The Maid and the Master

A/N: Thanks everyone who reviewed so kindly!

The Maid and the Master


Chapter Two

Hermione woke the next morning to the delicious smell of Molly's cooking. Getting up from the little bed in which she had slept for the past ten years, she felt that each movement she made was bittersweet. Though the actions were nothing out of the norm, it would be the last time Hermione performed it in this manner. She sighed lamentingly, looking over at the cot opposite hers, in which Ginny was still sleeping in, her red hair was splayed all over her clean, lavender-scented pillow. Looking around her, Hermione noted every inch of the tiny room that she had shared with her sisterlike friend- down from the plain, scratched wooden floors to the old tin washing basin.

Getting her second-hand wand, she Aguamenti-ed some water into the basin and began to perform her morning ablutions. Some of Hermione's own salty drops fell into the bucket, but she didn't utter a sound, only continued washing her face thoroughly.

By the time she had dressed in her clean pinafore, Ginny had woken up with a great yawn. Immediately, the red-haired girl got up, the sleepiness fading at once as she remembered how this morning was different from all the rest.

"Mione, how am I going to endure life here without you to help me through the day?" implored the younger girl tearfully, clasping her friend's hand.

"Oh please, Ginny," Hermione said, half-laughing, "you're more than capable of holding your own against the rabble."

"Yes, but it won't be the same," Ginevra Weasley said stoutly, biting her lip. She considered Hermione her sister, after all. Still, the girl wasn't a very sentimental character, and she stiffened her upper lip. "Well, I've made you a present." Rifling around under her bed, she continued, "It isn't much, but I thought you might like it." Handing it to Hermione, Ginny stared at the brunette for a moment, then hugged her fiercely. "I love you, Mione."

The parcel forgotten, Hermione returned the hug, the tears burning her cheeks. "You know I feel the same way."

"You will write, won't you?"

"Every single day." Releasing each other reluctantly, the two girls went down to breakfast with heavy hearts.

*

The elderly gentleman who stepped out of the magnificent carriage seemed rather out of place in front of the rather imposing, unwelcoming residence. Dressed in a marvelous waistcoat of purple velvet, finished off by a sunny neckerchief and lemon pantaloons, he was a comical contrast to the dour granite house that had been designed more for necessity and comfort than for style.

He raised a gloved hand to the brass knocker, but before he had touched it, the grand mahogany door swung open of it's own accord.

"Ah, Severus, as timely as always," the gentleman chuckled.

"I am sorry to say that you, Albus, are not always the epitome of punctuality," spoke the owner of the aforementioned abode in a manner that insinuated that this characteristic was one that greatly aggravated him. "Come in."

"I thank you," Albus Dumbledore said gravely, though his blue eyes quite sparkled. The two men walked without speaking any more until they had reached the library.

"Would you like something to drink?" In the library, the most well lit part of the (for lack of better word) home, the strength of the firelight made the speaker visible. He was impressionable, but not by any stretch of the word, handsome. Unfashionably outfitted in mourning black from head to foot, the color lent an aura of funereal batlikeness rather more than austere grace. His linen was unvariably impeccable, but it was obvious that Severus Snape cared little about fashion.

The older gentleman was extremely different from the younger. With a look of general affableness that attracted everyone from animals to the most dour of men was coupled a sharpness and the most brilliant mind England had seen in centuries. Sometimes one forgot the keen glint in the kindly blue eyes, sheltered behind the pair of grandfatherly gilt spectacles, the youthful colors he chose to wear- but beyond doubt, Albus Dumbledore was not one should step lightly about.

"I wouldn't mind a nice mead," Albus nodded, taking a seat on a highly uncomfortable leather chair. As the other proceeded to pour a generous measure of liquids into crystal wine goblets, he continued, "Severus, what happened to the maid who used to work here? You haven't any servants left, not even a butler."

