Chapter Text
The breeze drifted through, teasing the loose tendrils of her hair to dance across the back of her neck. A soft sigh escaped her, though she did not move from her position sitting amongst the ramparts of the castle, at the top of a rarely explored wing near the Astronomy Tower. The stones beneath her were bracingly cold, those behind her back pressed unevenly into her taught muscles as she sat, knees pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around them. Her head rested on her knees, cheekbones pressed into her kneecaps, her eyes closed in contemplation.
Funny, how a place could feel so much like home even when it no longer was.
It had been three years since Voldemort had been defeated. The castle had been repaired over the course of three weeks, new coursework was outlined in the week thereafter. The students were invited back for an optional summer session in the hopes of minimizing the war’s damage to their education. Many had taken the opportunity—certainly more than Hermione had expected—and most of those who had been seventh years were able to take their exams in late August. The Sorting ceremony that year had been combined with a celebration for those graduating, putting on a good show for overcoming the destruction they’d suffered, offering a balm of sorts to the fears held by so many that things would never return to normal.
Graduates and students alike were encouraged to move on, to find their place, follow their talents and their dreams. ‘Be the change,’ as Minerva touted, once she’d discovered the phrase in an old notebook she’d recovered in Charity Burbage’s onetime quarters.
Yet Hermione had felt even then, not six months after the so-called ‘Last Battle’, that there was still a weariness—and a wariness—in her peers and herself. They could not simply move on, because for many, the war lingered. Too many had been lost. Even more had been injured. Scars abounded, and Hermione knew that even more lay beneath the surface, invisible to her and yet no less real. Trauma of all sorts was widespread; somehow, it was also a fairly new concept for the Wizarding World. Centuries of being able to fix something with a spell or a potion had quite removed magical folk from the idea that healing might take real work on the part of the patient, just the healer. The same, of course, could be said of larger issues; income inequality, resource scarcity, governmental corruption…the list went on. All issues that magical folk would eventually have to face, yet were happy to largely ignore in favor of maintaining the status quo.
Hermione had spent a few days putting real consideration into what needed to be done, and then a few more into narrowing her extensive list to only things she could directly affect. A swot she might be, but she had learned her lesson about realistic goals in her third year. That is, that she could do anything if she had the time; which, with the destruction of all of the Time-Turners in the Department of Mysteries, she did not. She did, however, have connections, organization skills, and an instinctive resourcefulness. Her list of recommendations had been distributed to those in positions of power—Kingsley, Minerva, the Board of Governors, the Wizengamot, and leadership in a couple of neighboring countries—along with offers of consultation whenever they needed should they choose to follow her suggestions.
Many had.
The year following had been a whirlwind. She’d taken up an accelerated Charms apprenticeship with Filius, which both delighted and challenged her. On the side, Hermione took every opportunity to study with some of the other Masters she had access to: Minerva, Septima, and Severus. They’d all suffered injuries during the war, and during that final battle, of course. But they’d all survived. After laying their mentors, peers, and protégés to rest, all three had trauma of their own. Minerva and Septima had thrown their full support behind Hermione’s T.H.R.I.V.E. initiative—Therapy to Help Recuperating Individuals and Victims Everywhere, or as Ron had dubbed it, ‘Therapy Hurts; Really, It Victimizes Everything’, which was really quite clever of him.
Severus had still been in St. Mungos at that point but was released in January. He’d been quite close-lipped about how he’d survived, having only admitted to her recently that he’d had a backup plan in place. She had yet to hear the details, but she would. Eventually.
As her apprenticeship progressed, she’d been exploring more and more cooperative projects and applications of her theories. Charmed Transfiguration seemed particularly promising in the private sector for security applications—a door which was no longer a door and relocated itself when needed was a favorite of hers. She’d worked with Pomona to completely overhaul the environmental charmwork on the Greenhouses, adding in monitor spells inspired by Muggle inventions. And, just two months ago, she’d approached Severus with her newest Charmed Potion idea.
He hadn’t graced her with that particular look since well before he’d invited her to address him by name; since well before the war had ended, now that she thought about it. But once she’d smoothed over his prickled tail feathers and wounded pride— wizards, she shook her head—to reassure him that she didn’t think she would succeed where he had failed, per se, she only thought some new advancements in the other fields she was studying (fields he could of course never be expected to keep up with) might enable her to view the problem from a new angle. And, she argued, this was the last type of scar she needed to address.
Therapy would help the scars that hid below the surface. She’d improved on multiple scar reduction potions by modifying charmwork to accompany them, and had given new patents to Kingsley for production and distribution of the improved treatments months ago. Magical scars were the last hurdle on her horizon. Namely, the Dark Mark.
Severus had ranted at her, had railed and raged against the idea that not only was the removal of the Mark possible, but he deserved it. It was only after his—theirs, really, with how frequently she was in there—lab had nearly been destroyed by unfortunately timed simultaneous bursts of wandless magic from the pair, that he had quieted. He’d agreed to help after she made her case for Draco.
And then, after all of that, she’d hit a wall she wasn’t sure she could break through.
She groaned as she sat in the chill, momentarily regretting her ability to get so lost in thought. She unclasped her arms and stretched her legs out one at a time, working blood back into her aching extremities.
