PROLOGUE
1997

The town was a peaceful one by normal standards. Crime cases were small, like vandalism, and very rare. It was the kind of town one would imagine when reading a fairy tale; quaint, with noises of crickets at night and crows of roosters come morning. So it was considered big news indeed when one early December morning, the wife of a local grocer went out to get the mail and found a young woman lying on the frozen street, wearing a long, loose dress; unconscious.

“Almost as cold as the garden gnome on my lawn!” she exclaimed later to a customer in the grocery store.

She had, of course, out of the kindness of her heart, taken the young woman in, and put her in bed with a nice cheerful fireplace in the room. She had yet to gain consciousness, but her temperature had stabilized and the doctor who came to check on her said that she was no longer in danger from hypothermia.

It had taken the young woman a few days after that to start showing signs of consciousness; a weak movement of her hand, fluttering of her eyelids, and sometimes, on her good days, she managed to mumble out a syllable or two that would make no sense whatsoever to those lucky enough to be within hearing distance.

Gradually, after weeks of bed rest, hot chicken soup and awful medicine, she grew fit enough to get up from bed to have meals with the family. And it was two months after that when she was finally allowed to get up, having been declared completely cured by the doctor.

Nobody knew the background of this young lady- even after she was cured, she would complain of headaches every time the subject was broached. Eventually people gave up, and the young lady insisted on repaying the grocer and his wife’s kindness by helping them around the store. Although they tried to discourage her at first, they were secretly pleased by the increase in sales brought in by the men of the town who would casually walk in the store a few times a day, lingering for long periods at a time, each time buying nothing more than a packet of chewing gum or two.

She stayed with the kind family for a year, then another, helping them tirelessly in the store and around the house, but always carefully avoided the advances of the town blokes. The grocer and wife became fond of her, and would treat her like the daughter they never had. Despite not knowing about her real family, real life before that unforgettable December morning, they would sometimes forget that she had not always belonged in the family.

And the blokes would continue wooing the young woman with the marvelous brown curls, who they knew only as ‘Miss Hermy’.

---

A rooster outside the crooked three-storey house flapped it wings a few times, hopped onto a rather big rock and crowed at the first rays of sunlight from beyond the horizon. In the house, a few windows lighted up and the clatters of pots and pans could be heard as Molly Weasley made her way around the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Her husband, Arthur entered the room a while later, bags under his eyes indicating he had not been sleeping well for the past few days.

Arthur flopped into a chair at the table, propped his elbows on it and rested his head in his hands. Just when it seemed he might doze off, a loud crack echoed around the kitchen and a young man appeared near the door, his black hair messier than usual and streaks of dirt was on his face. He staggered into the room and sank into the chair opposite Arthur, and rested his head on the parched surface of the wooden table.

“No sign of her?” asked Arthur, looking up despairingly at the young man. Harry Potter shook his head without bothering to lift it from the table, his forehead rubbing against the dry splinters. Arthur buried his head back into his hands and sighed heavily. Silence enveloped the kitchen once more, and the despair that had appeared in the air since a week ago hung thicker, heavier around them.

“Here, drink this up,” said Molly softly to the men, placing a mug of coffee in front of each of them. She straightened up and looked hopelessly at the two men, not knowing what to do- if there’s anything at all she could do- about the situation. She took a chair beside Arthur and sat down, as the two men began to distractedly sip on their coffee.

Another loud crack sounded, and another young man appeared at the door. Harry and Arthur looked up hopefully at the newcomer, but seeing the dejected expression on his face, they once again brooded into their coffee. The newcomer took the chair beside Harry and heaved himself into it. A mug of coffee appeared in front of him, and he brought his hands to wrap around the mug, warming his hands from the frosty December air.

“I’m sorry boys, but she’s been gone an entire week. And we’re at war, we can’t waste much time for just one person. I know she’s your best friend, but there are other lives to be saved,” began Molly. Harry and Ron slumped lower in their chair, as if dreading what she would say next. “I’m afraid we have to stop searching,” she finished gently.

Ron Weasley let out a strangled sob and looked at his mother. “We can’t stop yet,” he begged, “she might still be out there!”

