Watchmen

   “But you got to be able to fix that!”, pleaded the man, in tears.

 

   They stood waist-deep in cold water that rose with every second. It stank like sewage and all kinds of slimy and hairy heaps were gliding along the surface, spinning around them. She could have sworn to have seen a dead crow floating some feet ahead.

b

   “You have to, Miss Granger. You have to! Don’t you see?”

 

   He pointed at the thick pipe that was hardly visible in the cesspool that once had been a bright kitchen. From its end, a head with little hair appeared, shoulders, a stomach – within seconds, the corpse with slightly translucent but parchment-like skin reached the surface that already stood to her chest. Even worse, she had to find the body not being dead at all. Its eyelids had melted down and the crooked yellow teeth inside the lipless mouth gaped. Clack! They fell shut. Clack! And had opened and shut again. The sound penetrated her ears, becoming louder as the undead monster drew near.

 

   “Miss Granger! Break the cup!”

   “But my parents are dentists!”, she muttered “I never learned to be a plumber! And which cup!”

   “Break the cup, Miss Granger!”

   “But how!”

 

   Smack! The corpse had reached out and given her a clap around the ear. Laughter ringing in her head. Her cheek hurt and even though it had happened about two months ago, her brain felt like exploding for a some seconds.

 

   “Be quiet, you intolerable hussies.”, immediate silence. “Now will you wake up at last, Miss Granger? Don’t give me such a look.”, McGonagall huffed.

   “Have you – have you just – slapped me, Professor?”, Hermione blinked, trying to sit up.

   “Indeed, I have. After what happened to be the fiftieth try to wake you. Not even those immaturities you call your roommates could tear you from your wondrous – ”

   “Nightmare.”, she panted, realising that she was covered in sweat, which was as cold as though she had actually stood in that water.

   “What was that?”

   “A – nightmare – ”, moaned Hermione.

   “Not you as well!”, McGonagall shrieked, noticing the fact Hermione just had.

   “What?”

   “Now get up!”

   “Alright, alright!”, but she was way too dizzy. “What do you mean by `as well´, Madam?”, she asked, robbing her eyes and cheek, trying to see the flushed girls encircling her bed in the wand-lit room; otherwise it was all dark.

   “You will hear, if you follow me. The Headmaster wishes to see you.”

   “Me?”, Hermione gasped, finally seeing that her Head of House; wearing a dressing gown over her nightshirt and her braid being a total mess; looked like she hadn’t had any sleep at all. “What time is it anyway?”

   “Five minutes to six o’clock in the morning and your holidays haven’t started yet. So grab your legs and follow me, before Professor Umbridge turns the entire school upside-down.”

   “Behind Ethesa Lawnhatch.”, Hermione mumbled when she put on her slippers and took the first cloak she could get hold of from her trunk, as well as her wand and marched off.

   “I beg your pardon?”, McGonagall followed her outside and down into the common room.

   “I said, behind the portrait of Ethesa Lawnhatch.”, she repeated when passing the empty chairs and sofa. “Just one landing down. There is a secret passageway leading right up to a tapestry door next to that Gargoyle statue.”

   “And how would you know about that one?”

   “I just know.”, the girl moaned and two minutes later McGonagall could actually already speak the password without having had to move all around in the Grand Tower and several corridors.

   “Fizzing Whizzbee.”

 

   Still robbing her eyes every few seconds and having an urge to vomit at the taste in her mouth, she felt the cold crawling up her sweat-soaked pyjamas. A very familiar voice raged from behind the door.

 

   “Are ye mental?”

   “Certainly not.”, Dumbledore spoke calm, but loud enough to be heard.

   “How can ye le’ ’im ou’ o’ Hogwarts? Ter Grimmaul’ Place?”

   “He is as secured here as he is there. If Voldemort already managed to – ”

   “Bu’ tha’s tha poin’ isn’ it? ’E knows wha’ Hogwarts’s like. If ’e sees tha’ ’ouse – ”

   “Then I think, your part in this is clear, don’t you as well?”

