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Dementors Place—Hermione named for herself the gloomy house on the second day she arrived. She had been at Grimmauld Place for three weeks now, and it seemed like years.
Neither Fred and George’s pranks, nor Ginny’s chatter about everything, nor Molly’s fussiness saved her from melancholy and despondency. Hermione knew she was safe there and surrounded by skilled magicians who could protect her better than her own parents. But she still felt terribly lonely.
Every summer, the home part of her holidays got shorter—and so, this year, for the first time, she hadn’t gone home at all, having lied herself out of coming with some summer practice in a letter she’d written to her parents. Every year, she had more secrets from them and less to talk about. One day, Hermione thought wistfully, the so-called magical world would finally swallow her up and cut her off from her family. Magic didn’t seem as exciting and wonderful to her anymore like it did when she was 11. "You are a witch" sounded like a sentence for an unknown crime. As “Your fate is determined for you.” She couldn’t share these thoughts with any magician in this thoroughly magical house. She just wouldn’t be understood. For Sirius, Tonks, Remus, Moody and all the Weasleys, it was just life—the only one they knew. Magic had never entered their lives, charming and opening up the whole new world only to disappoint painfully later.
Everything in the house was either terrifying or depressing.
The portrait of the half-witted Mrs. Black began to squeal and curse in response to the slightest noise. At one time, Kreacher had gotten into the habit of cleaning the hall at night, deliberately dropping brushes and iron buckets. It didn’t make the place any cleaner, but the true goal of the old dodger had been achieved. After the second wake-up in the dead of night, when the panicked magicians had jumped out of their bedrooms in night-gowns, wands at the ready, Sirius had seen through the trick of his house-elf, yelled at him mincing no words, and threatened to tear off his head for the next such trick. Perhaps literally. The interior of the house was quite conducive to this version.
Hermione felt sorry for the old elf. After all, he became embittered because of the loneliness and harshness of his masters, but for some reason the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place didn’t seem to understand that! She tried to have a nice one-on-one conversation with Kreacher and say something nice to him, but in response he burst into ranting at ’filthy Mudbloods’, and Hermione left in tears. She didn’t tell anyone about the incident, because she didn’t want the old elf to get punished—it wasn’t his fault. But that couldn’t stop her from being hurt by what she’d heard.
Sirius himself behaved not much better than Kreacher, to be honest. He reveled in self-pity for being locked up, snapped at his house-elf, yelled at his mother, started squabbles with members of the Order, and was rude outright, always either angry and drunk, or angry and hungover. Black especially bullied Professor Snape, who never stayed in the house, but even from the little that reached Hermione’s ears from the hall, she could guess how the two were fighting at meetings of the Order, where she wasn’t allowed in.
Hermione avoided Sirius as much as possible. Her feelings about his behavior were another topic she didn’t bring up with anyone. It would be rude to discuss behind his back and reproach the bad manners of the one who gave her and her friends a roof over their heads.
She was looking forward to Harry coming to Grimmauld, hoping that, firstly, Sirius would prefer spending time with her godson to drinking, and secondly, she would finally be able to talk to Harry about what had been gnawing at her for the last few months. He would surely understand her! After all, he’d also grown up among Muggles, had had a normal childhood, had dreamed of something, thought about his future profession… After that he’d seemed to fall into a fairy tale: ’You are not like everyone else! You’re going to a magical school where you’ll do amazing things!’ And then…
She could only imagine how angry Harry must be at her letters with pathetic attempts to support him and endless innuendos: ’We can’t say much about you-know-what,’ ’We’ve been told not to say anything important,’ ’I expect we’ll be seeing you quite soon,’
Hermione was once again wandering around the house, doing nothing, alone. Downstairs, in the tiny kitchen, the Order of the Phoenix were meeting. Ron, Ginny and the twins were trying out some new way of eavesdropping, that they’d been excitedly inventing for the past two days. She didn’t feel like joining in on their antics.
There was an abandoned parlor on the second floor. Hermione crossed the room, which being actually huge still felt cramped and oppressive. All the furniture here was covered with some kind of sheets, the thick curtains were drawn. There was a large object in the corner, covered with a gray cloth, and Hermione didn’t know what it was at first.
