Ordinary People

An eventful evening---

Clearly Professor Snape did not trust her. He'd brought a stack of papers for marking down to the classroom and watched her carefully as she obediently scrubbed out the filthy cauldrons he'd indicated to her. Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted or amused at the insinuation that she would cheat on her work if his back was turned. Probably a little of both, really.

"Do desist with that dreadful whistling, girl," Snape said icily from behind his desk, not even bothering to look up.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione apologized. She hadn't even been aware that she was whistling. Best to be quiet. In an effort to keep her mind busy enough that she didn't start whistling again, Hermione started to mentally recite Shakespeare as she scrubbed. Her Muggle grade school had required students to begin recitations at an obscenely early age, but they were nearly always completely unoriginal Shakespeare passages--two every term.

Hermione sighed to herself--you worked with what you had.

Sonnets first. Number seventy-one, that one hadn't been so bad. No longer mourn for me...a stubborn stain there...when I am dead...Hermione scrubbed viciously at it.

She'd finished the handful of sonnets she knew on the second cauldron. Julius Caesar next. That took up three more cauldrons and by now, Hermione was actually sweating. She pushed her hair out of her face, hating the way it stuck to her forehead, and kept scrubbing, resolutely ignoring Snape and starting on Macbeth.

Twenty cauldrons, half of Shakespeare's major tragedies, and an innumerable number of hours later, Hermione threw away her last filthy rag and pronounced the last cauldron clean. "Professor, sir?"

Snape grunted, looking up from the paper he was marking.

"I'm finished. May I go?"

Throwing down his quill rather violently, Snape stood up. "Come--I will escort you back to your common room. Students are not allowed to walk the hallways alone at this hour." He sounded nearly as displeased with this as she felt.

They walked side-by-side in silence, neither one willing to begin a conversation. Hermione's hands ached slightly--she knew she'd given her fingers some nasty blisters, and they were beginning to cramp besides. Wincing a bit, she tried to flex them, assessing the damage. Unfortunately, one of the larger blisters (on her thumb) popped open in that moment. Hermione gasped sharply, willing away the tears forming in her eyes.

Snape actually looked down at her. "What is it?" he snapped.

"Nothing, sir," Hermione replied meekly, trying to hide her hand behind her back. The tears began falling down her cheeks, and she cursed inwardly.

"You've hurt yourself," Snape stated. "Let me see."

"I'm fine." Hermione actually managed to glare at him.

"Don't be foolish." Snape roughly pulled at her arm, forcing her hand into plain view. "You stupid little girl, why didn't you wear gloves?"

"Don't call me that," she hissed. "And let go of my hand."

They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the corridor marking the entrance to Gryffindor tower. "Five points from Gryffindor. These need treatment," Snape said mildly, refusing to let go of her hand.

"I'll go see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow, then," Hermione said in a cold tone. "Professor, I believe we are in front of Gryffindor tower now. Let me--"

A crash down the corridor cut her off.

Hermione and Snape exchanged curious looks. "Be quiet," Snape said in a low voice, drawing his wand.

Nodding once, Hermione pulled out her own wand.

Communicating only through looks, she and Snape made their way carefully down the hall, moving as quietly as they possibly could. As they drew nearer, Hermione could make out a lone figure standing in the hallway. Even closer and she could see its face. Harry Potter.

Snape relaxed beside her with a nearly inaudible sigh. "Potter," he said irritably. "Do I want to know what you're doing in the hallways after curfew?"

But Harry had a strange look on his face and he was holding himself oddly. "I'm not allowed to say, sir," he said quietly, eyes flicking slightly to his left.

Snape blinked slowly. "A hundred points from Gryffindor, Potter, and detention with me," he said in an even tone that did not contain his usual glee at Harry-baiting. And then he did something that Hermione considered quite strange. He raised his eyebrows at Harry and wiggled his wand a bit.

Harry shook his head slightly. "I don't think that's fair, sir," he replied. "You wouldn't give detention to Malfoy if he were here."

And Hermione caught on. Harry wasn't alone and he was probably in considerable danger. Someone was standing to his left--a Malfoy possibly. And most importantly, Harry did not have his wand.

"Are you trying for more detentions, boy?" Snape asked in that same even tone. "Three perhaps, or even four?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I believe three are sufficient, Professor." His eyes widened, belying his fear.

Snape closed his eyes and Hermione felt bile in the back of her throat. Three armed attackers?