   “No.”, it was not unknowingness, it was refusal.

   “Then why note yourself that we became vulnerable if you – ”

   “’Cause tha’s waste o’ time, tha’ is.”

   “I believe otherwise. If anyone can teach him to shield his mind perfectly, then you, Severus. After all – ”

   “Tha’s diff’ren’. Ye dun’ see. ’E’s go’ ’is mother’s lack in tha’ case.”

   “How can you be so sure? Have you not learned from the past? That you misjudged the boy before?”

   “Ye dun’ see, ol’ man!”

   “There is no space for objection. Harry has to learn Occlumency and I will not be the one to teach him. If Voldemort indeed notices the connection and switches it, I am afraid, we will lose everything. He will not be interested in getting you through him though. I am positive you can make up a story, should he find out and question you about your reasons for training Harry.”

   “Alrigh’.”, Snape said grim. “’S tha’ all?”

   “For the time being, yes.”, finally having unfrozen, McGonagall knocked in a rather strange way, “Do come in, Minerva.”, and entered the drab room with Hermione on her heels. “Ah yes, thank you! Severus, you may leave,”

 

   Snape was even more pale than ever and his hair was a nice chaos atop his black robe and cloak. All fury fell off at last when he spotted Hermione.

 

   “But stay available, please.”, Dumbledore finished; she was quite surprised to see him sitting on his desk, rather than behind.

   “I’ll be at St Mungo’s. I know Nagini. Maybe I can help Hippocrates with the antidote.”

   “I more thought of taming our guest from the Ministry. You may write Mr Smethwyck a letter; Fawkes will deliver it for you.”

   “Then prepare him on a busy day.”, murmured Snape. “A venom cannot be discussed through a single inch of parchment. It could though, if they hadn’t placed Francis in the wrong department. He’s much easier to work with. Less of a dickhead.”

   “Very well.”, the Headmaster sighed.

   “So PP’s upset?”, asked Hermione, her arms crossed, ignoring the snort she received from McGonagall, as well as Dumbledore’s curiosity.

   “`PP´, Miss Granger?”

   “St Mungo’s? Nagini? Connection? Occlumency for Harry? Waking me from a stupid nightmare at six o’clock in the morning? What’s that all about!”, she snapped, only looking at Snape.

   “Tell her, Albus.”, suggested McGonagall. “That is what you let me bring her for, isn’t it?”

   “That is a really interesting nightmare you had there, Miss Granger.”, meant Dumbledore.

   “Hey!”, she hissed. “I request taking part in Harry’s lessons!”

   “Not while a slap in the face could still wreak havoc. Minerva, I advise you to desist from methods like this. Considered Miss Granger’s physical condition, such, might kill her.”

   “Pardon me?”, the woman’s eyes travelled between the two.

   “Please go back to sleep, Minerva. You look dreadful.”, said Dumbledore.

   “I am perfectly fine. A cup of – ”

   “Do as he says.”, Snape growled. “As you heard, he is not in the mood for, what was it? Ah yes, objections.”

 

   McGonagall merely puffed, turned on the spot and left the office without closing the door. That fell shut gently at a wave of Snape’s hand.

 

   “And what is this going to be, if you may tell me?”, Dumbledore frowned at him over his half-moon spectacles. “Didn’t I ask you to leave?”

   “You asked for me to stay available.”

   “Very entertaining.”

   “I will not leave you alone with her. Didn’t I say that her brain is not in the constitution to stand constant penetration?”, his eyes drilled into hers, waking a strange, cosy sensation, just as though she was back in her bed, kept warm, without nightmares.

   “Ah well, you may put down this shield, Severus. I promise I will not mean her harm, if you enlighten me about that physical condition of hers, you do so carefully mention.”

   “Rather I’d die.”, he said determined, not taking his eyes off hers; Hermione blushed.

   “Excuse me?”