“It’s been a week, Ron! If she is still out there, chances are that she has already been found by- by someone else or she’s-”

“No, she’s still alive, I can feel it!” interrupted Ron fiercely. He looked at Harry for support, who had his head back on the table and refused to react to the argument. “Look Mum, give us one more day. Just one more day, and if we can’t find her...” his face crumpled, “...we’ll… we’ll stop…” And he, too, put his head on the table with a deep sigh.
Looking up from his coffee, Arthur patted the two young men consolingly on their shoulder. “Come on, boys. You know winning this war is top priority. And we need you in battle. This isn’t just about Hogwarts; about friendship. It’s about the whole wizarding world, and probably the whole world as well. And everyone is counting on you,” he said solemnly as he stood up, drained his mug and left the room to catch up with much needed sleep.

“I’m sorry, boys,” whispered Molly again before setting her mug in the sink and leaving the two friends to comfort each other.

They stayed still in their chair as the sun rose, as if they’ve lost the will to move. It was some time before Ron stirred, reached for his now-cold coffee and took a swig. He set the mug back down on the table before letting out a deep sigh, and croaked out, “What do we do now, ‘Arry?”

The slumped body of Harry Potter twitched. “I.. I dunno, Ron. I seriously don’t know…” he trailed off as his voice broke. Beside him, Ron stared unfocusedly into space, an affectionate smile beginning on his lips.

“She’s supposed to be the one who always know what to do,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Remember that time in our second year? When she came up with the plan to sneak into the Slytherin common room?”

Harry shifted slightly in his chair to look at Ron. “Yeah.” His voice was low. “Didn’t turn out too well for her though, did it?” he added wryly. Ron chuckled, then he screwed up his eyes against the unbearable pain in his chest.

“Damn you, Hermione!” He stood up suddenly and threw the mug across the room with all the energy he could muster, where it hit the wall near the door and shattered into small, sharp pieces. He was breathing heavily by now, his hands fisted on either side of him. Then, as if the act had drained him of every little energy he had, he slumped back onto his chair, his head on the table and his hands clutching at his red hair on either side of his head. “Please be alright...” he whispered chokingly before he fell asleep with a shuddering breath.

Harry Potter stared at his friend for a long time, until the sunlight was streaming into the room through the window, and then, with a determined look on his face, he pointed his wand at the fragments of what used to be a mug, muttered something under his breath and finally dropped his head onto his arms where he fell into a deep, yet restless slumber.

As they always were.

And the mug stood, restored, near the door.

Bells jingled as Hermy pushed open the door to the grocery store, and dumped an armful of books on the counter. “Bob? Maggie?” she called out.



“Back here, dear!”



She grabbed a book from the top of the pile and made her way to the back of the shop, where she found Maggie bending over some boxes and punching into a calculator. She immediately put her book down on a shelf, and began helping Maggie taking inventory.



“Did you go to the library? Was Larry there?” asked the older woman slyly, glancing at her companion from the corner of her eyes. Hermy had given her much delight since she and her husband had taken the young woman in two years ago.



Hermy threw back her head and laughed. “No. Well, yes, I did go to the library but Larry wasn’t there. I suspect the librarian shooed him out, what with his notorious reputation and all that.” Grinning, she perched on the edge of a big box and faced Maggie. “Funny thing is, more of the ‘bad boys’ have been hanging around the library lately. That’s what Mrs. Stewart said, anyway.”



“Well, Mrs. Stewart ought to know. She’s been the librarian for the past ten years, and God knows she was always complaining that not enough of the young lads spend their time there. Now she’s complaining about those lads crowding the library behind you!”



Shaking her head, Hermy giggled. “Please, I beg you not to hold me responsible for the ‘fan group’ that’s been following me around. I don’t even know why! I’ve certainly never had this problem when I was at Hog-” She stopped talking abruptly, and her expression changed from merriment to pain.



Maggie sighed softly. It had always been like this, ever since Hermy was well enough to joke. Every time she would start to unconsciously talk about her past, she would stop abruptly and her face would be screwed up as if fighting back an intense pain. And then she would change the subject.



“Did these boxes arrive this morning?”



Maggie smiled to herself. “Yes, around two hours ago. Why don’t you go and sit by the counter. You can start on the dozens of books you’ve managed to get Mrs. Stewart to let you check out,” she teased. Hermy looked sternly at her.