Hermione had done her research. She’d pondered the problem, run the calculations, and collected her sources. Trials had gone well, but those had been simple curse scars. The trouble came down to the bond that was buried in the Mark. Severus had accepted a bond to the Mark’s master. His magic had been tied to the Mark, and through the Mark, to Voldemort. With Voldemort gone, the Mark could not be released; this would have required consent from the bond’s Master. In a twisted way, it reminded her of some of the ancient marriage rites she’d uncovered when establishing her groundwork with bonds.
Since the bond could not be released, it had to be superseded. Traditionally, such a bond could only be nullified when a stronger bond was put into place. If a widow who had been bonded by a similar rite a century ago wanted to be married once more, the couple had to use a stronger bond to negate the remnants of the first. It was all very misogynistic. Hermione made another mental note to work on improving marriage bonds in a future project. And warding, she couldn’t forget about that.
She stood and turned to make her way back down the ramparts, idly observing the view as she considered her choices.
Her introspection these last two months had caused her to come to some revelations. Her research and calculations made those revelations quite difficult to navigate. She was, however, absolutely certain of three things:
- She was in serious danger of falling in love with Severus Snape. His wit and humor had come to the forefront, with him free to research and brew for Hogwarts as he finished his recuperation there, no longer forced to teach those who did not want to be taught. They’d become quite close, researching together when she wasn’t studying with Filius, and he’d begun inviting her to relax and enjoy a drink and read a book in his study on weekends…she cherished those evenings more than she knew how to express.
- Her calculations indicated that it would take no less than a soul bond—an irrevocable bond that could not be negated, as it was the strongest of all bonds—to nullify the bond in the Mark. A type of bond which required mutual emotion, knowledge, and intent to complete. A bond that few would be able to share with him, but for which Arithmancy indicated she’d be well suited.
- She could never, ever tell him. It was clear that he was looking forward to his freedom. He’d spent decades dedicated to a woman he loved and controlled by not one, but two masters. Now that the war was won, Hermione would have no part in tying him to another when he should have every opportunity to go and see the world and live his life however he wanted to, beholden to no one. She’d have to find another way.
The door closed rather loudly behind her, a gift of wind slamming it with extra force. She shook herself, fixing her hair once more into the mop of a bun on top of her head. Then, she squared her shoulders and headed to Pomona's quarters. She had the stirrings of an idea.
Precisely one week later saw Hermione settling in to breakfast with the staff, the noise of the Great Hall falling into the background as she contemplated her upcoming travels.
“Is it true?” Filius’ voice from her side broke through her thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Severus mentioned that he was joining you on a short trip. Were you planning to inform your mentor of this or just disappear into the night?” The Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eye reassured her that her mentor was not actually irritated at not yet having been informed.
“Well, yes.” Hermione sat her napkin down next to her plate and turned to address him more directly. “As you know, I’ve developed the charms framework for my curse scar removal theory—” Filius nodded, as they’d discussed the process in depth already, “—and my calculations gave me very limited options on how to proceed. I’ve met with Pomona nearly every night this week and we believe we’ve established a list of the right plants to harvest for the potion. We were even able to secure the travel permits and Portkeys already, since the Ministry is apparently eager to see the results of my work!” She couldn’t stop the excitement from coming through now, grinning as she continued, “I was doing some research on Friday, and borrowed some of Severus’ books.”
She pretended not to see the knowing glances Filius shared with Pomona and Minerva—they really struggled to believe that she and Severus were just friends—and pushed on. “Of course, I had to explain my need for them; Magical Environs of the Lamiaceae and Other Species of the Order Lamiales isn’t exactly my usual purview.” She chuckled weakly when only Pomona laughed, quieting for a moment before she continued. “And when I explained that I needed to harvest four ingredients across as many locations, he agreed to join me and take advantage of the opportunity to harvest ingredients of his own. We plan to recoup the costs of the trip with the additional ingredients we harvest.”
“Severus is going with you?” Filius grinned unabashedly at her.
“Yes—” Hermione began, but the clatter of a fork falling onto a plate made her look over at Minerva. The woman’s hand was lifted, forkful of food conspicuously missing.
“But Severus doesn’t take vacations. He hasn’t taken time off in…well, ever. I thought he was—” Minerva dabbed her mouth with her napkin, composing herself. “I thought he was jesting when he mentioned it to me this morning.”
“It’s not a vacation, it’s directly related to work for the school,” Hermione objected, but her words fell on deaf ears as the gossips of Hogwarts shared another round of knowing looks before Filius turned back to her.
“Of course it is, dear. I have no problem with this trip, nor does Minerva, I’m sure,” he spoke while patting her hand reassuringly, glancing over to see Minerva nod in agreement. “When do you leave?”
“We need to leave tomorrow to stay on schedule. Some of the ingredients have very limited windows for harvest. I’m going shopping with Ginny today to get a couple of essentials for the trip.”
Conversation turned to what each at the table had planned to do that day, but Hermione did not miss Minerva’s whispered conversation with her personal House Elf when she thought Hermione wasn’t looking. Gossips, indeed.