   “I promised not to tell. You know very well that I will not break my honest promises if it is possible for me to keep them in at least an exiguous way.”

   “Fine, then. Miss Granger, if you would sit down please,”, he offered her the empty chair in front of the desk when he raised and walked around to his own throne-like.

 

   Unable to avoid a yawn, Hermione held her hand on her mouth to cover it while she slouched over and did as he said. Now she became really tired and shivered. For whatever reason, the fireplace wasn’t lit. The only light in the room came from various candles on stands around them, higher up. The feeling nearly made her jump. Even Dumbledore looked startled by the act: Snape had thrown his cloak over her as soon as she sat and held it onto her shoulders from behind. That touch of his was even warmer than the fabric he had worn.

 

   “Since when do you show such care towards a student of yours, Severus?”

   “Since it has been your habit to do the opposite.”, Snape replied harshly.

   “I am not – ”

   “Nor am I in the mood for arguments.”, he snarled into his words.

 

 

~~#~~

 

 

   Thick snow was falling from the sky. Actually she had accepted to stay at Hogwarts for the first three days of the wondrously early starting holidays and then go to London by train with the others. Now she was holding a letter in hand. She would be dropping it in the first post-box she came across since owl travels weren’t safe anymore, especially into and out of the school. A little sad that she wouldn’t spend Christmas with her parents again, she slipped the envelope into her shoulder bag, buttoned up the coat, put on her earmuffs and gloves and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Then – she nearly collapsed. She had forgotten how heavy her trunk was with all the books, but she wouldn’t let any of them behind, not with Umbridge roaming the castle.

   Sighing, she pulled her wand and levitated the trunk into the empty common room; where she picked up Crookshanks; and through the portrait hole. People hadn’t at all bothered coming ba#ck upstairs, but went outside into the snow right after the last classes. Even the tower was empty. Having the strange feeling that she had missed some very important information, she made her way down into the Entrance Hall – alone. It was like the school had been evacuated. Therefore she startled when she saw the tall man with short ash-blond hair and beard leaning at the door in the closed oaken front gates. He wore a black winter cloak over a grey suit and held a broom in hand.

 

   “Miss Granger?”, he asked with a very coarse voice.

   “Yes?”, she answered hesitantly.

   “Dirk Cresswell.”, the man offered her his hand when she had closed up.

   “Hello. Wait – I know you – Goblin Liaison Office?”

   “That’s right.”

   “Dumbledore said, someone from – well, someone would wait for me in Hogsmeade. I didn’t expect to – ”

   “Don’t worry, I’m in the Order.”, he whispered and winked. “Now. He changed the plan. Thought, it’d be better if I’d picked you up here already so you wouldn’t be going anywhere alone.”

   “Do you happen to have any assumption why the school is – so empty, Sir? I mean, okay, I know some people went outside, but aren’t – ”

   “I happen to have an assumption, yes. They’re obviously busy watching the mess in the East Wing.”

   “Mess?”, Hermione frowned.

   “One of your teachers picked me up with the message from Dumbledore. Lent me his broom.”, he brandished with the broomstick. “Said, he’d be sending Peeves for a nice little distraction so that Umbridge twerp wouldn’t catch you.”

   “Who was it?”, she chuckled, guessing the answer already.

   “Strange guy. Was a year above me in school and different House. Always best marks but a bit of a trouble maker. Obviously hasn’t given up on that. Now come on, before she gets Peeves under control; though I hardly reckon she can, if you know what I mean.”

   “Sure. Er – we aren’t going to fly to London, are we?”, Hermione moaned.

   “Oh no, no. Just down to Hogsmeade. Then we’ll take the Knight Bus.”

   “Good. I’m not too much in for flying on brooms.”

   “Ah – that’ll go by. They consider me a good flyer. You’d not even notice that we took off and you’re on the ground already. C’mon.”, Cresswell attached her now light trunk to the broom and climbed the stick. “I hope, you don’t mind holding on to a man,”

   “Not yet.”, she smiled mischievously and mounted the broom behind him, carefully holding to his waist with one hand, surprised that Crookshanks remained calm between her other arm and her chest.

