Hermione

They marched through Gloucester, their cloaks fluttering in the cold wind, neither of them speaking. Snape kept them close to forests and copses of trees. The weather was gray and windy with flecks of snow. Few other people were about. When lunchtime arrived, they ate as they walked, not bothering to stop. Hermione began to feel numb. The cold became more piercing. Occasionally Snape would guide her one way or another by putting a hand on her elbow or by pointing, but otherwise, they communicated not at all.

After hours of silent walking, Hermione noticed that they were hiking in an open plain, making no effort to hide. She glanced questioningly at Snape, but he was continuing on, looking straight ahead.

“Do you recognize where we are, Miss Granger?” He sounded as if he were back in class, delivering a lecture.

At that moment they crested a small rise and the plain spread out below them, subdued wheaten gold under a bruised sky. The sun was beginning to sink. Off to her left, Hermione saw some strangely shaped boulders.

“Salisbury Plain!”

Snape nodded.

“Sir, why are we walking in the open?”

“There’s no other way to get there, unless we use magic. And out in the open like this, I won’t risk it.”

“Where are we going?”

Snape cocked his head toward the boulders.

“To Stonehenge?” Hermione could not keep the note of incredulity out of her voice.

Snape gave her one of his fathomless stares. “Where else? There’s plenty of magic there. It will magnify what we have. No one will find us there, no matter how hard they search.”

He took her wrist and pulled her down the plain. Hermione was so numb with cold, she could no longer feel her legs. She stumbled after him until he slowed his pace. They approached Stonehenge as the sun dipped over one of the lintels. Hermione shivered. They rounded the wrought iron perimeter of the stone formation and approached the pay booth, but no one was inside. Snape held his wand to the locked wrought iron gate, and it fell open. They were within the fence, separated from Stonehenge by just a rope barrier now. Snape craned his head upward, scanning the darkening clouds. At last he said, “We’ll set up camp here.”

He stepped over the rope and moved to the middle of the henge. Hermione followed, feeling almost done in from cold and fatigue. Snape took her arm in one hand and his wand in the other and began chanting the protective spells, some of which Hermione had never heard before. When he finished, she ventured, “What were all those spells? I didn’t recognize them all.”

Snape gazed at her for a second. Then he brushed her cheek with his thumb and said in an off-hand voice, “I know Snatchers and Death Eaters. And I don’t want to encounter any tonight.” He turned away as if afraid he had said too much.

The sun had turned red and was sinking rapidly into the horizon. With its loss, the wind picked up, and the cold drove through them, sharp like flint. Snape waved his wand. Nothing seemed to happen. But he reached out and pulled an entire piece of the scenery aside like cloth. Hermione found herself gazing into the interior of a roomy tent whose exterior blended perfectly with its surroundings. She felt so tired and cold, she couldn’t immediately move.

Snape glanced at her, then draped an arm around her waist and pulled her into shelter. Once inside the dark interior, she tiredly conjured her blue flames. Something flickered in Snape’s eyes.

“Those flames look familiar,” he drawled. “I seem to remember my robes catching fire with blue flame during a Quidditch match when Quirrell taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Hermione closed her eyes with shame at the memory. Snape had been saving Harry’s life while Professor Quirrell was trying to kill Harry, but she hadn’t realized it at the time. “Th-that was a long time ago, sir. I thought you were hexing Harry. I know that’s not true now. Please forgive me.”

Snape blinked in surprise. Obviously, he had expected some argumentative response. Then he somehow seemed to relax. He waved his wand, and Hermione’s blue flames leapt higher, turned a normal flame color, and began to crackle pleasantly.

“I thought, no fires, no magic—“ Hermione began.

“We can’t be seen here,” he said. “And you’re freezing. Do you have the food?”

Hermione pulled her sock out of her jeans pocket and began laying out dinner: bread, cheese, some pears, some sweet rolls, a canteen of water and one of wine. “I didn’t pack anything that could go bad,” she said apologetically.

Snape grunted non-committally. He reached for the bread, tore it in two, and gave one half to Hermione. For the next several minutes, they ate and drank without interruption, setting to the task with the single-mindedness of the famished. Whenever something looked close to running out, one or the other of them waved a wand at it to replenish the stock. When Hermione could eat no more, she turned to Snape and with a jolt, found his glittering black eyes already trained on her.

“Come here,” he said.

She could not tear her eyes away. She slid close to him, and he pulled her brusquely into the crook of his arm. For a moment, they sat together without speaking. A camp bed big enough for two stood just behind them. Then he said, “You know what might happen tomorrow.” As usual, he was not asking a question, but stating what he viewed to be the obvious.

Hermione nodded. Snape would be lying to Death Eaters and Voldemort, putting himself in mortal danger. “Are you still doing it…for her?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Snape stared at the leaping flames. “I told you once that I did,” he said at last. “It’s partly true. I’ve missed her every day she’s been gone, even if she was James Potter’s wife. And I’ve lived knowing that she would still be alive if it hadn’t been for me—“

“I’m sure that’s not true!” Hermione broke in, but he waved her off.

“I need to put paid to my debts. Potter is his father all over again, but there are always…reminders…of what I owe his mother.” He was silent then, and Hermione thought he would not speak any more. But after a long, elastic moment, he continued, “But that’s the past. I cannot change it. You, though,” he turned to her, his thin face wary, “you are my future. I’ve pushed you away and tried to tell myself it was just a passing fancy. It’s come to no good. Here we are, alone on Salisbury Plain the night before a terrible tomorrow, and I won’t lie to you. I owe you that much, at least. You’re my future if you wish it so. And if we survive tomorrow, I will give you a real ring.”

The words crashed over Hermione, making her spirit soar. “Then there’s something you have to tell me,” she said.

He nodded once, still wary.

“What will you give to keep me?”

“Give?” He hesitated a moment, and Hermione thought he might balk and say he’d given enough. “Anything,” he said at last.

Hermione’s heart flooded with happiness, despite the cold and dread. Her mouth and his melted together.