Chapter Text
Pulling her wool jumper over her head, Hermione walked over to the window and lifted the curtain slightly. It was another grey and gloomy day, and the rain beating against the glass obscured the treeline and the jagged edges of the mountain in the distance. She sighed.
Releasing the curtain, she marked an X on today's date on the calendar over the bed – her small way of keeping the days straight in her head. The landing was warmer than her room – he must already have started a fire in the sitting room – and the stairs creaked underneath her feet. She passed through the dining room, where books, maps and half-empty tea mugs littered the table, and into the sitting room. She found Snape – like most mornings – staring into the crackling fire with a steaming mug clasped in his hands. A pink scar peeked out from the bottom of his rolled-up sleeve, the only remains of the Dark Mark. He had burned it off as soon as they arrived, and sometimes she could still smell the burning flesh.
“Good morning,” Hermione said – as she always did – as she passed behind the sofa towards the kitchen.
He made a low noise in reply but didn't otherwise acknowledge her presence. She hadn't decided yet if she minded his non-verbal response or not. The smell of bacon and eggs still lingered in the narrow kitchen, and she found a plateful under a stasis charm on the hob. Fixing a cup of tea, Hermione brought both it and her breakfast into the sitting room. She made herself comfortable in the armchair and speared a piece of bacon with her fork.
It had been three weeks since Snape appeared at her parents' house in the middle of the night and told her to pack. Less than five minutes later he Apparated them to a safe house on the Scottish west coast, where they had remained ever since. Other than being Unplottable and Muggle-repellent, the small cottage was wrapped in so many wards Hermione could feel them humming against her skin. Once every two weeks, he donned a glamour so detailed there was nothing left of the dark Potions Master and Apparated to Inverness for groceries and other supplies, but otherwise neither of them left the house.
She hadn't expected the war to last this long. None of them had. After Sirius had been killed in the Department of Mysteries two years ago, Hermione had expected something to change. The Ministry had become aware of You-Know-Who's return and she had naively thought it was enough to change things. She had been so wrong. The following years had seen more Death Eater attacks, more hardship and more death. They had lost good people, people it hurt her to think too long about. Colin Creevey. Cho. Kingsley. Luna. Graduating Hogwarts hadn't been the celebration it should have been, with faces missing from the Great Hall and war brewing on the horizon.
Snape coughed, and she startled.
He was most fascinating to her. She knew he had defected from You-Know-Who sometime in his youth and was on the side of the Light, and though Harry had asked several times Dumbledore had refused to share the reason. Though Ron and Harry remained suspicious of his true motives, Hermione had never doubted Snape's loyalties. She'd seen the terror on his face when the Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade; when he helped her pull Colin's lifeless body to safety knowing they couldn't save him. No one was that good of an actor.
She put her empty plate on the table. “Thank you for fixing breakfast. What are your plans for today?”
He turned his face in her direction. His black eyes were intense, lips curled in a mocking sneer. “I thought I'd take a stroll around the garden, and then maybe pop over to Hogwarts for a cup of tea.”
“Don't snap at me.”
“Stop asking such asinine questions and I will.”
Hermione sighed and stood.
“I'm expecting an owl from Minerva later today,” he said, not looking at her. “Hopefully she will bring some news.”
“I hope so too.”
Hermione did the washing up – it was only fair since he cooked – and checked their supplies. He was due to go to Inverness tomorrow. She chewed on her lower lip. Maybe she could ask him to buy chocolate hobnobs. Also... she made some mental calculations. She should probably ask for tampons too. Just the thought of asking Professor Snape – never mind that he wasn't her professor anymore – to buy tampons made her cheeks flush.
-
She spent the rest of the day poring over books trying to find anything that could help Harry, but it felt like a lost cause. She had no idea what was going on outside the four walls of the safe house, what plans were being made. She felt beyond useless, and it was getting to her. She wasn't used to this. She was supposed to be right beside Harry: researching for hours and coming up with a plan that he would inevitably ignore but that would work out in the end.
