All Wounds Heal In Time

A/N: This one has been a little less fluid, took a little while but finally I am bringing it to you. Here is day six, and as for the seventh day – well, it’s going to be interesting, I can tell. Reviews get me writing faster (I know it’s been a while this time but this is true)! Some of this one made me sad when I wrote it, just a warning. So without further ado here’s all 10,000 words odd of:

~Day Six~

Hermione opened the door to the bathroom a fraction, listening to see if she could hear anybody in the hallway. The coast was clear, so she scooped her clothes up into her arms and ran down the hall to her room, one hand keeping the towel wrapped around her in place. It didn’t take her long to get ready once she was out of shower. Like when she was at school, she didn’t really bother much with her appearance. She knew a handy drying spell for her hair which made it less unruly but aside from that she rarely bothered with styling or excessive make up. She kept things simple, mostly because she spent her time concentrating on other things.

She was thinking about him again now, as she pulled her jeans on, and tied her hair up into a ponytail. She stood in front of the mirror on the wall, a large imposing piece of glass surrounded by a heavy gold frame. As she leant forward slightly, concentrating on the line of black she was tracing above her eyelashes with her wand, her mind was once again in the small white room, thinking about him.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. The days since she had learnt he was alive, from the first moment she had seen his hollow face on the bed, his image had haunted her and persistently risen to the forefront of her mind. Regardless of her attempts to put her full concentration into the various tasks she had undertaken in the last few days, he continued to drift in and out of her thoughts, she could not forget his face. Despite the dark black beard, it had looked so thin, and so old.

She realised she had been gazing into nothing as she remembered his wiry frame in the bed, and in the midst of the pale imitation of her old professor which was now his body, his eyes were dark and deep and alive at the centre. She shook herself slightly, the shake of her head dislodging her memory of the dark eyes. They frightened her.

She was used to obsessing over cases to obsessive levels. When she was given a job like this it often consumed her mind, filling her sleepless nights as she worked hard to recover her victims. She would constantly work her way through to the eventual conclusion, the adrenaline of hasty success pushing her towards the answer. Ron had resented the level of commitment she gave her work when it consumed her like this. She had tried, but there were simply times when she couldn’t help but bring her work home with her.

Time was so often of the essence in so many ways. Even her victims who had not been in a dangerous situation still required her help, and she felt she should provide it as quickly as possible. Her obsession with this particular case had begun in such a way, her urgency encouraged by the Minister himself, her first few fevered and sleepless days driven by her research.

Now, she had gone no further. She had less of an idea then she had begun with. She felt awkward and anxious. Somehow her opinion of him had changed. He was no longer a victim like the others, but a challenge far greater and one she felt she was losing. She didn’t know if it was some strange association in her mind with him and her school, but she had the overwhelming feeling that she was being tested. It mattered, more than the others, that she succeeded. She wouldn’t have thought she could have cared more for her job than she had done previously, but faced with a man she knew, and one she had grown to respect on many levels through her eclectic education, she felt she simply could not fail.

She was very afraid. Her determination could not disguise the fear she felt. She didn’t know what to do. The day stretched out before her and she had no plans as to how she would proceed. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her. She sat on the edge of the bed, her elbows resting on her knees, her face in her hands.

Five years. On the twenty second it would be five years exactly since the day the war had ended and her professor had been admitted into the muggle hospital. He had been alone, away from the world for five long years. She had thought it logical, and yet had refused to believe it until she had heard it from Mary yesterday morning. Her anger at the situation had been startling, but again her guilt affected her reactions. She could not stand that anyone should be held captive in any form for such a long period of time, but Snape’s bodily prison was particularly macabre.

After she had left the hospital she had been fuming. She had stormed to the Ministry, demanding an audience with Kingsley, only noticing her ragged appearance as she waited in the quiet outside his office. She had felt better to get her doubts off her chest, but the conversation had not been particularly fruitful.

“He’s been there for five years!” She had shouted, “Five whole years! Why did we not find him sooner?”

“We had not thought of searching the muggle hospitals until recently.”

He had kindly offered her the use of anything she required in order to help her cause, and had promised to assign a team of researchers to investigate the perplexing complications which had arisen from her experiments.

“You are not to worry, Miss Granger. I know you are trying your hardest and we all know you are not one to be easily defeated. I am sure progress will happen. I know I put my emphasis on haste last meeting, but you must realise some things take time and in this case it would be prudent for you to take some also. Make the most of your weekend,” the Minister had told her, his grinning face cheering her.

But how could she take her time when he had already lost so much? It was a punishment even if he was not aware of his situation at present, and in the case of his awareness there was still a doubt in her mind that she could not shake. He could be aware. At times it almost felt like he was watching her when she was in the room with him. The dark eyes seemed to be her severest judge.

When she had stared into them, the notion had suddenly come to her that he might quickly move or turn to look at her, and she had been wracked with a fear she had seldom felt since her days in the dungeon. She realised she was still afraid of him, the dark eyes reminding her of the foreboding person he had once been. Yet his body was lifeless, and had responded as a corpse would to her magical administrations. The possibility of his having a waking conscious was really neigh impossible in his situation. No, she was just overreacting. Her tiredness and lack of success was affecting her. She was being ridiculous. She would find a way to help him like any of her other victims and once she had done so she could distance herself from him as she had the desire to do now.

It was Saturday and she had managed to sleep better despite her shameful feelings of failure. She had also indulged in lazily reading her book when she woke, enjoying the relaxing pleasure of being able to lie in bed a while without having to get up. Eventually she became a little hungry and restless, and had gone for her shower.