“Dozens? You know nothing on earth would make Mrs. Stewart agree to let anybody do that!” Her expression then softened. “But I think I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ve been dying to read ‘Pride and Prejudice’. I’ve just never gotten around to it before.” She jotted a last number onto her clipboard and put the calculator down. She made her way to the counter and flopped down on the counter seat, reaching out for her books across the counter. Spinning around in her seat for a while, she got herself comfortable for a good, long read.



*



“Severus?”



He nearly dropped the phial in his hand, but having been trained to control his reflexes, the phial of vital ingredient remained intact.



“Minerva?” he inquired a bit snappily at the headmistress’ head in the fireplace. He was sure there wasn’t another staff meeting this week, so he couldn’t have missed any. And it’s still the Summer Holidays, so he couldn’t have taken too much house points from a Gryffindor. “What is it?”



“Would you mind coming up for a bit? I have something for you,” said the head, and disappeared, no doubt taking for granted that Severus would follow.



Severus bit back a groan, and placed the phial back into the holder. Pinching a bit of powder from a small bowl near the fireplace, he threw it into the fire and stepped into the roaring green flames with a “Headmistress’ Office!”



Minerva MacGonagall leaned back into her chair and surveyed the surly wizard critically. “You’ve been cooped up too long,” she said, her eyes lingering on a trace of yellowish stain on his fingers, and then on the pale skin of his arms exposed by the sleeves folded to above his elbows. She snapped her gaze back to Severus’s face that was already furrowed into a scowl.



“I don’t have much of a social life, in case you’ve forgotten. People aren’t too keen to be buddies with the murderer of Albus Dumbledore,” he snapped bitterly.



The headmistress sighed in frustration. “Really Severus, everyone knows you’re innocent! You’re the only one punishing yourself.” Seeing that the younger wizard had opened his mouth for another sarcastic retort, no doubt, she hastily grabbed a piece of parchment from her desk and thrust it into Severus’s hands. “Here. It’s the list of Muggleborns for this year. Make sure you get around every single one of them by August.”



Severus scanned the list in his hands. “A bit extended this year, isn’t it?” he commented.



“Well, yes. I think it’s more of a blessing, since we’ve lost so many people in the war and I was worried for a while we might not get enough students for four houses anymore.” Minerva’s eyes clouded over at the thought of the war.

Eager to avoid mentions of the war and emotional reactions to it, he nodded sharply and said, “Very well, I’d better start this afternoon and get this over with as soon as possible. Anything else?”



“No, that’s it I think. Just don’t forget to give them the instructions on how to get to the platform. Last year was a disaster!” She shuddered at the memory.



He frowned in annoyance. “Last year wasn’t my fault, you know. I…”



“Yes Severus, I know.” Minerva cut in. “Well, run along now.”



Acknowledging the dismissal, he gave a last curt nod before Flooing back to his rooms.



A hundred and thirty-two Muggleborns this year, he thought grimly, and it’s all up to me to convince the parents that I’m not some mad con man trying to fool them with silly card tricks and kidnap their children to sell as slaves. Oh joy.



After a quick shower and a change of clothes later, he stood in front of the mirror to tie his hair back with a piece of black ribbon. Checking to make sure his Muggle outfit of black suit over a white shirt was acceptable, he grabbed his list, wand and the necessary papers and shoved them into a small briefcase he would be carrying. With a last glance at the mirror, he hurried put of the castle to Apparate to his first destination: Sheffield.



*



“Get out of here! Wizard, indeed!”

Severus swallowed down the impatience he felt at the ignorance of Muggles. Really, they just didn’t know any better, he thought soothingly to himself.



“Mr. Hamilton, wizards are normal people who possess magical powers that are usually inherited from earlier generations. It appears that you have an uncle who is a wizard, and your wife’s great grandmother was a witch. Both you and your wife are carriers of the magical gene and it should come as no surprise that you have produced a son with magical abilities,” finished Severus calmly.



Mr. Hamilton, however, was not so easily convinced.



“Now look here mister,” he said fiercely, “I don’t know what you’re on about, but-”



“Mr. Hamilton, it appears you need a little... demonstration to convince you,” interrupted Severus. He flicked his wand, and with a strangled yell, the big burly man was hung upside down from the ceiling, his untucked shirt falling over his face.