   “Good, now. Ready?”

   “Yes.”, though her stomach did an odd twist.

   “Here we go!”

 

   Cool air rushed past them as they flew through the corridors and out between windowless arches at the first possibility. Snowflakes hit her face and she considered it would be better if she kept her head in the wake of his back. The sky behind the clouds was already slightly darkening when they flew over the lake. A humming noise and the feeling of being squeezed through a bubble startled her. They had passed the barrier with full permission and were now heading directly towards the snowy roofs of Hogsmeade.

   Smoke rose from the chimneys and some people could be seen outside, wandering between the old houses. But Cresswell landed far down the street, right by the front door of the Hog’s Head. Immediately the barman was at one of the dusty windows and pulled a curtain aside to see what was going on outside. They greeted one another with a short wave and nod and the curtains were shut again. Her guide placed her trunk securely by a heap of snow and took a strange, small, silver-green bag with strings from a front pocket.

 

   “Mokeskin.”, he told her when the broom disappeared inside with ease. “Useful little things.”, the pouch was back in the pocket and the pocket buttoned securely. “Now. Let’s see whether they still have a seat for us.”

 

   Cresswell threw his arm sharply up and Hermione jumped at the trumpeting sound and a loud BANG. Out of nowhere, the purple triple-decker braked in the street, appearing far too big for it but still fitted in, somehow. Though Madam Rosmerta’s black cat Lilith that had meant to cross the street, protested loudly on the close escape. Her own didn’t even stir. A door sprung open and out stepped a thin young man in a uniform that strangely reminded her of a postman, but fitted the colour of the bus.

 

   “Welcome to the Knight – ”, he started but was cut off harshly.

   “Oh save it, Stan. We know what we’re using.”

   “Right, right. Then get in – Mr Cresswell, isn’t it?”

   “Better not boast about it.”

   “Course. Feel at home, then.”

   “Thanks.”

 

   He searched for some Sickles while Stanley heaved Hermione’s trunk into the bus groaning heavier than the trunk was, placing it under two seats right in the front row. Hermione sat down by the window.

 

   “You’re dead yet, Ern?”, he panted. “Let’s go!”

 

   And Hermione was glad that she had taken the window-side seat. Cresswell could barely sit down before the bus jolted away already. The landscape was passing by so fast she could only see white and grey stripes. Purring on her lap, Crookshanks did his best to calm her.

 

   “Now where’re you wanna go?”

   “London, Hobgoblin.”

   “That Muggle pub in White Lion Street, right?”

   “Yes.”

   “Heard that, Ernie?”

   “Yep,”, said the driver.

   “Great. What’d you be doin’ there?”

   “Pickling frogs.”, Cresswell grunted grim just the blink of an eye before one loud BANG would startle her.

   “Okay, okay. ’T’s your business, I get it. And who’re you?”

   “Martha Townsend.”, was the first thing Hermione had in her mind, not knowing why she suddenly remembered a girl from primary school she had never even spoken to.

   “Never heard of you.”, Stan eyed her.

   “Well, now you have.”, Hermione replied briskly after another BANG and with a fake grin, having come to the conclusion that there was another way of transport she didn’t like.

   “And what’re you doin’ with Mr Cresswell here?”

   “I am the niece of a good friend of his and he offered me a job as an intern.”, Hermione bent over whispering just loud enough, feigning secretiveness. “We are going to the Ministry, but first we have to pick up my uncle from that pub. Auror undercover, you see.”

   “Oh – now I understand!”, Stan whispered back. “You look a little too young for a job as an – ”

   “She’s in seventh year and of age already.”, Cresswell hissed into the play. “Considers starting in my office.”

   “Know a bit ’bout Goblins, young Lady?”

   “They are respectable beings. If you treat them with mistrust but honest respect, you are in their favour.”