She made her way down though the house into the kitchen, as was surprised to see that George was already sat at the table, some toast sat on a plate at his side, and his head was dipped as he read an article in a copy of the Daily Prophet which was lying on the table in front of him. He heard her approaching and turned to her, grinning.

“Toast?” he asked, flicking his wand at another of the spaces at the table, another plateful of crunchy, buttery toast appearing when he aimed.

“Thanks,” she said with a grin, sitting and taking a bite. “You’re up early today.”

“More like you’re up later. Although I might not regularly grace people with my presence in the early morning, I am usually up and around before midday. I know my dad will have suggested otherwise,” he added, but he had a grin and a glint in his eye.

“I believe you,” Hermione assured him, giving him a grin back.

“Post’s been,” George told her, putting two letters by her plate as he stood to clear his own away.

She picked them up, studying them to recognise the handwriting. The first was a letter from Harry which surprised and pleased her, she always enjoyed his letters and she had been missing him a lot over the past few days. She assumed it was her work which kept reminding her of her school and her old friends, but even so she was having twinges of nostalgia which were almost painful recently, like her memory of the boggart in the Ministry library. The second letter only helped to intensify her feelings – it was crisp, cream and sealed with the Hogwarts seal.

She eased open her letter from Hogwarts first, discovering it was her expected reply from Mrs. McGonagall. When she had returned to Grimmauld Place yesterday she had written to her former head of house, meaning at first to explain her situation and enquire about her Professor’s family. When it came to it though she had felt uncomfortable somehow, she felt it would be rude to discuss such things as a former teacher coming back from the dead in a letter, so instead had sent a request to see if it would be possible to travel to Scotland to meet Mrs. McGonnagall in person. She unfolded the reply inside. It said:

~ Dear Hermione,

It would give me great pleasure to receive you at Hogwarts at any time, please feel free to visit whenever you choose. I would hope that all of my past students would feel welcome at any time in the old haunt, especially those I remember as fondly as you, Miss Granger, and those boys.

I have seen Hagrid and told him I had heard from you, he said to tell you to hurry up and visit since he has missed you as much as I have I am sure. Do please call by any time dear girl, I shall be expecting it and I am also eager for your opinion on a few matters.

Send my regards to all at Grimmauld Place, my best wishes to you.

Fondly, Minerva McGonagall,

Headmistress. ~

Hermione smiled, the fondness and welcome of the letter warming her through.

She glanced up at George, looking at his blazing hair and freckles, smiling. He was once again deeply concentrating on the daily paper. She liked the silence they could enjoy together.

After she and Ron had broken up, she had then moved back to Grimmauld Place. At that time, Bill and Fleur were living there also with Victoire, and Hermione and George had enjoyed what little solitude they could together in his room on the third floor, away from the screaming child. Despite George’s reputation for humour and bawdiness, he had been mostly silent back then. She had shared books she enjoyed with him. She had told him her secret, and he understood.

He must have felt her eyes on him because he looked up at her then, quirking an eyebrow with a cheeky smile. She smiled back.

“Mrs. McGonagall sends her regards,” she said, passing him the letter.

While he read it, she opened and quickly read through the letter Harry had written to her. She thought it would be longer since the envelope had been quite thick, but she saw there was only a single sheet of writing from her dear friend and another, smaller sealed envelope.

“You’re going up to Scotland soon?” George asked as he folded the letter again and handed it back to her.

“Yes,” she confirmed, sliding the letter back into the cream envelope, her fingers lingering on the deep red seal. “I want to. But I’ve no idea when I might get the chance. I might go tomorrow.”

“Why are you heading up there then? It’s quite a way. The apparation’s hellish.”

“I know but I need to speak to McGonagall. I’ve gotten absolutely nowhere with Snape. He’s still unmoving in the hospital. I’ve tried everything I possibly could think of, and I’ve nearly made my eyes bleed the amount of research I’ve done. The nurse asked me to contact his relations if I could but I have no idea where to begin. I thought I might as well go and discuss this all with Minerva. She be able to give me some suggestions anyway.” She shrugged. “I’ll enjoy seeing her and the place anyway.”

George nodded. She leant forward slightly, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

“George, if I were to go tomorrow…” She paused. “Why don’t you come with me?”

He looked at her, his face seeming pensive at first like he was mulling the idea over. But then it suddenly fell slightly, his jaw became slacker, all the colour went from his face.

“No, no.” He said quickly, his head waggling from side to side. “I don’t think so. Thank you though.”

“Alright,” she told him, not feeling any need to press him.

He cleared his throat, dipping his neck forward slightly as he turned his eyes to the paper again. After a moment of two, he pulled his cigarettes from his pockets, taking one and lighting it as he continued to read, or pretend to read. She picked up her letter from Harry, once again reading his familiar handwriting, taking the time to properly read it this time.

~Hermione,

Sorry for not writing sooner, everything here has been hectic – it’s gruelling! Just got back from a five day training exercise in Ireland, hardly saw another person while I was there. Anyway I felt I should write a quick letter since I didn’t reply to your last before I left.

I met up with Ron in Dublin last night and he asked about you, I told him he should owl you but he told me he was busy. He did seem sincere about how you were doing and I’m sure he’s sorry for losing your friendship. I know he’s a bloody idiot, Hermione, but he cares about you. Anyway we’ll all see each other on the 22nd – he’s promised to be there this time. ~

Her heart lurched, or was it her stomach? She couldn’t tell. There’d be no way she’d be able to get away with not attending herself – she had always gone – but to be in the same room as Ron again? She wasn’t sure quite how to feel about it. She returned to reading.