“Let me down THIS INSTANT!” he shouted, struggling around to cover his bulging stomach from public view. Severus obliged, and the next instant the man was once again sprawled on the armchair.



Mr. Hamilton shoved his dark hair away from his red face, looking furious. “How dare you come into my home and… and… hang me from the ceiling like that!” he bellowed.



Severus looked levelly into the other man’s eyes as he spoke. “I apologize. However, I deemed that drastic action was necessary to prove my point.”



The other man snorted. “Prove your point? Oh please, your little magic tricks aren’t going to fool me!”



With a heavy sigh, Severus resigned himself to a very, very long afternoon.



*



Hermy had a lovely afternoon of reading behind the counter. Business was always pretty slow in the afternoon, and she was only disturbed by a few kids running into the shop and attacking the candy corner. After sorting the kids out and mopping up the muddy footprints they left behind, Hermy returned behind the counter, picked up her book and propped her feet up on a low shelf under the counter to finish the last few chapters of Pride and Prejudice.



*



Severus Snape was in a Very Bad Mood. He had been through the first five names on his list, and nearly all of them had been as ready to believe him as his students would believe him to start giving out candies. Thank goodness the last one wasn’t so difficult, he thought as he walked towards a shadowy corner of the village of his latest student to Disapparate back to Hogwarts.



He was tired, he was thirsty and he was extremely moody. He needed to get back to Hogwarts and soak in his tub, before taking a nice long nap.



*



Hermy shut the book in her hands with a contented sigh. She had always thought that Pride and Prejudice was a little over-rated, but now that she had finally read it, she’d have to agree with the high praises and great reviews it had been getting. She especially loved the way Jane Austen addressed to the issues of her time; of gender roles, of education and of marriage.



Setting the book back on the pile she’d checked out from the library, she glanced at her watch and saw that it was nearly seven o’clock. She had read right through the afternoon! Typical me, she thought with a wry grin.



“Maggie? I’m going home now. Are you going to need help with anything?”



Maggie’s voice floated through the open door of the store room. “That’s alright, dear. Bob’s going to be here soon anyway. You just go home and enjoy those books!”



Hermy grinned affectionately. She got out from the counter and heaved the pile of books into her arms, shifting it in both arms to adjust the weight. She made her way carefully to the door; pushing it open with her shoulder, and stepped out of the little shop. The walk to the house wasn’t far, thank goodness, and she had already made the same journey countless times the past two years.



She hadn’t counted on the fact that a man very lost in thought was walking right across her path. A tall, dark-haired man, who was in a very, very bad mood.



*



When Severus heard the footsteps of the other person, it was already too late. His gasp of surprise never left his throat, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the ground, half covered in books, and a knee pressing painfully into his stomach.



And it didn’t help that his head was hurting like hell.



*



“Oh no! I am so sorry!”



Hermy extracted herself off the ground, hearing the man groan as she unconsciously dug her knees harder into the man’s stomach to push herself to a sitting position. She frantically began to pick up the scattered books, brushing the dust and dirt off the pages. She could feel the man’s eyes on her, but she was too busy with her task, and too embarrassed at her carelessness to look up. She heard the man moving to his feet.



“Do watch where you’re going, miss,” he snarled.



Hermy stopped cold, her arms still outstretched to reach for a book on her left. She knew that snarl. She remembered the last time she heard it, in the middle of the battlefield, weak but firm, ordering her to get some rest.



“Go, now, you stupid little girl! You won’t be any help to any of us in this condition!”

“No, Professor. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

“And when is that? When you’re laying half-dead on the ground and had to be spelled home?”



She gave a strangled sob at the memory, and whispered, “Professor Snape?”

Chapter 2- Her Request


Severus Snape shook his head roughly as he stared at the woman in front of him who was calmly sipping on her iced tea. He adjusted himself in his seat, and nearly snorted as the implication of where he was sank in. Albus would have fallen off his chair laughing at me if he’d seen me, he thought wryly, and then felt a pang when he remembered why he wouldn’t be. He cleared his throat and looked around him at the small teashop curiously, feeling absolutely self conscious as he adjusted his frame once again to sit comfortably on the overstuffed armchair with pink floral design.