She came over, holding her wand at the ready just in case, looked under the edge of the fabric—and, with a sigh of relief, completely pulled it off.
It was an antique oval full-length mirror. The glass was slightly deformed by time, and patina and dirt clogged into the grooves and the curls of the ornate bronze frame. Her own reflection—a pale, haggard girl in jeans and a shapeless hoodie, standing in a dimly lit deserted room—seemed to Hermione to be something alien. This mirror was intended for other images. Ladies and lords in full fine, the exquisite interior of the ball room of the noble house, the glare from candles on the crystal chandeliers and on the jewelry of ladies... Surely the mirror really had seen many similar scenes over the centuries of its service.
Hermione ran her fingers over the cold glass. She wished she could turn back time and could see in the reflection something beautiful and inspiring, see a different face of this house, not as oppressive and hostile as it became. She might not be destined to shine at balls in exquisite old-fashioned dresses and jewelry, but could she just have a glimpse?
And it would be even better if the antique mirror showed her not the past, but the future! At least a small piece! Just to find out if the whole struggle of the Order of the Phoenix was worth it. If victory was ahead, then she could find hope and a source of strength. But if they were doomed, then they’d stop wasting their strength and run, saving those who can still be saved.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, asking Merlin, Morgana, and all the greatest wizards to give her any sign about her future. She wanted to see even a brief glimpse, or a vague shadow on the edge of the reflection! She was ready to believe that this wouldn’t be just a game of her imagination, but a real prediction. Just anything! Anything would be better than this oppressive uncertainty she was feeling!
“Mirror mirror on the wall,” she intoned mirthlessly.
“Who is trying to kill us all?” a man’s voice came from the doorway behind her.
Despite all the nervousness of the last few weeks, Hermione was not scared—she was just a bit annoyed that she was interrupted. She recognized that deep, even voice immediately. So the meeting was over.
“Wrong lines. It wasn’t like that in the fairy tale. Good afternoon, Professor Snape,” she replied without turning around.
“Good afternoon, Miss Granger.”
She moved a little bit to meet her gaze with his reflection—being sure that Snape, after saying hello, would immediately leave, as he always did after meetings. But to her surprise, he took a few steps forward to study her in the glass.
“We are not in a fairy tale. Although you look like somebody almost ready to go into a coffin. It encouraged me to improvise.”
“Brilliant improvisation. And a compliment I deserve,” Hermione smiled sourly. “Thank you, sir, that’s very kind of you.”
“I’m not coming here to be kind,” Snape grimaced, no more cheerful than she was. “Seriously, what’s going on here, Miss Granger? What are you doing alone?”
His questions didn’t sound like the vicious nagging she was used to at school. However, they weren’t full of delicate sympathy either. Snape was asking as if he had the right and needed to know about her situation. Like a doctor visiting a patient. An incurable patient who can only be relieved, but not saved...
“I’m trying to look into the future,” Hermione answered honestly.
“It’s not Mirror of Erised, is it?”
“No. But I tried to see the real future, not just dreams.”
“And how was your try?”
“Unsuccessful,” Hermione sighed.
“You will definitely see the future. When it becomes the present,” the professor smiled sparingly.
“If it becomes. And if I live that long.”
“Miss Granger… Today, your friends, who are spending their holidays surprisingly cheerfully for the current situation, roared so loudly that the noise they made prevented us from talking. I couldn’t hear your voice in that hubbub, and when I also couldn’t see you among them, I remembered something and decided to check my guesses. And it seems that they find confirmation.
“Have you listened to our voices?” Hermione was taken aback. “Have you been making guesses... about me? I thought you didn’t even notice any of us while you were walking from the front door to the kitchen and back. And don’t care—”
"And I don’t care about you at all?" He continued.
She nodded shyly, looking away. In response, Snape took her by the shoulders and turned her around, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“You manage to be both observant and stunningly blind at the same time. Let’s think about it. If I didn’t care about you, or Potter, or the redhead gang… or up to hundreds of other young wizards and witches in this country… Why would I even be here in the Order? What for?”