~ Was with Ginny again last weekend and she said to go see her, the house is lovely Herm, you really should see it and she misses you. Arthur will set up a floo there if you want, just make sure you go and see her. She gave me this envelope to give to you next time I saw you but I fear that might be a little longer than I was planning. Knowing what’s inside, I thought you would like it as soon as possible. She gave me one too.

I really miss you, mate, and I often think of you. Sorry it’s a short one for now but I’ll write longer soon, and I will see you in person before the 22nd – I promise!

Love, Harry X. ~

Her eyes hovered again over the letter, taking in the details like his referring to her as ‘mate’ and the single, dark x at the end. He was lovely, even though he was still so boyish. The thought of seeing her friend again soon lifted her spirits. She smiled slightly as she reached for the third, smaller envelope, swiftly opening it with a wave of her wand.

It was a single piece of paper, she realised it was a photograph which was faced down. Ginny’s attractive scrawl formed a quick note on the back, facing up at her.

~Darling Hermie, ~

Hermione grinned, her friend knowing that she hated the shortening of her name. It reminded her of the nights in the common room, fondly throwing things at Ginny when she teased her with it. She never threw things and people any more, and she missed it.

~ Bill and Fleur sent this over, I knew you’d want a copy. Please come and see me in Cornwall, I’m the only witch for miles.

See you soon! ~

Soon was underlined.

~ Love, always, Ginny.

P.S. The enlargement charm is ‘codac’. ~

Hermione turned the picture over, it was only small so she muttered the charm, the photograph suddenly growing to a large glossy print in her hand. Her mouth fell open, she stared.

They were all standing in the exact spot where the former portrait of the Order had been taken over fifteen years before. She remembered the night when, while staying for the weekend at her parents, Tonks had sent her a howler, screeching an emergency meeting at Grimmauld Place immediately. Her heart had pounded as she had flooed to the house, only to find the kitchen crowded with other Order members. Then Tonks had arrived with the camera and they had forgiven her, eventually.

Even so, she had never seen the resulting picture for some reason, until now.

There she was, much younger. It had been the summer before Sixth Year, and she was almost seventeen. She notice how different she looked even though it didn’t seem that long ago. Her young face beamed out, grinning and laughing, Harry grinning to her right and Ron on the left, with his arm round her waist. Ginny was next to Harry, looking stunning as always, and behind her was Lupin, a handsome smile on his face, his eyes looking straight out of the portrait. Next to Ginny, on the end at the right hand side of the picture was Tonks, who has run to her position after setting the timer, looking a little flushed and her eyes kept lingering on Lupin’s face.

Hagrid took up most of the space at the very back of the picture, MadEye Moody standing just next to him. Charlie was standing behind Hermione, his tall frame looking smaller next to Hagrid’s behind him. On the left of Charlie Minerva McGonagall stood looking proper, Molly Weasley brimful of pride to her left. Sitting on a chair at the very front before the two women, Dumbledore sat as if on a throne, his eyes sparkling. Everyone’s faces were creased in laughter and happiness, they were waving and smiling.

Arthur stood next to his wife, Bill and Fleur on his other side, close together. Fleur was leaning back into his chest, and Bill’s face was spread in a very handsome grin, his face unscarred and delicious. Suddenly a movement at the very left end of the picture caught her attention and her eyes flicked to the dark figure.

It was the Professor, his black robes buttoned up to his neck, his hair lank and greasy. He sat on another of the kitchen chairs, at the very side of the picture, almost as if he didn’t want to appear part of it. He wasn’t grinning or laughing as the others were, but there was something about his face which made her pull the photograph nearer, squinting at the features of Severus Snape. No, he wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t scowling either. His face was relaxed, his dark eyes glinting. It could almost appear – almost – like he was happy to be there. There were some faint lines on his forehead, his nose was as big as ever, but she liked the look of his face in this picture.

Again, the hollow bearded face familiar on the hospital bed flashed in her mind, and she was shocked at how different the two faces seemed. The lines that etched her professor’s face now made him look fifty, but in this picture before her he looked, well, young. She realised that he was only about thirty five when it was taken, and it must have been a good picture since he looked nearer of age to Bill than he did to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Perhaps she had always just seen his as a teacher and, therefore, older for some illogical reason. Looking at him now, without a scowl or sarcastic look on his face, he seemed almost – good looking?

Hermione shuddered, mentally shaking herself. That type of thinking would almost certainly lead to complications in her work and – she reminded herself – this was Snape she was thinking of. She reasoned that she was feeling sensitive towards him since she felt anxious and guilty about the situation he was in, but she wasn’t going to forget what a snarky creep he was. Or the comment he had made about her teeth.

She grinned then, her eyes looking his figure up and down, the long black robes really very unflattering. She noticed that his left arm was resting on his leg, and the sleeve had gathered slightly, showing his forearm.

Black and ugly, the Dark Mark showed a little.

It was a stark reminder of his position, she thought of what he had suffered through when he was her age, how his life had been hard and difficult, and was still so. Her mind returned to the pensieve in Dumboredore’s study, the hurt she had seen him suffer that night. Her stomach heaved and she brought her hand to her mouth with a small gasp.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” George asked her, and she turned to him, still a little dizzy, surprised to find herself back in the present in the near empty kitchen.

She looked back to the picture. She looked into George’s teenage face, his joyous grin, his eyes creased in mirth. His face was entirely clear aside from the glee he felt for the moment which Tonks had captured forever. There was none of the hurt which haunted his face now, even when he laughed. Yet she knew him now, knew his face. Yes, despite it being so hard when they had been together, looking back into the past now, she knew George.