   “Yeah.”, Stan thought thoroughly. “Yeah! I never got along with them though,”

   “Well, then you obviously got it wrong.”, Hermione said snooty.

   “S’ppose so. Hang on – I’ve seen you somewhere before. Gryffindor?”

   “Ravenclaw.”

   “Really?”

   “Yes.”

   “’S that Umbridge still wreakin’ havoc?”

   “She is.”, Hermione sighed, but choked on the driver’s gnarling.

   “That old toady? I’d donate a year’s salary to the Auror Veteran Fund for a bucket of her blood to repaint Fudge’s house.”

   “That is not a wise thing to say aloud,”, she gargled.

   “You Ravenclaws and your wisdom.”, puffed Stan, yet joined into Ernie’s chuckling. “But damn. I coul’ swear, I saw you in Gryffindor uniform once. Or even – wait – weren’t you on the Prophet last – oy, new passenger! Hold on tight!”

 

   It was hard to do so, but Stan’s loss of topic was definitely worth it. Eventually the woman was in and paid for a ride to Bristol. Hermione noticed that they had already arrived somewhere in London, but she had never been to the specific place. Dusk had fallen over the snow-covered alley, the flakes being as thick as up in Scotland. A loud BANG, some very close manoeuvres and not even a minute later, there was another BANG and they arrived in a shop-crammed old street. Lights were on in the pub, but nobody was outside when they left the bus that departed with a last BANG.

   A hunk of a man with short, reddish brown hair and beard passed them in the crossing street, not paying attention to anything else than his way, home perhaps. Glad that the pavement was ploughed, Hermione pulled her trunk some yards, following Cresswell with Crookshanks trotting at her heels. Though Cresswell stopped, turned and saved her the trouble.

 

   “Thank you.”, she panted gratefully.

   “Not at all.”

 

   He smiled and they walked on through the cold. It was then that the other man turned as well. Hermione couldn’t help noticing the noise of his shoes scratching the ground and the stare from behind and looked back over her shoulder. There was something familiar to him, she considered. Something to his face. He strangely looked a bit like Harry, only more rough. His nose was different though, but even that appeared peculiarly familiar as well. And the way he gazed at her cat and then her pocket – Hermione did a short checking glance. The hilt of her wand stuck out.

   Then he looked past her, at Cresswell, who had abandoned walking like either. Her eyes travelled between the two men, wondering whether they knew one another. Cresswell seemed to be close to fainting, bizarrely stunned by the sight of that man. She could downright hear his heart pound at his throat. The stranger eyed him with growing interest, as though trying to break into his soul. A hand seized hers.

 

   “Come on. There’s no time for lingering.”

 

   Cresswell simply pulled her and her trunk down the street, past a bus stop. Hermione turned her head once more to see whether the other man followed them, but he had decided to walk on as well, yet not without a last glance himself.

 

   “Did you know him?”, she couldn’t miss the pause before he answered.

   “Yes.”

   “Is he – dangerous?”, another.

   “No. Not anymore. At least not to me.”, they approached a small park; Hermione recognised it and the buildings behind the leafless trees.

   “So he’s been dangerous? What did he do?”, Cresswell let go of her hand.

   “Nice story, there in the bus, by the way. Have to remember that a friend of mine has a niece called Martha Townsend now. But I don’t think you should ever take that bus again. Unless you can scratch yourself off Stan’s memory.”, Hermione giggled flatly and wiped a cold snowflake away which had landed on her nose, a little annoyed that some of her makeup got stuck on her glove. “Ever really consider working as an intern, or regularly after school, you know where to find me.”

   “Alright! Thanks!”, she chuckled, her thoughts still with the stranger. “I might just take up on that.”

   “Great!”

 

   They had crossed the deserted park and the buildings jumped to life, revealing another door without the notice of the inhabitants around. To her surprise there was some snow on the stairs and they had difficulties climbing them with the trunk. Without thinking, Hermione rang the doorbell – and earned a menacing glance from Cresswell and even that looked disturbingly familiar now. Had the bus deranged her brain?