The owl from McGonagall never arrived, and Hermione didn't want to think about the reasons why. By Snape's furrowed brow and snappier than usual demeanour, she gathered that neither did he.
After dinner, Hermione handed Snape the list she'd penned during the afternoon. “If you could purchase these items tomorrow, I'd much appreciate it.”
Snape accepted the list, and it disappeared into his pocket. When she didn't move, he raised an eyebrow.
“Was there anything else?”
“Are you going to attempt to contact anyone from the order while you're in town?”
Instead of the snapping reply she'd come to expect from him, he merely sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I might have to. That Minerva's owl didn't arrive is worrying, and I do not enjoy being kept out of the loop like this.”
“Me neither,” Hermione confessed, pondering. “Maybe you could – no, that's a stupid idea.”
“The only stupid ideas, Granger, are the ones left unsaid. Out with it.”
“I gave Harry a mobile phone for his birthday so we could keep in touch – I didn't think it was a good idea to have owls coming and going in a Muggle neighbourhood while I stayed at my parents'. I didn't manage to grab my mobile when you came to get me, but I have Harry's number memorised.”
Snape gave her an incredulous look.
“A mobile is-”
“I'm a half-blood, Granger, I know what a bloody mobile is,” he snapped.
Hermione blinked. She had assumed he was a Pureblood, like all Death Eaters. What else did she think she knew about him that wasn't correct?
“You want me to call Potter for information?” He sounded like he'd much rather have all his teeth pulled out if given the option.
“Yes. I doubt Volde- You-Know-Who,” she corrected herself at his glare, “is thinking to tap the phone lines. He doesn't strike me as caring too much about Muggle things.”
Snape nodded. “You would assume correctly. Very well, I will attempt to call Potter to gather any information about what is going on.”
She bit her lip. “If you reach him, could you tell him that I miss him and not to worry about me?”
He scoffed. “Because you're trapped in a house with a former Death Eater.”
Hermione's eyes narrowed. “No, because this is war and he's my friend. Friends worry about each other.”
Stomping towards the kitchen, she almost missed Snape's reply of, “I wouldn't know.”
-
It was another rainy morning, and Hermione huffed as she put another X on her calendar. She paused, noting her birthday was in less than a week. A myriad of mixed feelings came all at once. The previous year on her birthday she had been celebrated thoroughly, both at Hogwarts and by her parents. There would be no celebrations this year. No Hagrid hugging her so tightly she couldn't breathe. No awkward singing from Harry and Ron. No cake. No presents.
She sighed. She hoped Harry and Ron were safe, wherever they were. She didn't know which safe house they were in – if they even were in one. Hopefully they had remained at Grimmauld, where Harry still spent his summers.
Autumn brought a chill to the small cottage, and Hermione tucked her jeans into wool socks. At the foot of the stairs, she froze. An unfamiliar man stood by the front door, tall and robust with light brown hair and a plain face. Her pulse raced and her hand clenched the bannister. Where was her wand?
“Granger,” the man said in Snape's baritone voice.
Oh, right.
She cleared her throat and stepped down into the dining room. “Sorry, I forgot that was you. I thought-” she trailed off. “No matter.” She dropped her shoulders, body now relaxed when she knew it was Snape and not a Death Eater there to torture and kill them. “Be safe.”
He nodded shortly. The wide face and blue eyes looked wrong on him.
When he opened the door to leave, a gust of cold wind and the sound of rain entered the cottage. Hermione shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. As the door closed behind him, silence filled the cottage.
Even though Hermione knew Snape had a long walk in the rain ahead of him before he was able to Apparate, she envied him. She missed the air on her face, the smells and sounds of being outdoors and the warmth of the sun on her skin. At least she wasn't missing out on that last one at the moment. Dumbledore had ordered them to not leave the safe house other than to buy supplies or in case of an emergency, and they complied. What choice did they have?