“What’ve you got there?” His voice called while she stared at his face.

She knew George, and there beside him, his expression identical in it’s joy, his twin brother Fred. He was waving with one hand, the other round the shoulder of his brother. Hermione’s eyes flew to George’s face just feet away at the table. She flicked her eyes over it, briefly, before once again staring at the photo in front of her.

Fred laughed and waved and then brought his hands up, pulling his cheeks into a hilarious and beautifully grotesque face.

Hermione burst into tears.

“Hermione?” George said, his voice full of concern. He stood and stepped behind her, looking down over her shaking shoulder to the picture she was holding in her hand.

Without a word he leant forward and gently took it from her, bringing it nearer to see it clearly. Hermione dropped her head down onto her arms, her body shaking as her breaths heaved in and out. The tears came thick and fast, she couldn’t help it. She wanted to never look at the photograph again, and yet never stop looking at it. She remained there for a long moment, the tears sliding down her nose. Then she sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve, turning in her chair to look at George.

He was holding the photograph in one hand still, it was shaking in his grip. He was quiet, his breathing seemed easy, but tears flowed unstopped down both his cheeks. He looked down at her then, pulling the seat next to her out from underneath the table and half sitting, half falling into it, placing the picture on the table before wrapping his arms round Hermione, leaning his full weight on her as he finally broke into heavy sobs. She cried too, quietly, as they held onto each other, before eventually he seemed to pull himself together and pull away, both smiling sheepishly as they wiped their eyes.

“I bloody hate July,” George said with a smile as he offered her a cigarette.

She took it and took several deep drags while he lit his own. They sat side by side a while, smoking while they both stared down into the picture which was still moving merrily on the tabletop. It was quiet, and quite warm.

“It’s a wonderful picture,” Hermione said after a while. “Would you like a copy?”

Before he could answer she had muttered the spell, her wand flicking for a moment.

“It’ll take a while to develop,” she said, as she cleared her empty plate away.

After a minute or so a copy of the photograph began to fade into view on the table above the original. Hermione smiled.

“Won’t be long now, I’m going to put a few things together and head into the office. It’ll be quiet now it’s the weekend, and I might be able to think. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the hug.”

“Anytime.” She replied, giving him another good hug before she left him in the kitchen.

====================

The large hallway was eerily empty, her footsteps echoed on the marble. She had the elevator to herself as it dropped down to her floor. She walked down the corridor into her office space, feeling a mixture of relief and exhilaration to find it empty. It was very unusual for her to have the whole space to herself, there was usually one or two others frantically working away at their desks. She had a feeling she had forgotten something and she was reminded of exactly what it was when she arrived at her desk.

There was a small, square yellow post-it note stuck in the centre of her desk, words in crimson gimmered on the paper. She pulled the note from the desk as she sat down, the adhesive on the reverse sticking to her finger.

~Hermione,

I have reminded you at least eight times already, my birthday is on Saturday and you’d better come or I’ll hex you.

Honestly! ~

Hermione sighed. It was Mildred’s birthday and she had forgotten, once again. Mildred was the office secretary, and although she appeared a bit clumsy, she had never once mislaid Hermione’s messages or neglected her duties in any way. Being similar ages, they had clicked when Mildred had started. Mildred must have really cared that Hermione came to her party since she had used one of her post-it notes to tell her again. Hermione had given her a selection of muggle stationary last Christmas and she was thrilled by them, laughing at the stapler and paperclips. She used them sparingly.

Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. It’s was mid afternoon, later than she would have liked it to be but still early enough in the day. She sighed. She didn’t really feel in a party mood, and often it took a special occasion for her to go out on the town. She knew that a drink with her workmates would lift her spirits, and she could maybe debate her methods with the others.

Or maybe she could just enjoy a night out for once, without worrying over her work every waking minute. Snape’s prone form returned to her mind. She rubbed her eyes.

She bent and pulled her bag onto her lap, opening it to take out the envelope with the photograph inside. She opened it and carefully removed the picture, muttering the enlargement charm as she turned it over. Once again the familiar faces of her past waved up at her, and she sat for quite some time looking down at them. There was so much to see in the picture, she found it fascinating to see how they all interacted. This time it made her smile.

“Miss Granger.”

The voice startled Hermione and she spun round, trying to see who had addressed her. There was nobody visible in the office, and she began to wonder if she had imagined her name. Then she saw Dumbledore waving in the gold frame on the end wall, and she smiled. She stood and walked over to the portrait.

“Hello, Headmaster,” she replied, leaning on the desk nearest to his picture.

“I’m pleased to find you on your own today, Hermione. Please, step this way.”

Hermione looked around once again at the empty spaces at the desks around her and then turned back to the portrait, confusion on her face.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Come this way, Miss Granger. I believe it’s time for a conversation which is quite overdue.” And with that, the painting of her headmaster extended a hand, and it stuck out of the frame towards her, like he was reaching through a window or veil.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. She had never heard of such magic as would allow her to step into a painting, but she was always learning every day. There was always elements of magic which she had yet to study at any depth, and it didn’t surprise her that her brilliant former Headmaster would introduce her to yet another realm of magic she was unaware of, the same as he had arrived at her house to explain the world of wizardry to herself and her parents.

She stepped forward and placed her hand gently into the one Dumbledore held out to her. She wasn’t sure what she expected to feel – maybe the messy feel of oily paint sliding – but there was no substance like that to be felt. Instead it felt like a force, a warm tingly feeling like pins and needles. The bottom of the frame came to her waist and she wondered how she might climb into it.