 

   “Sorry.”, she mumbled and the door opened, revealing a flustered Mrs Weasley and the screams of Walburga Black.

   “Oh good evening, dear!”, she greeted Hermione with open arms and a warm smile that was far from her usual.

   “Good evening, Mrs Weasley.”, Hermione had difficulties to breathe.

   “And you too, Dirk.”, they shook hands after Mrs Weasley had let go of her.

   “Evening, Molly.”

   “For Christ’s sake! Shut up!”, Sirius bellowed behind her and she let them in.

   “You do not tell me off, you worthless lout!”, the portrait raged on and Cresswell squeezed himself past, abandoning Hermione’s trunk at the closed door. “I have given birth to you and all you can do is defiling this noble house with the scum you let in!”

 

   Like always, Sirius struggled with the curtains, loudly cursing the person that had painted her with a rather functional wand. Cresswell pulled his own, flipped it and simply stabbed it into her eye with some sparks emitting. Mrs Black let out an actual cry of pain and jumped out of her frame to some other painting in the house, her free hand on the eye.

 

   “Good gracious – how did you do that?”, Sirius aspirated, indeed amazed.

   “Natural talent, I suppose.”, answered Cresswell, but it wasn’t Creswell’s voice that spoke.

   “I knew it!”, Hermione yelped; Sirius tilted his head with a frown.

   “Not even able to escort a fifteen year old girl as yourself, Snivvy?”

   “Sixteen.”, Snape corrected him.

   “Pardon?”

   “She is sixteen. But of course you are incapable of getting hold of such information. Forgive me my brief lack of memory.”

   “You – ”, growled Sirius but found himself stopped by the tip of that black wand at his throat.

   “Nah, nah, you do not wish me to spoil this rotten house even more, do you?”, sneered the owner, ignoring the cat between their feet that seemed to be trying to persuade both to calm down.

   “Thank you for this charming defence, Professor,”, Hermione interfered with a tone as languid as his, “But I think I can live well with Sirius not knowing my birthday.”

 

   A little relieved, she saw him lowering his wand and turn to her with a snort. That he was looking like Dirk Cresswell was indeed abnormally odd. But right when Mrs Weasley opened her mouth for a word, he winced, clutching the fingers of his left hand with his eyes squeezed shut. Crookshanks dedicated more to his legs now.

 

   “’Is can’ be fer real – ”, he quietly huffed into space.

   “Not good.”, moaned Hermione.

   “My words.”, Snape sighed. “It seems, the second reason has to wait.”

   “Second reason?”

   “Positive is, he believes me to be at Hogwarts. Therefore I have a window of five minutes.”

   “How long until the effect of the potion wears off?”

   “Approximately half an hour,”, he gained breath again.

   “Absolutely not goo-”

   “No need to bother me, Miss Granger.”, he interrupted her likewise and reached under Cresswell’s suit and shirt for something she knew well by now. “I have learned from last year.”

   “Meaning?”, Mrs Weasley asked, watching him summon a small bottle containing some clear liquid with great interest.

   “That.”, he said and shortly raised the bottle when he had caught it.

   “Don’t tell me, you have found something that lifts the effect of Polyjuice Potion?”

   “I didn’t steal Dirk’s hair and clothes. I asked him for it in return for a favour I had done him. As it happens, there had been another favour. He was kind enough to tell me the secret of the Thief’s Downfall at Gringotts. Cheers.”

 

   Snape grinned very artificial and took a swig, shuddering momentarily. As if the appearance fell off him like water, seconds later he just looked like himself again, though about two inches taller, which affected the trousers and sleeves.

 

   “If nobody minds, I would like to use the bathroom. Don’t worry, Paddy. Other than you, I am domesticated. I will take your trunk to your room, Miss Granger.”, he easily picked up the big Crookshanks, levitated the trunk over the heads of the dumbfounded females and hurried upstairs.

   “Sycophant.”, Sirius snarled under his breath.

