Smoke & Mirrors

Disclaimer The characters and sheer genius belong to J K Rowling. Any smut is mine, but I don't make a penny/eurocent/cent from my warped imagination.

Chapter 8 Home and Abroad

"I hate this sea," Snape groaned. Harry looked at him in concern; his lover's thin face was haggard and had taken on a distinctly green tinge. Harry himself didn't like the boat's motion much, he was pale and sweating, and they were both drenched by the waves which kept breaking over the side.

"Yeah," Harry grunted. "When are we going to land? We've been at sea for ages." He wriggled round on the slippery wooden seat and put his hand on Snape's knee. "Come to that, where are we going to land? You've never said ..."

Snape glared at him and took a deep breath. "You – don't – need –"

"– to know, yeah, I'm getting pissed off with you saying that."

Snape pressed his thin lips together and said nothing.

"And I've not forgotten how you tried to stop me getting Hermione's owl –"

"Nonsense, I didn't do anything of the sort –"

"Oh, those seagulls were just a coincidence, then?"

Snape merely scowled.

******************************************

Hermione was quite glad when September the first arrived; her holiday with her parents hadn't been bad, but as she slowly walked across Hogwarts lawn towards the castle she felt an increasing sense of homecoming. Crookshanks prowled along beside her, occasionally darting off to chase a dead leaf as it blew across the lawn; and as they passed under the giant oak he arched his back and spat viciously.

"What's the matter, Crookshanks?" Hermione asked, looking back at the tree. Was that movement she'd caught out of the corner of her eye, or was she imagining it? Her cat was certainly behaving oddly, even for him. He clawed at her leg impatiently, then when she didn't respond, shot back towards the tree like a streak of ginger lightning and disappeared up into its branches. Hermione shrugged – she didn't have time to indulge Crookshanks' foibles now – and continued on to the castle.

Hermione put Crookshanks' strange behaviour out of her mind as she entered the Great Hall. It was packed with students old and new; from the adults like herself coming back to finish studies interrupted by the war, right down to the scared-looking first years clustered in front of the Sorting Hat. As she found herself a place at the end of the Gryffindor table, the Hat burst into song:

"The deadliest peril now is past
And we are reunited
I can again sing my refrain
Though many lives were blighted.
The wounds of war are healing fast
Yet there is still some danger
Though you are safe in Hogwarts walls
Beware the lurking stranger.
I can return to duty now
And sing of Hogwarts lasting fame
Of how the school was founded, and
Recall each founder's name.
Gryffindor so brave and bold
Once close to subtle Slytherin
Ravenclaw of wit so sharp,
And Hufflepuff her loyal twin.
So put me on and I can tell
Where each of you should be
Brave Gryffindor, bright Ravenclaw
That's what we shall see
Or maybe cunning Slytherin
Is where you will do best
Or Hufflepuff so kind and true
Where you will come to rest."

Hermione smiled; it was so good to have everything back to normal. Well, nearly everything ... she looked down the table at Ron Weasley, who was carefully avoiding her eyes, and sighed.

As she left the Hall at the end of the meal, Hermione found herself behind Draco Malfoy and another Slytherin.

"Stupid Sorting Hat doggerel," Malfoy sneered. "Sounded like it's been swigging sherry with old Trelawney. Was that the best it could come up with?"

"Yeah, it always goes on about the founders," his companion said.

"Fuck the founders! I could think up better rhymes for them ..."

"Go on then."

"Right!" And Malfoy recited, in a jeering singsong:
"Gryffindor the stupid bore
Is getting fucked by Slytherin
Ravenclaw is just a whore
And Huffflepuff is on the gin –"

"Mr Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall had come up behind them unnoticed: her tone was icy and forbidding."If you wish to remain here to continue your NEWT studies you had better mend your manners. I may have to inform your employers the Ministry about your attitude and they will not be pleased."

Malfoy muttered something about the Ministry under his breath, but then reluctantly nodded and said woodenly "I apologise, Professor. Just high spirits."

Professor McGonagall snorted. "Well curb your high spirits, Mr Malfoy, or an owl will be on its way to the Minister for Magic. Miss Granger, a word with you please."

Hermione followed the headmistress into an empty classroom, away from the hurrying throng of students pouring out of the Great Hall.

"I haven't heard anything from Severus for a while," Professor McGonagall told her, frowning a little. "Of course, he may be wise to lie low, after those rumours about arson and murder in Knockturn Alley. But I would have thought that he'd have contacted me by now. Have you heard anything from Harry Potter?"

"I sent an owl to Harry as soon as I read the headlines in the Daily Prophet," said Hermione. "The owl didn't get back till late the next day and it looked the worse for wear, feathers missing, I was quite worried. But Harry'd scribbled a reply on the back of my message, look." She produced a torn scrap of parchment, stained with sea water, blood and what looked like bird droppings. "He just says Severus didn't kill Quercus, they're fine and on their way abroad."

"Well, do let me know if you hear from him again. I'm rather worried about the pair of them."

"I'm sure they're fine," Hermione said reassuringly. "They're probably enjoying themselves so much they've forgotten all about us. I expect Harry will be in touch sooner or later."

However, as the term wore on, Hermione began to get worried too. September had blown itself out with storms and gales, and it was now nearly halfway through October, but she'd still not heard any more from Harry, or any news of Snape.