The hand she was holding somehow gripped tightly to her own, and she felt herself being pulled upwards, she pressed her foot against the wall beneath the painting and found herself moving forward through the barrier that separated the room at the ministry from the room where Dumbledore sat to observe them. She ended up kneeling on the floor at the feet of her Headmaster, and he continued to hold her hand while she got to her feet, using her other hand to brush dust from her knees.

Her face was still surprised, her mouth open, as she looked at the man in front of her. He seemed real and solid, but the edges of him blurred like a bright light was shining behind him. She held his hand in her own, unwilling to let go. He let her.

“Welcome, Hermione. It’s so good to see you again my dear. There has been a part of me waiting many moons for this meeting.” He pulled her to him, putting his arm around her shoulder for a moment. “I have been very proud of the work you have been doing. We are all very proud of you. Well done.”

“Headmaster,” she hesitated. “How am I here?”

“Perhaps there are times when a line of questioning is not the best course to be taking. That is something which would not have been a lesson to instil in you while still at school, but I’ve always said that you should take your time with things. You were always trying to fit too much into your life all at one time. Less haste, young girl.”

“You are surely not trying to limit my enthusiasm, Headmaster,” Hermione told him with a smile.

“Certainly not, but to see you worry as you do has been a cause of concern for me in the passing years. It has been five years.”

“Five years, so you do mean the time since Hogwarts? How is it that you can be discussing these things with me. I hate to draw your attention to the fact, Headmaster, but you’ve been dead for some time. How is it I can be talking to you like this?”

“You have always been able to take things on faith, have you not, Hermione?” He asked her with a smile.

“If the situation involves someone I trust, then I suppose so,” she replied.

“Well, I would like to think that we share a relationship built on that rare commodity. Knowing this, I am going to tell you to take this all on faith. I could speak words such as destiny, but I’m reticent to test your intelligence so.” His blue eyes sparkled like diamonds.

“That’s a very leading statement, Headmaster. Is something going on that I should know about?” She smiled. “You know how I like to be prepared.”

He walked forward a pace or two, falling in at her side and offering her his arm. He still looked just a little unreal. She took his arm anyway, her fingers sinking into the suggested velvet of his sleeve. He turned his kindly face towards her, her eyes took in his eyes, his long beard. She felt like he was really next to her, and she couldn’t quite believe it. She took a breath, then, and decided to just go along with it.

“Let’s move somewhere more accommodating.” Her Headmaster walked forward and she took the steps with him. The room they had been in before melted away into a beautiful landscape. There were green rolling hills in the distance, a swell of trees behind them. All around green grass waved and shimmered in the sunlight and breeze.

Dumbledore let go of her arm then, spreading a blanket out on the ground with his wand. He gathered the edges of his robes up a little before lowing himself onto the blanket, sitting cross legged and looking up at Hermione expectantly.

“This reminds me of a picnic,” she said, as she sat on the rug next to her deceased Headmaster.

“What a marvellous idea!” he called excitedly, and with another wave of the wand there was a large hamper between them. Dumbledore opened it, pulling delicious sandwiches and cakes from it’s depths. Hermione looked on in wonder. “Eat up,” he told her.

She did, eating more than she had done for days. Everything was delightful, there seemed to be everything she expected and enjoyed on a picnic. She didn’t know how it was happening, but it felt for all the world as if she were eating real food in a real country landscape with dear Dumbledore. Again she felt it was a moment she didn’t want to end, and because she knew it must she was determined to make the most of it.

“Thankyou for bringing me here,” she said as she wiped her face and hands on a paper napkin.

“The pleasure is mine, my dear,” he replied. He leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of his. “I often come here when I need to think.”

They sat in silence a while, watching the landscape. Then Dumbledore began to pack the picnic things away again, and Hermione turned to help him. He looked at her.

“Now,” he said. “Tell me about poor Severus. How is he doing?”

She stared at him, snapping her mouth shut when she realised it had been hanging open. This was really too much. How was it possible she could be discussing her current case with a man who had died before her job was even created? She leant back on her heels, smiling coyly.

“Well I’m sure I don’t know. He died in the Shrieking Shack.”

The Headmaster grinned at her while picking at his teeth with a cocktail stick. After he had thoroughly completed his task her looked right at her and said, frankly, “You are lying to me Miss Granger. However it is the sort of thing that might be expected from you when you are determined to solve a problem. I shall be fair to you then, and tell you some truths.

“I don’t know everything that has or will happen, and neither am I actually really here with you now, returned to life. I am just a painting.”

Hermione nodded, looking down at the woollen weave of the blanket. She knew that was how it must have been, but learning that the convincing duplicate beside her was still nothing more than that was still a little painful.

“Don’t be downhearted,” the old man told her, leaning a hand that was still reassuringly warm on her shoulder. “I am still here to offer you council and advice. I set myself up to be there for you when this task began to unfold, in the same way I was there for you when you returned from the pensive. I really am most annoyed that I’m not really around for this development.”

She looked into his kind face again, his eyebrows seemed to be doing a jig to express their conspiratorial involvement. She felt a sudden ominous feeling descend down onto her. Dumbledore looked away from her again, his eyes sweeping the sunlit beauty before them.

“Ah well,” he said quietly. “I’m sure I’m watching with great interest and delight wherever I ended up being.”

