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Ten-year-old Hermione was extremely different from other children her age, she was more intelligent, more mature, and could do things the other children couldn’t dream of. It had started when she was very small, things she wanted would float into her hands, when she was hungry, food would appear before her, when she was frightened of the dark, lights would dance in the air and brighten up the room, chasing away the shadows.
Her parents were confused, but unafraid. They didn’t tell the doctors, worried she could be removed from their care. They nurtured her power, helped it grow. Her eleventh birthday was approaching, and with it the sense that something was going to happen. Hermione wanted so desperately to be proven different, to have it known that she was capable of more.
Lately, her parents had been on edge, a string of break-ins had them being more careful about who they spoke to, and she was never allowed to be alone in the house. Not that the Granger’s left her alone often, but, occasionally, they would leave her in the house, unsupervised, for a couple of hours while they went out. Hermione was wiser than her years and they had no fears of her doing anything she shouldn’t.
She’d gone to bed early, complaining she felt a little under the weather. She had no idea what time is was, but she was suddenly alert. She woke up to the glare of a flashlight in her face and a hand clamped over her mouth. “Not a word, they’re close and you are just their type.”
The voice was not familiar, the hand cold, strong, carefully covering her mouth but not her nose. He quickly covered her bed in her teddies, burying her among them. Her window opened and shut, and seconds later, her bedroom door opened. Two men came in, also unfamiliar. “She’s not here,” one growled, face covered in thick hair, teeth filed to points.
“Maybe she’s in with the parents, come on,” the other spoke, this one more cultured. The clouds parted and moonlight streamed in, highlighting the bright, platinum, blond hair.
They left, flashes of green light bounced along the walls of the hallway, but Hermione dared not move a muscle. They left and just as Hermione climbed out of bed to investigate, her mystery saviour came back through her window and stopped her. “Come, we must go.”
“My mum and dad,” she whispered.
“I will explain, I promise, but we have to go, now!”
The dark-eyed man was scary, but she was a brave girl, so, she went with him. He walked quickly, hurrying her along, her tears dripping down her chin. When they were far away enough, he flicked a stick from his pocket at a tree and her parents appeared as if an invisible curtain had been lifted. They cried in relief and cuddled her close, thanking the man profusely.
“Who were they?” Her mother asked.
“Death Eaters. In a few months’ time, your daughter will receive a letter to attend a prestigious school for witchcraft and wizardry. You must let her attend. They wished to capture her, indoctrinate her to a maniac, and raise her to be his right hand man, or woman, in this case. Your daughter is more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”
Hermione stared at him, committing his face to memory, and when she received her letter, she wondered if she would see her guardian angel again. She did not expect to see him sitting at the Head Table when the doors to the Great Hall at Hogwarts opened. His dark eyes were trained on her, unblinking, and she looked back, unafraid. He tipped his head, just once, in acknowledgement.
For seven years, Severus Snape protected her, kept her safe from Death Eaters and idiot boys she called friends. When the battle was over, and he was recuperating at St. Mungo’s, he woke to find Hermione there, at his side, one of his hands encased in both of hers. “Miss Granger,” he rasped, his throat struggling with the wounds and venom.
She smiled, heart swelling, she loved it when her name fell from his lips. “My guardian angel,” she whispered.
“You were not…supposed to…fall for me…Miss Granger.”
Laughing, Hermione pressed her lips to the tips of his fingers. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been my guardian angel, then, Severus Snape. You’re stuck with me now.”
A wheezing laugh sounded and he managed a smile. “Good job you’re just my type.”