"Oh, well played, Severus," a voice said smoothly from the shadows. "Well played, indeed." Hermione stifled a small scream as Lucius Malfoy himself slid out of the shadows and pointed his wand firmly at Harry's throat.

"Lucius," Snape replied. "Might I inquire as to what you are doing in the hallways of Hogwarts at such an obscene hour?"

"You might, friend," Malfoy said silkily. "And if you did, I might say that it is of no concern to you. Ah, ah," he continued, now pointing the wand at Hermione, who had been trying to move away. "Stay still, little Mudblood. Wouldn't want anyone to hear us, now would we? Now, why don't we just put our wands down and have a nice little chat?"

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

"And what if we don't?" Snape asked, pointing his wand at Malfoy.

"Well...I could always kill young Potter," Malfoy drawled. "But no. I'm afraid you would see through that threat--you both know as well as I that my Lord is intent on having Potter for himself. But I have no qualms about killing the little Mudblood here." He smiled coldly at Hermione.

"Let them go," Harry said suddenly. "You have me and if you let them go I'll go with you quietly."

"Oh no, Harry Potter," Malfoy replied. "I couldn't do that. You see, Severus would go whining right to that old fool as soon as we left. And don't bother protesting, Severus. My Lord and I have been aware for some time that you are not what you seem. Don't worry--you will pay. But not tonight, I think."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he stood eerily still.

Hermione blinked as a sudden thought hit her. Harry had said there were three attackers. So far, she'd only seen Malfoy. Where were the other two? Probably not under Invisibility Cloaks--they were too awkward for sudden movements. And she couldn't think of another way to become completely invisible. The only other possibility was...

Faster than Malfoy could react, Hermione pointed her wand to the ceiling and shouted, "Reveal!"

Two tall men--one with a scar running the length of his face and the other with the broadest shoulders Hermione had ever seen on a human being--shimmered into view on either side of Harry as their Concealment Charms broke, each with a firm hold on one of his shoulders.

"Oh," Malfoy said deprecatingly, looking down at Hermione. "What a bright little girl we have here. Such a shame, really. Crucio."

And before she could move, Hermione found herself on the ground, feeling as if every bone in her body was being shattered again and again. She grit her teeth, willing herself not to scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

The pain worsened and she could no longer hold it in. She screamed long and loud, electric bursts of pain jolting across every inch of her body.

And then it was over.

That was it. Excruciating torment to blissful nothingness.

Hermione welcomed the looming unconsciousness with open arms.

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Hermione's eyes opened of their own accord. Certainly she would have stayed unconscious if she'd had anything to say about it. Parts of her body that she didn't even know existed were aching. Even her fingernails managed to hurt somehow.

"Gah," she muttered, closing her eyes once more.

"Ah, good," a gentle voice said from nearby. "You're awake."

And it all came back to her in a flash. Detention. The corridor. Cruciatus. Harry. "Harry!" Hermione cried, sitting up straight and gasping at the pain of it.

"Miss Granger!" the voice, probably belonging to Madam Pomfrey, cried. "You must calm yourself. The pain is worse if you fight it!"

"Got to tell...Harry, the Death Eaters, Malfoy!" Hermione's thoughts were jumbled and hazy through the miasma of pain. With no small amount of effort, she swung her legs off the bed and attempted to stand.

Swaying unsteadily, it was only a matter of moments before her legs gave out completely. Much to her surprise, however, a pair of arms wrapped around her and pulled her roughly out of her fall. "It would do you good, Miss Granger, to obey Madam Pomfrey," Snape hissed in her ear.

Blinking with the shock of the realization that she was now standing, clutched in Professor Snape's arms, Hermione allowed herself to be pushed back into the bed without protest.

Madam Pomfrey pulled the covers firmly up to Hermione's chin and then rounded on Snape. "And what do you think you're doing out of bed? Go on...back with you!"

If she hadn't been in so much pain, Hermione would have started laughing out loud at the pained look on Snape's face as Madam Pomfrey began prodding him and pushing him back into a nearby bed.

"Neither of you are in any shape to...I mean, really. I'd say you've both been subjected to some nasty curses..." Still muttering to herself, Pomfrey moved between the two beds, looking into pupils, poking them with her wands, and other such incomprehensible stuff.

"Cruciatus," Snape croaked. "Both of us."

"That would certainly explain the fact that you're both fairly well concussed. But pray, Severus, where did those awful bruises come from? And all that internal bleeding?" Pomfrey asked him, concern obvious in her voice.