Hermione smiled, marvelling at the work of magical power she was witnessing. She wondered briefly for a moment whether the body she felt she was in now was her own, or whether that was really slumped on the floor at the ministry, or at her desk. Regardless, for her to be in this beautiful landscape and spending time with this Dumbledore – a Dumbledore which comforted her, which acted with an instinct true in every way to the man she had known – it was really very powerful sorcery. The flicking of past, present and future tenses which mingled in his speech were convoluted, but his message was clear enough. And, she thought, her difficulty in following paled to the challenge it must have been creating such messages meant to be heard years in the future. Her mind boggled.

It was probably some sort of personality duplicating spell, similar to the ones ordinarily used on portraits. That would account for his use of portraits for conveying his messages. But to involve a conscious human mind into the charm, to allow for human interaction – the reconfigurations to the spell were outstanding.

She tried to stop her analytical mind for a while, so she could enjoy and benefit from this moment as long as possible. She could worry about mechanics later. Yet now she wasn’t sure what to say. Where to begin?

Dumbledore smiled over at her again. To her relief, he had more to tell her.

“I don’t know what situation Severus will have found himself in by now, but I do know that somehow or other, he will have found himself under your watch, in need of your help. I knew that you would be an important part of his life before I ever visited you for the first time at your parents’ house. Yes, it was not purely coincidence that led you to his side now. I also know that for many reasons, helping him will be a challenge to you. But any advice I might give to help you will depend on circumstances, so I ask you again to tell me, Hermione – How is he doing?”

She took a moment or two to explain how he was lifelessly trapped in a dirty London hospital, but even as she did she realised that she could not hope for specific help for this situation if Dumbledore really had known no details. Advice on how to break him out of Azkaban, maybe, but her Headmaster surely could not have predicted the muggle hospital, despite how magnificent he had been. He was pretty bloody good just to know it was happening at all. Her suspicions were confirmed when he turned to her and for once he looked a little robotic, like he was just a copy.

“I’m sorry, but you have not mentioned any of the key words for which I had prepared further information,” he said, and he actually looked sad.

Then his face cheered suddenly again, and Hermione felt warmth as the sun emerged from a cloud she had not notice passing. She watched the black line of shadow as it sped across the meadows in front of them, into the distance. The sun was warm. Dumbledore spoke again.

“In any case I doubt specifics matter much.” He looked at her over his spectacles before sliding them back up his nose with a finger and once again surveying the view. He continued. “We both know you are a very capable witch, you’ll get there in the end. I am here to tell you that the main thing you need to be doing you have already done and will continue to do. You simply need to care for him. If he is trapped, you must free him. If he is ill, you must heal him. But most importantly you just need to look after him while he needs you.”

She couldn’t help but interrupt. “Oh, but if only you could see, Professor! He is trapped, and he is ill, and I just can’t seem to do anything to help him at all! I’ve tried every spell under the sun, it seems – and nothing works. Nothing works on him.”

She felt again the shame, the guilt. The despair at letting so many down. The Minister, her Headmaster now in front of her, and most of all the Potions Master lying in the sterile, white room. She had hoped her former Headmaster would provide the easy answers. Sometimes the realisation that a harder way must be traversed is a difficult fact to acknowledge.

“I believe I have told you before how a hasty solution cannot always be achieved, even with the benefit of magic,” he told her with a smile, seeming to read her thoughts. “Remember ‘time heals all wounds’?”

She nodded.

“Here no doubt you will find yourself in a similar situation.” His wise voice was clear in the quiet around them. “If you find yourself unable to proceed by magical means, your muggle common sense and slowly grinding time will provide an outcome, one way or another. This is perhaps why you were the one who would choose this path linked with Severus.

“The main thing you must remember is to care for the man. He is a man, Hermione, and I am sure your,” at this point his eyebrows did another jig and he cleared his throat. “ – Ahem! – previous prejudices towards a sarcastic and I might fairly say cruel teacher will not impede your opinion of him now time has passed. You saw what was in the pensieve, I know you felt regret for his life as I have done. It won’t be hard for you to take care of him. Just go with your intuitive feelings, don’t rely on logic too much. I realise this may be hard for you,” he added with a smile.

Hermione sat for a moment, quietly thinking over everything she had just heard. After a moment she said hesitatingly, “Professor, may I ask you a question?”

“I will do my best to answer it,” he smiled at her again.

She nodded and bit her lip, thinking how best to phrase her query. After a moment she took a breath and said, “You said I was the one who chose to follow this path, but I don’t remember making any such choices. Surely I didn’t influence any of this with my own actions if you knew it was expected of me since before you met me?”

He chuckled then and shook his head.

“Acute awareness as always, Miss Granger! Alright, perhaps I didn’t know before I met you, but from the moment I did I could tell you were the one at he centre of yet another prophesy I had encountered in my working against Voldemort. This one not so pivotal, a promise of recovery rather than destruction, yet still bound in some way to become reality. And your curiosity, your thirst for knowledge – I was certain it would lead to you fulfilling your part, as you evidently did in order to be here with me now. Like Harry’s fate being sealed by Voldemort’s choice between him and Neville, so yours was by a moment of chance just as flimsy. However, unlike Harry, you made your own choice somewhere along the way.”

“A moment of choice?” She asked her Headmaster, looking at him searchingly with her brown eyes. “The only choice that comes to mind is the moment when I dipped my hand into that pensieve. Could that be it, could that be the moment?”

“When you chose to enter the pensieve?” Dumbledore repeated, his hand stroking his long beard, his eyes twinkling devilishly. “What an interesting thought. It could be plausible I suppose. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Hermione grinned a little wryly and nodded her head, turning her head to look out on the magnificent view. It took her breath away every time she saw it.