"The last maid was fired a week ago," Severus Snape said smoothly, an irritated light in his eyes as he handed his companion the mead and settled into a chair himself.

"They do seem to come and go, don't they?" Albus commented serenely, taking a sip from his glass . "Ah, this is rather excellent. Rosmerta's?"

The dark haired man nodded curtly in answer. "But we must talk about business. It is not going favorably," he said archly, his thin lips thinning to a point of invisibility. The amused, contented look on Albus Dumbledore's face immediately faded and was replaced with greatest concern.

"How have the nights passed within the serpent's lair?" he worded carefully, the blue orbs glowing like unnatural lamps behind the golden glasses.

"Terribly, Albus. Terribly." Severus drew his hand over his eyes, as if to blind himself of unbearable events he had witnessed. His normally silky voice seemed unravelled and vehement when he next spoke. "He is... doing unspeakable things."

"In the name of glory, I suppose," Albus Dumbledore said trailingly. Shaking off the faraway thoughts, he said, "The good news is, the Order is doing well. Many young men have been recruited, secretly of course... and only those who I trust implicitly."

Snorting into his whiskey, Snape responded with not a little acid, "Too young, Albus. Like that Potter boy- barely out of his nappies and he thinks he can wave a wand at the Dark Lord."

A dark cloud formed over the elderly man's face, contorting the congenial features into something frightening. "Do not speak so lightly of the young, Severus! We were all young once. And you are not so much older than the Potter lad, who is an honorable and strong lad."

Snape scowled. "I taught the boy everything worthwhile that managed to stick to his pea-brain. Which is a great favor to you, Albus... his father being what he is," he finished bitterly, throwing his goblet into the wall, where it splintered into many crystal pieces.

Albus made a saddened moue. "Waterford? What a shame."

"The new maid had better be here soon," Snape groused. "Now, Albus, get out of my sight. I don't need any more aggravation than I have already had today!"

Merely smiling, Albus Dumbledore said lightly, "Well, I shall. But Severus... with that kind of attitude, how will you expect to secure a pretty young witch, let alone an heir?" As he left the house, he could hear the distinct smash of crystal. Chortling and shaking his head amusedly, Albus said to himself, "Oh Severus, will you ever change?"

*

When the wagon rolled about in front of the Weasley's home, Hermione Granger was ready, at least in one sense of the word. Her bags had all been packed- all of the faded gingham dresses, the patched aprons, a few knickknacks here and there, some saved money and gifts from friends. It wasn't much, but all very meaningful to the young girl, and she clutched her things as though it would help her stay afloat in the frightening new world to come.

It was a beautiful autumn day, she thought wistfully. Perhaps, she and the female Weasleys might have been making apple butter that day. Or she would have gone frolicking about with Ron in the glowing green fields, the vermillion and gold leaves floating over them in a soft rainfall. She could just imagine Ron taking her in his strong, lean arms and kissing her until she turned crimson with embarassment.

With a sense of unreality, Hermione hugged the Weasleys goodbye, not able to look at any of them in the eye. Fred and George even seemed more solemn than usual, and actually gave her a kiss on each cheek. Ron wasn't present. She understood, however. It was better that way.

Clutching the shawl around her for warmth, Hermione got up onto Farmer Lovegood's wagon, nestling in the warm hay and goods. But before the wagon could start moving, Mrs. Weasley ran up to the cart, hollering, "Wait a minute! I nearly forgot."

She thrust a large, bulky package into Hermione's arms. "It's only some food. To last you until you get to London," Molly explained.

"Thank you." Hermione's voice seemed choked, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to comprehend, for her eyes misted considerably.

"All's done?" Mr. Lovegood turned around a bit impatiently, if not bad-naturedly.

Molly nodded, sniffling a bit. "Do write, dear. And visit every holiday you can!" she called, as the wagon rolled along.

Nodding numbly, Hermione sat there as the cart pulled her further and further from everything she had known.