   “I have ears, rat-glutton.”

 

   Sirius gave the empty frame of his mother an irate glare. Mrs Weasley had reached the top of her confusion so far and Hermione fought against a fit of giggles.

 

   “He’s got a good point on that.”, she noticed, but Sirius just huffed, spun around and disappeared downstairs to the kitchen.

   “I will ask him to send Kreacher up to Harry’s room with some sandwiches.”, Mrs Weasley sighed. “Bossing the elf around gives him at least some satisfaction. Harry is with Buckbeak, dear. You might want to get him out of there before he – runs out of rats.”

   “Alright, Mrs Weasley. Until later, then.”, Hermione smirked bleakly and went up.

 

   Just when she turned for the stairs to the second floor, the bathroom door swung open. She instinctively jumped aside, so it missed her by about a foot. But he was visibly shocked when he noticed how careless he had been.

 

   “Sorry – are you all right, Miss Granger?”

   “Yes. No harm done.”

   “Good. Be careful.”

   “You as well, Professor. That suits you better, by the way. Better than that Cresswell’s clothes.”

   “Certainly.”, he was already one landing down when she stopped him.

   “Sir?”

   “Yes, Miss Granger?”

   “Um – will I be meeting you again before Monday?”

   “Quite likely, but I cannot guarantee.”, he raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

   “Well – otherwise – Merry Christmas.”

 

   Hermione blushed. For a moment he only gazed at her in the gloom, a strange glistening in his dark eyes. His lips curled with bashfulness.

 

   “Merry Christmas, Miss Granger.”, he replied in a soft whisper, then a flicker of a smile flashed over his lips and he was gone.

 

 

~~#~~

 

 

   Quick-witted, she rushed back out before the door could close and hurtled upstairs, a bit more careful past the sleeping painting behind the curtain and the umbrella stand, leaving it soundless in place as it should be. There was no time for thinking about manners or respect or anything alike. He turned with his right hand almost at the handle of the front door, when she grabbed his left wrist and pulled him further upstairs. Not prepared, he unwillingly gave in; then, her grip was too firm to resist without force that would have very definitely resulted in a disaster. Another door was torn open and she pushed him inside, shutting it behind and leaning to it so he couldn’t escape too easily. Totally disarranged, he stumbled towards the closer one of the two beds and nearly fell into it when he wanted to turn before he could stand straight. To prevent him from starting to think without her permission, she panted the facts in his face.

 

   “For the – urgently required – start of Harry’s – Occlumency lessons – it took you quite – a time – to come back here – and tell him – Sir.”, he just gazed at her, but seconds later he gave his head a short, composing shake, though not without frowning.

   “I have been busy.”

   “Busy. For seventeen days.”

   “The Dark Lord – he – ”

   “Yes?”, Hermione demanded brazen, crossing her arms.

   “He has been planning something and entrusted me with a rather difficult task. Believe me, if he had noticed that utmost questionable connection, I would know.”

   “Okay, I believe you, Sir. But planning something? What?”

   “May I remind you, that you are not in the Order,”

   “I am founder and part leader of an illegal student organisation that strives for being able to defend themselves against Death Eaters. I don’t give a damn whether I’m in the Order or not, to be honest, Professor.”, she replied cold and it surprised her to see him actually beaten.

   “You will – ”, Snape considered, “If it should work and Fudge isn’t silly enough to do everything to keep it from leaking, you will read about it soon in the Prophet.”, he sighed.

   “That’s all? I will read about it? He’s thrown you in some top secret mission, probably of mortal danger, and all you can tell me is that `I will read about it´?

   “You are not my mother, Miss Granger. I do not need to account for anything to you.”, he growled.

   “He doesn’t care about Christmas or New Year, does he?”, by the moment the moaned question had left her mouth, she realised how naïve it was.

   “He never put value in those. There are other purposes in his life, such one of our kind does understand as much as he understands why one of our kind might possibly put value in events like celebrating the birth of some chosen saviour that supposedly lived about two thousand years ago.”, a drab silence fell over the room, but Hermione broke it after less than a minute.