"Lestrange threw me against the wall a couple of times," Snape admitted. "Dropped my wand."

"Well..." Pomfrey said in what might have otherwise been a conversational tone, save for the look in her eyes. "Here...eat this, both of you." And she thrust large chunks of chocolate at both Hermione and Snape. "You'll feel much better. I've taken care of your heads, so you can sleep as well."

Hermione grimaced at her chocolate. The idea of eating right now was about as appealing to her as kissing a Malfoy. But she took a careful bite under Pomfrey's stern glare and chewed reluctantly. "Need to talk to the Headmaster," she said in between bites. "Need to tell him..."

"Yes, yes, Miss Granger," Pomfrey said impatiently. "Severus explained to us that Potter has been taken right before he passed out. I'm sure everything is being taken care of. Eat your chocolate, dear."

"But Harry doesn't have a wand," Hermione protested thickly, swallowing. "And Malfoy all but admitted they were taking him to Voldemort! He'll be killed before sunrise."

"The Headmaster has contacted the Ministry. Don't worry about it, Miss Granger. You need your rest now." Pomfrey's tone suggested that she wanted to hear no more on the subject. And with that, she swept out of the room, dimming the lamps with a flick of her wand and leaving Hermione alone with Professor Snape.

Reluctantly, Hermione finished off her chocolate, feeling her stomach churn in protest. But the pain was indeed abating and her eyes could focus nearly properly again. She looked over at Snape, who seemed to be eating his chocolate as slowly as humanly possible. "What happened?" she asked him hesitantly. "After...well..."

"I tried to Stun Malfoy to break the curse and Potter very nearly broke away from Lestrange and Nott. Nott Stunned Potter and Lestrange came after me. When I came to, they were gone. Potter, too." Snape looked down at the chocolate in his hands, his hair falling like a curtain over his face.

"Do you know where they might have taken him?" Hermione asked.

Snape frowned. "Probably straight to You-Know-Who. He's taken to living in his grandfather's old mansion lately. Fortunately, He's even crazier than before--he won't kill Potter immediately. He'll want to toy with him first. Maybe someone can get there in time."

"Who?" Hermione asked bitterly. "The Ministry? Not bloody likely."

Snape inclined his head in silent agreement.

"Aargh," she growled in frustration. "I hate sitting here being useless like this! I want to go help him."

"You'd likely get yourself killed in the process," Snape commented mildly.

"Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?" Hermione snapped.

He lifted his head to scowl at her. "Thirty points from Gryffindor."

She flapped her hand at him. "Oh, take away all the stupid points you want. I don't care. Harry's going to die today; I'm stuck here in a bed while my nerves twitch. Somehow House points don't matter."

"How about detention until you graduate, then?" Snape asked dryly.

Hermione gaped at him. His eyes were twinkling a bit and there was a slight grin on his face. "Did you just make a joke?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. I really can give you detention until you graduate."

"No...no, that's quite all right, thank you. I just--"

"Didn't know your snarky git of a professor was physically capable of making a joke," he finished for her.

Hermione's eyes widened. "No...I mean...well, yeah," she finally admitted.

"I find that Albus' deluded manner of joking to dispel the tension in a situation often works," Snape said.

Flopping back against her pillow with a sigh, Hermione allowed her eyes to close, sleep claiming her before another thought could pass through her mind.

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A slight rustling noise woke Hermione up. Flexing her toes, she realized that most of the pain had finally abated and she could probably walk without assistance. Cautiously, she opened her eyes, straining to see in the dark room.

Professor Snape was standing beside his bed, pulling robes across his shoulders.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked drowsily.

He did not even turn around. "Go back to sleep, Miss Granger."

She sat up. "You're going after Him, aren't you?"

"I realized there is a second place Voldemort may have taken the Potter boy. There is no time to notify anyone. Surely Albus is already gone. I must go." Snape finally turned to face her. His face was tense and his eyes glittering with some unidentified emotion.

Hermione made up her mind. "Take me with you," she said, crawling out of bed with relatively little effort. She pulled her discarded robes over the hospital gown she was clad in.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

"Why not take me along? I'm not useless, you know." Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

"You're just a child. And injured, besides." Snape stepped closer to her. She could smell his breath--chocolate and some unknown tang.

"If I recall, you've not had a smooth evening yourself, sir," Hermione retorted. "And I'm not just a child. Besides, you shouldn't go alone."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

She grinned at him. "It's decided then. Where are our wands?"