It was like a dream, or nightmare, he thought, that he had suddenly, in this… middle of nowhere, bumped into the most important missing person of the wizarding world. Yes, most thought her dead, but at the insistence of the famous war hero, Potter, she had been filed as a missing person. Such was Potter’s influence that even two years after her disappearance, she is still number one on the list, meaning that the search for her was number one priority. And to motivate the search, a ten thousand galleons reward has been put on her head for her to be found alive.

So she had been hiding in this out-of-way place all along, he mused grumpily. He looked around again. It was still a daze how he had ended up in this frilly teashop with her. One moment he was knocked off his feet by some careless pedestrian, and the next moment…

*
Severus Snape picked up his briefcase from the ground and brushed the dust off with his hands. His eyes traveled with irritation to the woman who was still on her knees, scrambling to get her books together. “If this was Hogwarts, I’d have taken fifty points from her house,” he thought with a scowl.

“Do watch where you’re going, miss,” he snarled nastily even as he extended his hands to help her up. Never was it said that he wasn’t a gentleman.

The woman gasped slightly at his words, and froze, her breathing becoming laboured. Severus looked on impatiently, and was just about to withdraw his hand when she began shaking.

“Professor Snape?”

It was barely more than a whisper, but he heard it. He promptly dropped his briefcase back to the ground as the woman turned her head towards him, tears streaming down from her familiar brown eyes.

“Miss Granger!” he gasped.

The woman hiccupped, and laughed shakily as she pushed herself to her feet. “I must say it’s an honour that you remember me, Professor,” she said, grasping his still outstretched hand in a handshake. “And it seems that I have rendered you speechless.”

He opened his mouth, but words eluded him.


Hermione sighed, instinctively knowing that this was not going to be the typical knock-over-and-leave encounter. She bent down to retrieve her books from the ground, and straightened.

“I would pick your briefcase up for you, but my hands are quite occupied at the moment. And perhaps, till you recover your mental faculties, you would like to go somewhere more comfortable?”

*
“Professor!”

Severus jerked out of his memories and scowled at the woman across him. “What is it, Miss Granger?”

She sighed. “I know it must have been a shock for you to meet me here, but I would like to ask a favour of you. If possible, please keep my location a secret.”

Severus looked at her curiously. He sipped on his coffee, and leveled his gaze on hers.

“May I ask why?”

She stirred her drink with her straw distractedly. “It’s just that… well, I have no plans of returning any time soon. So I guess it’s better if I…”

“What I meant, Miss Granger, is why have you been hiding here for two years? Why have you not contacted us in any way at all, making us believe you were dead? Why?”

Hermione swallowed, and rubbed her temples with the tip o her fingers. She had not anticipated this question at all. She had just assumed that the professor would not care enough to ask.

“If you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s very… difficult. Please, just do me a great favour and forget you’ve ever bumped into me here,” she said, looking imploringly at him. She saw him hesitate, and then he jerked his head in acquiesce.

“Very well,” he said, “I shall not mention to anyone of our meeting here. It’ll ruin my reputation, anyway,” he added under his breath.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Professor.”

Severus Snape had just had about enough of the town. First he was knocked off his feet (from which his head still hurt), then was forced inside this damnable teashop, and now, as he stood up to leave, he saw the faces that was pressed against the glass windows of the teashop, scowling darkly at him.

“Who, in the name of Hades, are those people?!” he growled menacingly. The faces at the windows seemed taken aback at the vicious expression on his face. Hermione glanced at the direction he was looking, and groaned.

“Um, yes… I seem to have gathered a few… admirers here.” She was clearly uncomfortable.

He turned his gaze back on her, assessing her features, his eyes lingering on the same bushy hair from two years ago. “I can’t imagine why,” he sneered. He then picked up his briefcase, turned towards her and delivered his parting words.

“Let’s hope we never meet again, then, Miss Granger.” Then he stalked out of the teashop, and hopefully, thought Hermione, out of her life.

She watched as the blokes scrambled away from the window to let the professor pass through, and shook her head, chuckling quietly. Some things never change, she thought, and then realized that he had left her to pay for their drinks.

But since they probably would never meet again, she mused as she paid for the drinks, she probably shouldn’t think too badly of him. With that thought, she skipped out of the teashop where she would, hopefully, get on with her mundane life.

---

Author's Note: Before you ask, no, this is not the end of the story. I really hope this story won't be too long, since I'll be busy again quite soon. Thanks for reading, and hugs if you've reviewed!