“Sir…”
“So, what’s going on with you, Miss Granger? Where are such decadent thoughts?”
“You wanted to ask, what’s going on with me, besides Voldemort is back?” She smiled bitterly. “Besides the danger that threatens Harry and all of us? Besides being separated from my parents and having to lie to them at every turn? Besides not having a place neither among Muggles nor among wizards? Besides the fact this house drains my strength—?”
“And Molly doesn’t do anything about it?” He interrupted her complaints.
“About what?”
“About draining your magical strength.”
Hermione felt a rare smile return to her face at his undisguised concern.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself well. I feel bored and uncomfortable here, that’s all. ’Drains the strength’ figuratively, of course. I call it Dementors Place.
“And how long ago did you come up with this metaphor?” He frowned even harder.
“After the first night I spent here,” Hermione replied, and under his silent, demanding gaze she explained, “when I got up even more tired than I went to bed.”
Snape seemed ready to raise his palm to his forehead in a gesture of disappointment.
“This is the first time I’ve seen a magician feel the magical effect on them so clearly and at the same time deny it so stubbornly.”
Now Hermione was really scared.
“What kind of magical effect?”
“I suppose the house of pureblood fanatics is packed to the brim with ancient magic, and it’s harder for you here than others because of your background. Houses like this are hostile to those who don’t have the blood of ancient magical families.”
“And what to do about it?! I can’t change who my parents are!”
Severus frowned thoughtfully.
“As a general rule, older spells are more powerful, but they’re also more primitive. Judging from how fast this one affected you… Let’s start by trying this…”
Reaching into the inside pocket of his robe, he fished out an empty glass vial no bigger than his little finger. A small folding knife appeared next. Before Hermione’s eyes wide in surprise, Snape cut his finger and dropped a few blood drops into the container. Then he used his magic wand to seal up the vial with a spell. His other spell conjured a thin metal chain, which he ran through a glass eye of what now looked like an ampoule. All these manipulations were done so quickly that Hermione did not have time to figure out how to react.
“I am giving this to Hermione Granger,” he said. “Free of charge, without any conditions, fully hers to keep and use. Miss Granger, it’s your blood now. Keep it with you, and let’s see what happens.”
Snape threw a chain of an improvised amulet around the neck of Hermione, who was taken aback and still could not find words. It was only when he raised his hand and brought the tip of his wand to heal it that the girl fell out of distraction.
“Sir, let me…”
She touched the cut, took off a drop of his blood and rubbed it between her fingers, and then healed the wound with a spell that she had learned herself a long time ago, without waiting for reaching it within her Hogwarts curriculum.
“Thank you, Professor… I don’t even know what else to say.… I hope that this will be enough.”
“And if it’s not enough, then—?” He prompted.
“Then you’re here for me," she smiled through the tears. “I’m not alone.”
Severus wiped a tear from her eyelashes as gently as she had taken his blood drops.
“And as for your place between the wizarding and Muggle worlds, it’s exactly the opposite, you have a place in both of them, Miss Granger. And, believe me, it will not be the last place. To see the future, one doesn’t need mirrors or magic sometimes. I see a piece of the future in front of me right now. One of those for whom we are fighting, who we protect and do not allow them to take risks until their time. And I can confidently say that the future in front of my eyes offers a great value,” he finished with a meaningful smile. “It’s worth fighting for.”
~ ~ ~
That evening, nearly asleep, Hermione managed to catch the edge of a thought that would never have come to her during the day. The first she saw in the mirror after pleading to show her her future was Severus Snape. And perhaps this future was worth fighting and waiting also.
Smiling broadly, Hermione fell asleep sweetly and serenely, and in the morning she got up full of strength, as if yesterday’s despair had not happened. Thanks to the amulet. Of course, the amulet.
~ ~ ~
“Snape?” said Harry quickly. “Is he here?”
“Yeah,” said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on one of the beds; Fred and Ginny followed. “Giving a report. Top secret.”
“Git,” said Fred idly.
“He’s on our side now,” said Hermione reprovingly.