She knew that Dumbledore must have considered her point else he would not have been able to set such a reply, and he knew she knew it too. It was plausible, she considered. The pensive had been a catalyst to her despair, the despair which had ultimately led to her choice of career. Either way it didn’t seem to matter. She was supposed to be the one to help her former teacher, and she felt reassured slightly by the fact. And all she had to do was care for him until he was better. Her mind drifted again to his lifeless form and she considered just how long that might be. She sighed.

“I’m afraid we must be getting back,” Dumbledore told her, as he got to his feet rather gracefully considering his age and held his hand out to help her stand as well.

“There are just a couple more things I would like to ask you,” He continued, as she put the remaining items back into the hamper.

“Of course,” she answered, and he smiling again as he bent to pick up the blanket.

“Firstly, I wonder who you have consulted on this issue besides me. Minerva?” he said as she took the other end, helping him to fold it.

“I have arranged to visit her, but I don’t know how easily I’ll be able to make the trip with everything else I want to do,” she began. And I don’t want to leave him alone in that room again without visiting, she added to herself. I’ve not been today, even. She didn’t say this to her Headmaster however, instead she said, “I don’t really feel right asking her to come to me.”

This must have been one of the things her Headmaster had expected her to say, since his copy leaned in towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Minerva will travel anywhere she is needed, you know it is easy for her. Don’t feel guilty in asking her to come to you if your situation prevents the opposite.” She smiled up at him.

“Now, the second question,” he told her, placing the blanket in the basket and hooking the handle over one arm, the other of which he extended to Hermione. She took it. “What are your plans for this evening?”

“Are you offering to take me out for a nice meal, Headmaster?” Hermione replied, smiling up at him.

“Sadly not,” he told her. “A picnic in the countryside is the finest cuisine I can offer you at the moment.”

“Well it was excellent, far better than anything I’ll have at home tonight.”

“Ah, so you have no plans? You do not intend to work do you?” He asked her, one eyebrow raised rather threateningly.

“Well, there is an office party,” Hermione conceded.

“A party?” He replied with a laugh. “Perfect. Now listen to me Hermione Granger. This is an order from your former Headmaster, although at present myself I still feel ‘current’ should I say. Either way, I insist that you go to a party. Enjoy yourself. I know you will have been working too hard already. Take the night off.

“And tomorrow, just take care of him. Go with your gut instinct, as the muggles delightfully phrase it. I’m certain it will work out for the best.” He leaned in while he said his last statement, and she saw the smallest glimmer of a wink. It was one of the most reassuring things she had ever seen in her life. She looked around, noticing they were no longer out in the countryside but instead in Dumbledore’s portrait room. A frame on the wall showed the office, and the thought of sitting here watching the daily grind happen amused her.

“Thank you for the visit, Hermione. It was absolutely lovely.”

“Yes, it was.” She turned to face the old man again, throwing her arms around him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Then she pulled back. “Before I go, Headmaster, I simply have to ask you: What spell is this which has enabled us to meet like this? How did you do it?”

“Well, you already know the answer to that, my dear.” She turned to look at him as she felt his hand on the small of her back, pushing her gently forward. As she took a last step she heard him say, “I’m a very powerful wizard, you know.”

She looked around, slightly dazed. She was standing in the office, looking out on the desks in front of her. She turned at looked at the portrait in the frame behind her. There was just an empty room.

She sat back at her desk for enough time to write two letters.

The first was a note she sent on an small express owl to George to tell him that they would be attending a party once she got home in less than an hour, and to be ready. She had been alarmed to find that she had been in the painting for two hours, and it was now coming up to 6pm.

However she still took the time to sit and write a polite letter to Minerva McGonagall informing her that she was very glad of the invitation to Hogwarts, which she would gratefully accept in the future. She also explained that her problematic situation had become more complex, and she would be very grateful if her former head of house would visit Grimmauld Place at the soonest opportunity. Pleased with the wording of her letter, she summoned another ministry owl to take it to it’s recipient, and hurried to floo home, wanting to get ready for the party.

====================

It had rained. The dark cobbles of the streets glistened in the wet, reflecting the orange streetlights, the red and while lights of the cars, pinpricks of colour startling and dazzling the two inebriated people who lurched along the pavements, leaning on each other for support as they almost collapsed from laughter.

Hermione had decided to take a moment or two to actually dress up a little before they party, she had put on a full face of make up and had worn shoes she had bought with no intention to really wear. The heels were much higher than she was used to, and the slick, uneven surface of the street was just the thing which would eventually lead to tears. Her shoes clattered and clacked as she continuously lost balance. George’s arms were clasped around her, trying to keep her upright while he himself shook and wobbled in peals of hysterical laughter.

“Jus’ take your shoes off!” he told her for the eighth time, trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard.

“The ground’s all wet, though!” she replied through her own cackles, but eventually she gave in to reason, holding the straps of the offending articles in her left hand as she still leant against George with the other, gasping at the cold wetness on her stockinged feet.

They continued to wobble their way along the roads, slowly making their way back to Grimmauld Place. It was early in the morning and they were being loud, both the worse for wear after a few drinks but also buoyed by an enjoyable evening with good company.

“Bloody good party though,” George said, repeating an earlier statement again. “That Tilly’s really somethin’. She loved your presssent,” he continued, slurring slightly.

“Too right. I’m pleased Dumbledore made me go tonight, he was right, it was just what I needed,” Hermione stated, before tripping slightly, clinging to George desperately again while once more cackling wildly.