Another thing that worried her was what Dobby and Kreacher might have been up to. Dobby had waylaid her in the Gryffindor common room late one evening. "Dobby is looking for Harry Potter, miss," he squeaked. "Harry Potter gave Dobby and Kreacher an important task to perform, and Dobby has news, miss."

When she'd said she didn't know where Harry was and asked what his news was, he'd refused to tell her. Furthermore, he wouldn't say what task Harry had given him, although she had a shrewd idea ... And it reminded her that she'd promised Harry to search the pasts of known Death Eaters for any connections with the Ministry of Magic ... she really must start research in the library.

And Crookshanks was still behaving oddly ... every chance he got he would try to shepherd her over to the big tree on the edge of the lawn. One morning as Hermione tried to calm her cat's furious antics, a squirrel peeped round the trunk at them, then scurried up onto a high branch.

"Hello," said Hermione, peering up at it. "You look a bit nervous, has my cat been chasing you?"

"Talking to the wildlife now, Granger?" came Draco Malfoy's malicious voice from behind her. "Well, I suppose you get more intelligent conversations that way than talking to Weasley .." and he walked on, laughing, before she could reply.

In fact, Hermione had barely spoken to Ron since the beginning of term. He had made one or two half-hearted attempts to apologise, but she was finding it so difficult to forgive him for his insulting behaviour, that she rebuffed him coldly each time. But now things were getting to the point where she desperately needed someone to talk things over with, so that evening she joined Ron by the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

"Ron," she began, speaking quietly so nobody else could hear, "I think we should call a truce for the moment."

"Yeah ..." Ron stared moodily into the fire. "I didn't mean that about you being a tart, you know? Malfoy just got me so pissed off, and you did blow him –"

"That's not what I wanted to talk about," Hermione said. "I'm worried about Harry. I tried sending an owl to him the other week, but it just came back with my parchment still on its leg. I've not heard a thing from him since his message in August, saying he was going abroad. I'd've expected him to at least wish me happy birthday. Not that you, did, either."

"Look, I've said I'm sorry, OK? And not that I'm bothered or anything, but you didn't remember my last birthday either."

Ron's last birthday had been the previous March, just after the final showdown with Voldemort: he'd spent it in the Serious Bites ward at St Mungo's after struggling with the dying snake Nagini.

"Well, I did have other things on my mind at the time," Hermione said defensively.

"Yeah, trying to save that greasy git," Ron said resentfully. "Didn't even VISIT me for weeks ..."

"It wasn't that long," Hermione snapped. "And you were getting the best treatment possible in St Mungo's, whereas Snape just had me and Harry ...
“Anyway," she went on with an effort, "Never mind all that now, we've called a truce, remember?"

"Yeah, OK, OK," Ron said. "So we need to try and get in touch with Harry – but how?"

"Maybe an ad in the Daily Prophet?" Hermione suggested.

"Yeah, that'd help," Ron said sarcastically. "Get a grip, Hermione."

"Well alright then, YOU suggest something."

Ron scowled in thought. "Charlie!" he said eventually. "He's always getting together with his dragon handler mates from all over Europe. Maybe one of them'll've heard something."

Hermione smiled with relief. "Oh that is a good idea. I can't help worrying about them, specially Harry."

"I've been meaning to visit Charlie anyway," said Ron. "This place is getting on my nerves a bit; don't think I'm really all that keen on going back to school at my age after all ... I expect Harry and Snape are OK really Hermione, they're probably fucking each others' brains out right now."

But in fact at that moment Harry was wandering, alone, beside a deserted canal in a foreign city.

He was alone again ... Somehow he'd always known this would happen. Everyone he'd been close to was lost to him sooner or later ... his parents ... Sirius ... Dumbledore ... Hagrid ... even Ron and Hermione were too wrapped up in each other to notice him nowadays ...

"Hang on," Harry thought to himself at this point, "they weren't so wrapped up in each other last time you saw them – stop feeling so sorry for yourself –"

But it was no good. The real sense of desolation, of course, came from Snape's actions; it was all very well him saying Harry couldn't come to Durmstrang with him without an invitation as it was unplottable, but why go there NOW, the conference was still weeks away. And for that matter, why couldn't he GET an invitation for Harry? Not that he really wanted to go to Durmstrang ... or did he? Hell, he wasn't sure what he wanted.

He'd read Hermione's hurried precis of the Daily Prophet story out to Snape, who had denied everything. And of course he believed him ... but why did he have to be so damned secretive about everything?

Sometimes he envied Severus Snape his ability to compartmentalise his life. With only very rare exceptions, his lover always seemed to be able to keep his own demons at bay. And while they'd been together, even Harry had largely been free from his usual nightmares. Now, however, all the old ghosts were coming back to haunt him ...

Harry felt such a piercing sadness that he looked around, shivering, almost expecting to see Dementors. But there were none: just the mist rising off the canal, and the autumn melancholy, and the lack of Snape.

To be continued ...

A/N This story and the previous one, Heat, Light and the Properties of Plants, can also found on my live journal.
Links:
http://centaury-squill.livejournal.com/9450.html
http://centaury-squill.livejournal.com/17453.html