his tea, thrumming absently through the Prophet with a frown as the throng of the mailroom around him discussed only the cover. He supposed it was a rather sensational photograph, but yet again, the lack of interest his co-workers displayed in the implications of the marriage law shocked him. Page 5, while not nearly as entertaining as the celebrity story, announced two of the first marriages to occur under the law, both ministry officials whose parents were muggleborns. Percy's frown grew deeper as a new furrow of owls swept through the room, and an errant dropping made its way into his half-finished tea.
He sighed, vanishing the brew, his only solace the fact that the influx of mail was overwhelmingly addressed to just five ministry officials, and the screening process of the wizards around him was obviously being distracted by idle gossip. He rather uncharacteristically hoped there was something far worse than undiluted Bubotuber pus hidden amongst the envelopes, and ventured back into the central office of administration services without, for once, berating his staff for their negligence.
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The Crack that heralded their landing was deafening, and the stumble of Severus was more pronounced than his generally graceful movement should have allowed for. Hastening to find his footing, he drew a breath of relief as the movement extracted Granger safely and finally away from him. His thoughts clamoured for his attention and he felt for a moment hopeless, memories of apparating to this very spot in similar disarray and pain bombarded him. He firmly clenched his fists and refused to lose control again with the witch still closer than he would prefer. He needn't have bothered. Hermione looked up at the gates in front of her and the sudden urge to be sick seemed separate from the apparition. All thoughts of the fleeting, yet lingering embrace were gone as she looked on at the familiar lead up to the castle, and felt her throat struggle to close around her shallow rapid breathing. She couldn't do this.
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Vera Lynn: 'White Cliffs of Dover':
"There'll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow, just you wait and see
There'll be love and laughter
And peace ever after
Tomorrow, when the world is free"
As always thank you for your reviews. I enjoyed reading how many of you begrudgingly admired and/or still hate Rita Skeeter, and loved that some of you enjoyed the references to Eliot. Also I didn't get any hate for once! On that note, I'm anticipating some for the repeated references to Severus' occlumency walls. I'm aware he's not preparing himself against anyone who would use legilimency on him, but from his own description about controlling the mind and ones emotions, I can see him resorting to his shields as a means of defence. I also quite like the idea that he's a little rusty at it. Drinking away your life doesn't tend to keep your mental faculties in focus.