   “Have you had time to have Christmas, Sir? Or don’t you put any value in that either?”

   “There have hardly been any pleasant Christmases in my life so far, Miss Granger. I am used to not celebrating it, or the arrival of a new year full of frustration.”, Hermione’s head sank to her chest.

   “And this time?”

   “I could – smuggle myself away – a couple of days – for Christmas.”, he mumbled the confession and Hermione raised her eyes, first, then her entire head again, blinking.

   “Where have you been?”, she whispered.

   “That is private.”

   “Where.”, the girl insisted.

   “I have paid – an old acquaintance a visit.”, he quietly huffed to the worn off carped under his shoes.

   “Professor Karkaroff?”, was the first person that came to her mind.

   “No. He however sent me a Dreamcatcher.”

   “Charming.”

   “Oh yes.”

   “So he’s still in America?”

   “Again, I think.”

   “Who then? The man we ran into?”

   “Yes.”, he sighed, along with a stiff nod.

   “So?”, a tiny chuckle escaped her.

   “So?”

   “You’ve stayed there for – a couple of days, as you said. How was it?”

   “As expected – ”, he considered, blinking heavily at the corner. “And not – ”

   “And that is meaning?”

   “It is private, Miss Granger.”, Snape murmured.

   “Alright.”, she moaned, seeing that he actually held back some tears, and although that especially made her wonder who by all means that man was, she decided not to trouble her teacher too much. “I won’t ask again, sorry.”, by the annoyed glare he gave her on that, she had to laugh. “I know. I can’t always help it, Sir,”

   “It is fine.”, he shrugged her off. “Just – let me leave this house, please. I’d better prefer being at Hogwarts, exhausting PP, so she doesn’t keep too much of her holiday recovery.”

 

   Agreeing, Hermione stepped aside and opened the door for him, though stopped him on the threshold by reaching for his left upper arm, her right palm flat but gentle to it. She knew it was dangerous, but she couldn’t let him go, not with that mood. Her hand glided up to his neck while she did the missing step to his chest and laid her arms around him. It took some seconds, but he also put his arms on her back, their heads barely touching.

   Having no knowledge of how many minutes passed, they separated at last and with a weary smirk he paced towards the stairs. Shock shot through Hermione’s body, and even his perhaps, telling from the mutual stare they gave the girl who stood on the second-topmost stair to them.

 

   “Ginny – you – please – ”, Hermione aspirated, but the other girl seemed unimpressed. “Forget what you saw – it’s – nothing – really – ”

   “And what, that is nothing, am I supposed to forget?”, Ginny meant, costing Hermione some seconds of thinking before she realised that her friend wouldn’t boast about the occurrence.

   “Thank you.”, the whisper wasn’t Hermione’s.

   “For what?”, she played her part quite well.

   “For stepping aside.”, he noted and presented her with the faintest hint of a grateful smile before he literally glided downstairs, without a sound.

   “Ginny,”

   “What!”, she snapped, but continued in a quiet hissing tone. “I’m not stupid, you know? He’s stayed with you in the Hospital Wing. I can put one and one together. You’re obviously keeping some secret and it’s none of my business. Actually I’d be glad if you told him about the DA. The way he treats Umbridge, I have a feeling we might just need him as an ally. The more often you hug him, the better.”

   “Er – ”

   “I was joking.”, Ginny huffed. “I don’t care how you thank him. Just try not to do it in public. Others aren’t as detached, that much I can tell you.”

   “I know. So you also believe, we can trust him?”

   “No matter what the two – or rather three say, Crookshanks isn’t stupid.”

   “Crookshanks? What’s he got to – ”

   “I could see him jump up on Snape’s lap before Mum threw us out. If that cat trusts him,”

   “Yes.”, considered Hermione. “He’s been right about Sirius and Pettigrew as well.”

 

 

~~#~~