Hilltop Cottage

A/N: Just a quick thankyou to my two reviewers! lol.. I don\'t expect the story to get much feedback here (why do people not review on AFF, do you think?) but I do appreciate those who make the effort. It helps me improve my writing.

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The following day, Hermione had to practically drag herself out of bed. She always used the smaller bedroom, set in the eaves of the house, because she loved the view from the small window. She curled up under her duvet at the foot of the old metal-framed bed, her arms resting on the rounded finial, and looked out. The sun was already high in the sky, and she could see for miles across the rolling landscape, green fields stretching into the distance. Her eyes were drawn to the narrow strip of garden belonging to the cottage, and she curled her lip ruefully when she noticed how overgrown it was. She would need to do something about that before the month was out.



Feeling a bit fuggy-headed from the wine, not to mention the tears she had shed the night before, Hermione slouched down to the kitchen, her feet catching slightly on the hems of her fleece pyjama bottoms, and put the kettle on. A cup of tea and a brisk walk was just what she needed, and she smiled as she looked up at the blue sky through the kitchen window. It was always nicer walking through the town when the sun was shining, and she knew exactly where she wanted to go.



An hour later, Hermione was at the Heritage Centre at the end of Rock Mill Lane. Her hair was tied in a tight ponytail high on her head, and she had her rucksack with her, which currently held a fresh sandwich and a bottle of Buxton water along with her thin raincoat. She didn’t need it now, though. The sun was beating down on the top of her head, and she walked gratefully towards the start of the millennium walkway and the cool shade of the trees above. The walkway spanned the wide gorge beneath New Mills, went along the bank opposite Torr Vale cotton mill, and crossed the rivers Goyt and Sett as they met in churning torrents beneath Hermione’s feet. She walked slowly, enjoying the fresh air and looking up at the treetops as bright patches of blue sky filtered through the translucent green leaves. When she had reached the halfway point, in the shadow of the imposing old Mill building, Hermione leant against the metal railing and watched the rumbling water below. The noise was almost deafening, crashing and booming against the rocks, and the white spray flew upwards and landed in small flecks on Hermione’s face. She closed her eyes, absorbing the sound of the water, and her mind thrust forward the other echoes that she had wanted to forget about.



The final battle had raged until the early hours of the morning, although most people had lost track of the time. Hogwarts had taken a battering, and the roar of the falling brickwork assaulted Hermione’s memory. Hexes were flying everywhere, and no one had known where they would land or what damage would be done until they hit or missed their target. There was a smell of burning flesh and burning wood, and a pall of smoke lingered, making visibility nigh on impossible. Then, people were screaming, others were sobbing – great heaving sobs that made them want to vomit. Grief was everywhere, and despite Harry’s success in defeating Voldemort, it was the sounds and images of that grief that had stayed with Hermione for the past two years.



With a shuddering breath, she opened her eyes and rubbed away the tears that had tripped down her cheeks. She tried to focus on the building before her, her eyes scanning the glass in the windows, watching the reflection of the dappled sunlight on their shiny surfaces. Taking out her water, she took a long drink and then reached for her sandwich. Food was always grounding at times like this, and she took a grateful bite. She had been waiting for this to happen, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite so exhausting. It was time for Hermione to experience her pain and to let it out and let it go. She had to move on, and this was the only way. With a long sigh, she silently thanked Bert Mellor yet again for bequeathing her his house. It was the only place she could escape the hawkish public and media scrutiny. Hermione smiled to herself. She was well aware that Muggle celebrities had their own problems with paparazzi hounding them and spreading their personal news over the pages of the glossies. How ironic that this Muggle-born celebrity witch could find her own bit of privacy in this small mill town. No one here knew her, and she had learned a long time ago to keep her safe place a secret, even from Ron and Harry. They didn’t know she was here, and that was just the way she wanted it.



Hermione took another bite of her sandwich and let the rest fall into the river. She watched as it met the creamy foam and smiled as she thought of providing a treat to the local swans that swam further down the river where the current wasn’t as strong. As she raised her gaze, however, she caught sight of someone else on the walkway, a glimpse of black in her peripheral vision. Her head snapped up, and she gasped as she watched the tall, dark haired figure walking briskly away from her.



There was no mistaking Severus Snape, even in his Muggle clothing. His gait, despite a slight limp, gave him away immediately. But what the hell was he doing in Hermione’s private haven? Hermione followed him, her slow pace turning into a jog as she tried to keep sight of him as he strode away. She didn’t want him to see her, so she maintained a bit of distance until they reached the town. Snape walked quickly down a narrow side street, and Hermione cursed under her breath and increased her pace again. As she rounded the bend of the street, she caught sight of his boot-shod foot as he took another right turn. Hermione knew she was heading down a cul-de-sac without her wand, on the trail of an ex-Death Eater she hadn’t seen since the night in the Shrieking Shack. But the curiosity was killing her, despite the foolishness of her actions.



At the end of the narrow street, she paused and put her head around the corner. A short row of Victorian villas sat facing an unused and sparse bit of scrub ground, and Snape disappeared into one of them, the door slamming closed with a resounding bang that made Hermione almost leap out of her skin.



Hermione’s heart was pounding against her chest, and she closed her eyes and leant against the brickwork as she tried to catch her breath. When she opened her eyes again, she looked up at the street sign in the alley that read, ‘Spinnerbottom’. Trembling with shocked realisation, Hermione walked slowly into the narrow street and looked at the sign above the row of houses.



The sign saying Spinner’s End was faded and weather-beaten, just like her own front gate. The letters, once black, were now charcoal grey, and some cheeky youth had crossed out the word ‘Spinner’s’ with red marker and scrawled ‘Cock’ in its place. Hermione might have laughed if it wasn’t all so sad. The houses were narrow and grim, most of them boarded up. The houses that looked lived in had faded nets at the windows, yellowing and dusty. If Hermione hadn’t known better, she would have assumed the houses were empty.



A feeling of despondency washed over Hermione, and suddenly she wasn’t in such a hurry to be reunited with her former professor. With a shiver not dissimilar to being doused with cold water, she knew without a doubt that he was watching her. Hermione took a breath and turned, walking with slumped shoulders back down the narrow street and into the main town. She had come here to escape the war and deal with her overwhelming memories. And now, here she was, faced with the worst of it all.



For when Hermione had her most vivid dreams at night, Severus Snape was always a part of them.