After lingering far too long in the shower and having a quick breakfast, she set out to tidy the space. She shuffled the loose papers and books on the dining room table into neat piles until there was some semblance of order, but she didn't dare touch Snape's cauldron and potions supplies on the console table next to the stairs. She wondered – and not for the first time – the identity of the cottage's owner. The only reason she didn't suspect it was Snape was that he seemed as lost about where things were as she was. Then again, she reckoned the things she didn't know about him outnumbered the things she did.
Under other more pleasant circumstances she might have found the cottage charming: the flagstone floors were probably original, and she could feel the history of the wooden beams and rickety staircase. The sloped ceilings upstairs didn't bother her – though she had transfigured the lime green paint on the walls into a soft blue the first chance she got – and she enjoyed having the fire crackling in the sitting room.
If only there wasn't a war going on and she wasn't trapped there with a man who seemed to dislike her immensely.
If only she didn't resent being kept like a caged animal, pacing needlessly to find some sort of purpose to its existence.
If only the war would end.
If only.
Realising she stood in the middle of the sitting room like a statue, Hermione let out a frustrated huff. She needed to pull herself together. There was no time to fall apart. Not now.
-
Hermione was prepared for the sight of the brown-haired man entering the cottage – though there was still a brief moment of panic. Still, it was a relief when the robust man changed back into Snape. His hair was wet from the rain and the clothes he was wearing were now several sizes too big.
“The weather's shite,” he said, holding out a tiny plastic bag and waving a drying spell over himself when Hermione took it from him.
“I'll put on some tea,” Hermione said, turning towards the kitchen. Snape's trousers were barely staying on him and she didn't particularly want to see his pants.
She returned the bag to its usual size and started sorting through the purchased items. Merlin, she hoped he remembered her tampons. “Did you find everything?”
“Yes. Potter says hello, by the way.”
Hermione almost dropped the carton of eggs in her hands as she spun around. “You got ahold of Harry? What did he say? Is he all right? What about Ron? What about news of the war?”
Snape held up a hand. “Give me a chance to change clothes before you bombard me with questions.”
She busied herself with putting away the groceries – her face flushed at the boxes of tampons – and when Snape came back downstairs in his usual clothes she had put on a pot of tea and paced by the sofa.
“Potter is fine,” Snape said without prompting – probably scared she would explode if he didn't answer her questions with haste. “He seemed more concerned about you. I'm not sure if I should be offended by that or not.”
Hermione blinked. Was that a joke?
Snape fetched their tea while talking. “He and the two youngest Weasleys are at Grimmauld Place along with a handful of Order members. The rest of the Order are in various safe houses I do not know the location of. He wasn't aware of any deaths, but William Weasley was set upon by Death Eaters last week and was injured.”
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. “Will he be all right?”
“Eventually,” Snape said, pouring tea in their mugs taking a seat. “He was mauled by Greyback.”
Sitting next to him on the sofa, Hermione felt sick. She remembered Greyback from the attack on Hogsmeade; his pointed teeth dripping with blood – blood from people she knew – his wild gaze as he cursed and mauled and attacked.
“Apart from some nasty scars,” Snape continued, gesturing to his face, “he'll make a full recovery. Lupin and Nymphadora took him in.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin.” Her hand shook as she brought her mug to her mouth. She gripped the handle tighter. Taking a slow sip, she tried to will her body to calm down. Once the images of Greyback had faded from her mind, she spoke. “What else did he say?”
“Hogwarts has locked its doors, trying to protect the students; no one comes in, no one goes out. Albus is working with Potter on a way to eliminate the Dark Lord once and for all. He didn't offer many details.” There was a bitterness to Snape's voice and the set of his mouth.
“There wasn't any other news?”
Snape shook his head.
Hermione's heart sank. That was barely anything. It had been weeks, surely there must be something else? She was extremely relieved – and not for the first time – that her parents had moved abroad several months ago. If she had them to worry about too... She shook her head.
“I hate this,” she sighed, tipping her head over the backrest and staring at the ceiling.
Snape exhaled a chuckle. “You and me both.”
Hermione had no energy for words, so instead they sat in silence watching the fire burn out.