They walked a few more roads, and the night air began to sober them up a little. They returned to a topic they had discussed on their walk to the pub earlier for the last minutes of they journey home.

“And he told you to ‘go with your gut instinct,” George asked as he unlocked the door to Grimmauld Place with his wand. It only took him two or three attempts.

“Exactly,” Hermione said as she strode into the house, tossing her shoes down in the hallway before walking to the sofa in the sitting room, collapsing down on it and putting her wet feet up onto the coffee table. “And I don’t know what I feel in here,” she added, pointing to her stomach. “Other than I want to help him. That much is obvious. That or hold a pillow over his snarky old face,” she added with a wry grin.

George bellowed a laugh at this, offering a cigarette which she took without guilt in her inebriated state. “I’d hazard a guess that that was not what old Dumbledore imagined,” he told her as he sat next to her. “Does he look snarky even in a coma? That is some achievement.”
Hermione laughed again.

“No, to be fair I don’t think he does. He does look old though. He has a massive beard,” Hermione began to grin as George laughed beside her. “And he’s going a little grey as well,” she laughed too at the mirth George showed at this.

Suddenly the room began to spin and she felt very dizzy, she sat up breathing deeply for a moment or two. “Come to think of it, it’s not really surprising or funny.”

“Perhaps your gut instinct is telling you to shave his beard then,” George said with a laugh. “And I’ve got just the thing to help you do it.”

He stood and went to the desk in the corner, opening a drawer and rummaging around in it a while before taking something out of it and coming to stand in front of her. As he flicked it open, she had time to register that it was a cut-throat razor before George had suddenly slashed the knife at her, swiping it across her cheek. She felt the coldness of the metal as it ran through her flesh, although she felt no pain as her eyes widened in shock and her hand came to her face. George crumpled to the floor in laughter and she thought horribly that he must have lost his mind, to cut her with a razor.

But her hand did not feel a cut or the warm stream of blood, her cheek was intact, unhurt. George was crying with laughter.

“I know, I know,” he said through his glee. “I shouldn’t play with knives. But the look on your face!” he dissolved again in chuckles. After a moment he pulled himself together, kneeling in front of her. Then he slashed the knife across his arm, she squealed before seeing he was unharmed.

“It can’t cut human flesh,” George explained. “It’s one of the last inventions…” he trailed off. “It would have been a best seller.”

Her saw Hermione open her mouth and he rightly guessed that she was going to warn him of the dangers of playing with knives, even fake ones, since he shook his head and took her hand.

“Not in the joke shop. It has many other uses. You see, it doesn’t cut the skin, but it still cuts ordinary things you might expect it to, vegetables and meat in the kitchen – perfect for children who can’t use magic. And in the case of the razor,” he held it towards her so she could see it clearly. “It still gives a nice clean shave.”

He opened it again and dragged the edge of the blade roughly down his face, it did not harm his skin but she could see the difference between his now shaven cheek and the slight stubble which covered the rest of his face.

“Oh George, that is marvellous,” she told him, hardly feeling the drink now. “A severing charm, is it?”

“With a few defensive spells mixed in,” he confirmed with a nod.

“It was still a mean trick, though,” she told him as she gingerly touched her cheek again, and she pushed his shoulder when he laughed, though she was laughing too herself.

“I can’t say I find the idea of shaving my ex-professor particularly appealing,” she added as he passed the closed razor to her. He laughed again.

“Not what your gut instinct is telling you, hmm?” he asked her. She pulled a face and shook her head while they laughed some more. George considered for a bit and then said, “Well if he has been in that bed as long you say he has, I’m sure anyone would be grateful for a good scourgify. And you must appreciate the chance to wash his greasy hair.” George’s face turned into an unpleasant scowl as he thought about it. “*I’d* relish the thought of cleaning his greasy hair,” he admitted. “Dumbledore said to take care of him,” he concluded.

“I guess you’re right,” Hermione told him. “It couldn’t do any harm cleaning him up a bit any way. I’ll go in and see him tomorrow. Want to come?” She asked him, laughing at his horrified face. “I don’t blame you. Well, I’m going to get to bed. Long day tomorrow, it seems!”

“Thanks for the invite tonight, Hermione.”

“Well thank you for coming, George. It was a good one.” She gave him a hug. He suddenly dipped her backwards as if they were dancing, smiling down at her.

“I don’t suppose your gut instinct is telling you to make a full night of it, is it?” he asked her with a wink. She laughed and he let her up, she knew he was just joking.

“No, that is definitely not what my gut instinct is telling me,” she told him as she smiled and waved, making her way up to bed.

She didn’t tell him what her gut feelings had actually told her as he had dipped her, reminding her as they had done of the young face of Snape in the photograph she had seen today. It had sprung to her mind while she had been talking with George, perhaps because of their discussion about removing his beard. Either way it left an uneasy feeling in her mind.

That night, Hermione Granger had a very unsettling dream.

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I just wanted to say that the anniversary for the Hogwarts battle is, I believe, in May and not in July, although for the sake of my fic I am making it so which I guess would officially make this AU. A very similar AU though! Sorry this thing is going places I didn’t think it would at first.

I know that most of you are probably dying to get back to Severus and I understand, I just needed to get this chappie out the way. I am so excited about the next day though guys. It’s all going to start going down, trust me. Until then thank you all soooo much and please keep reviewing if you can, I need it for fast delivery! No assignments in my way now too. Woo!

Thank you very much anyone who has reviewed or will review – some review replies next time. Until then, thanks again! ~ Love, Marie.