"Here," Snape replied, thrusting her wand into her hand. "I stuck them in my pocket when I was bringing you up here."

"Shall we be off, then?" Hermione asked brightly. She slipped on the shoes beside her bed and tied them expertly.

"One thing first, Miss Granger," Snape said, pointing his wand at her. "Ennervate."

A rush surged through Hermione's limbs--she'd never experienced an Ennervate while conscious. She was instantly alert and the last vestiges of pain cleared completely. "Wow!" she muttered. "That was better than a whole case of Jolt cola. I assume you would like the favor returned?"

"If you don't mind," Snape replied tersely, lowering his wand.

"Ennervate," Hermione said, watching Snape's body stand more firmly.

"Right, then," he said. "Let's go."

Quickly and quietly, they crept out of the infirmary.

"To the forest," he whispered, putting a hand on her arm. "We can Apparate safely once we're off the grounds."

The Forbidden Forest was even more sinister looking than usual. Hermione felt as if there were hundreds of eyes watching her every move. She simply put her head down and followed Snape, hoping they reached an Apparition point soon.

He stopped abruptly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, maintaining a careful distance between them. "Just Apparate without a destination in mind," he said. "I will guide you, as long as we keep in contact with each other. I am correct in assuming you can Apparate?"

Nodding, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on Apparating. Technically, she wasn't allowed to Apparate yet--she didn't have a license or anything. But during her sixth year, she'd taught herself. Not even Ron and Harry knew that she could Apparate.

But Apparition with no clear destination was a nauseating experience, she learned. Hermione staggered a bit as they reappeared, sagging against Snape's side. He looked down at her impassively.

"Where are we?" she asked once she felt able to talk again.

He shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. But Voldemort holds many of his more important meetings here. And it's not nearly as well known as the Riddle mansion."

She surveyed her surroundings. Pitch black, of course, and very difficult to make out, but they appeared to be standing in an open field of some sort. There was no indication of actual location. A sheep bleated off in the distance, echoing through the fields. Hermione squinted, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Something caught her eye. "There!" she exclaimed softly.

"What is it?" Snape hissed, drawing his wand.

"Light. It's faint, but it's there." Hermione also drew her wand, holding it at the ready, willing her hands not to tremble.

With a silent jerk of his head, Snape commanded her to follow him as he crept closer to the source of the light. Hermione complied, making her movements just as quiet.

As they approached the light, Hermione saw that it indeed came from a house of some sort. Quite a large house, really, to be standing in a field in the middle of nowhere.

Putting a finger to his lips, Snape waved her over to a window. Carefully, Hermione peeked in and had to clap a hand over her mouth.

Harry Potter was laying still in front of a roaring fireplace and pacing above him was none other than Voldemort himself. His red eyes were narrowed into slits and he was absently twirling a wand through his long fingers.

"Now that I have you, Potter," Voldemort hissed in a voice that sent cold shivers down Hermione's spine, "I'm finding that it is much less fun to kill you than I initially thought it would be."

Either Harry's reply was too soft for her to hear or he simply didn't answer.

"Come, boy, beaten already?" Voldemort asked. "Crucio."

Harry's body began to convulse helplessly on the rug, and his screams jarred Hermione's ears. She noted with no small degree of horror that blood was streaming from Harry's ears and nose. Catching Snape's eye, Hermione saw a similar expression of horror on his face. What do we do? she mouthed.

He frowned at her and pointed at a tree on the horizon. Stealthily, they made their way to it. Hermione was for once thankful for her standard black robes and dark hair, concealing her fairly well from any potential observers.

"He can't last much longer," she whispered hoarsely. "We've got to get him out now."

"That house is warded to the teeth," Snape replied. "I don't know how we're going to get in. It was hard enough to get to the windows."

"What if..." Hermione said slowly. "What if you slipped in under a Concealment Charm? They wouldn't notice you, then."

"And I'm sure they'd just open the door if I knocked," he whispered in a sarcastic tone.

Hermione grinned. "I'll create a diversion, Professor. Don't worry. The door will be open."

His mouth fell open. "I forbid it," he snapped. "You cannot. Miss Granger, these are Death Eaters. That's Voldemort in there, not some pissant seventh year student. If they see you, they will kill you."

"Not unless He tells them to," Hermione said. "And He's currently preoccupied, I think. Don't worry, Professor Snape."

And with that, she dashed off toward the house again, heedless of potential observers.

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