In Love and War

Hermione lay in bed and listened to the sound of Lupin's footsteps as they faded away. She snuggled further into her blankets and sighed. All right, it was a tad childish to cry on his shoulder and be tucked into bed by him, but still the memory of it brought a smile to her lips. As Hermione drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were of the look in his eyes as he stood before her, the feeling of his hand as it brushed back her hair, the weight of his arm around her shoulders. As sleep claimed her, her thoughts became looser, fuzzier, until she could not tell where they ended and her real life began. In the state she was in, she slipped quickly into dreaming.

Everything she knew, everything she had, everyone she worried and cared about was gone. Hermione stood alone in a great hall of black marble. There were no distinguishing marks anywhere she could see; the walls were plain, the floors unmarked. Both continued on indefinitely. There were no doors or windows to show a way out, no signs that marked whether she was at the beginning or the end of the corridor. For all she could tell, she was in the middle, for no matter which direction she looked the space seemed infinite. The walls and pillars rose so high they were lost in shadow and no ceiling could be seen. The only thing to do was to choose one direction and move in it, and Hermione decided that the direction she was facing was as good as the other.

She began to walk forward, but no matter how far she walked, she didn't reach any sort of destination. Perhaps she was going the wrong way, or perhaps there was no right way, no way out at all. Maybe she was trapped there. Her desperation mounting, she ran, hitting the walls in frustration, as if hoping she could find a door, a hidden portal, anything she had missed. She beat her fists against the wall and cried out in frustration, but it was all to no avail. Nothing changed. At last, exhausted by her efforts, she slumped against the wall, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. Standing still she felt even wearier than before and whatever previous strength had kept her going now gave out. She slid to her knees and began to shake uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered and tears ran down her face and spotted the floor.

Hermione did not know how long she sat there with her eyes closed. The floor was very cold and hard, and after some time she began to feel uncomfortable. She decided that there was no use in simply waiting there feeling miserable, so she wiped the stray tears from her eyes and got up, only to find herself more confused than before. While she wasn't watching, the scenery had changed.

First and most obvious, was the fact that a river had appeared in front of her. She was still inside, but the long hallway had turned into one very large room bisected by a swift-moving river. In keeping with the general ambiance of the room, the water was black and somehow seemed ominous. There was no way to cross the river, and no way to go around it. "Looks like I definitely came the wrong direction," Hermione said and sighed. Maybe it was the strange acoustics of the room, but her voice sounded unnatural to her ears. Something is wrong here. I want to get out. Now! her internal voice demanded. With that thought in mind, she decided to turn around and go back the way she had come.

That plan became futile the instant she looked back over her shoulder. Where the corridor had been before, there was only a wall. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and shook her head--no luck. The wall wasn't going anywhere and now she was more effectively trapped than before. "Well, the only way forward is forward," she said to herself, not very convincingly. She turned back and braced herself for whatever would happen next. There had to be some way to get across. A bridge, a way around, something else she wasn't thinking of...it was only logical. Otherwise, what was the point of this room?

No, wait. Now she was going about it wrong. This place lacked any internal logic. It wasn't bound by any natural laws. The only rules that held any sway here were those of magic, and quite frankly she had no idea what principles this place operated upon. The only was forward is forward, she thought, worrying the words in her mind as if they would disclose some new, hitherto unknown information. If that was her strategy, she may as well start moving forward. As she did so, Hermione noticed one very important detail she had missed before. There was something on the other bank (if you could call the other side of a room that) of the river. She drew closer and frowned. Maybe I'm mistaken, but...that's no something, that's a somebody.

She was not mistaken. In the distance a solitary figure stood unmoving, completely wrapped in a cloak of deep black so that no features could be made out. Hermione didn't know how, but she simply knew that this was a man and he needed her help in some way. She knew that she needed to get to him.

You must cross, a voice said, sounding as if it were right in her ear. Hermione spun around, but there was no one there. She was alone. You must cross, the voice insisted again. She glanced around nervously but didn't expect to see anyone.

"Why?" she demanded. "What do you want me to do and why?"

She heard a slight chuckle then, not menacing, but not comforting either. You never fail to amaze me, it whispered. It's really very simple. Stop thinking so hard about things.

"What? What are you talking about?" she wailed before realizing how ridiculous it was to be whining at a disembodied voice. As she had expected, there was no answer in return.

Hermione looked around once again. The only person who was in sight was the man. So. Don't think so hard...well, the easiest answer here would be that it's him talking. I can go with that. It was reasonable to assume that she had heard his voice. He had told her to cross so she would cross, for what other options did she have anyway? He was awaiting her.

Determined, Hermione waded into the river. It was cold, so cold it froze her entire body, and she wanted nothing more than to stop. She could not see the bottom, in fact she could hardly see across, but she kept moving. The pain from the cold was unbearable, but her sense that this was urgent kept her moving. The further she got towards the other bank, the stronger the current became, until she could barely fight being swept downstream. As if from a long distance away, she heard her own voice, hoarse and desperate, calling for help. For the first time, the figure on the other side moved. He turned towards her and crossed to the edge of the river. She screamed again and reached for him, and he extended one black-gloved hand towards her, but there was no way he could reach her. The current lifted her up as if she were nothing, and pulled her away from him. Her whole body was going into shock as the black waters surrounded her and pulled her down. Her thoughts mov! ed faster and faster, whirling by in one confused jumble. The water was trying to freeze all life out of her and he simply stood there and watched. As the waves drew her under completely, she saw him lift his hands and pull the hood of his cloak back from his face.

Before his identity was revealed, the current sucked her under and drove the breath from her body with its chill strength. She struggled against it with all her might, slapping at the water and flailing about, but it was no use. She couldn't fight any longer, and when she opened her mouth to scream or to draw breath, her lungs were flooded with river water.

Hermione awoke choking and gasping for breath, a scream on her lips. She was damp with sweat and entangled in blankets, and apparently she had been thrashing about, for a comforter and one of her pillows lay on the floor. Once she had regrouped and rearranged her bed things she collapsed against her pillow, exhausted and confused. Hermione knew that it was only a dream, but she couldn't shake how real it had felt. The smooth marble, the bone-chilling water, the horrible feeling of drowning--they all seemed as true to her senses as what she felt right now.

And then there was the mysterious figure...ah yes, the man, for she was still certain he had been male. Hermione had never been one who was very interested in the interpretation of dreams, but perhaps that was because up until now she had had very straight-forward dreams. She couldn't think of any that were particularly pleasant and none were very inventive in their calamities. They usually involved something going wrong at school: an unexpected exam, a low mark, or a class she forgot she was taking. Those ones were always upsetting, but the effect wore off quickly. Recently she had had more nightmares that left her shaken, all of them involving some combination of Voldemort and Death Eaters, and usually ending with the death of Ron or Harry. The cause of this, however, was obvious. As a Muggle might say, they were something out of Psychology 101. Until now, her dreams had always been like a case study out of a textbook.

But this dream...she could see no direct correlation to her life, and she didn't like this. A recognizable pattern should be there; without it she felt lost. Pattern. Hmm...think less literally Hermione! Well, in the dream, you're alone, and you've been feeling alone after this whole mess with Harry and Ron. That works. The thought that there might be some decipherable method to the madness of the dream cheered her immediately. She felt that she must be on the verge of cracking this code, and after that she could put the dream aside and it would trouble her no more. Until then, well, she would find something to do. Not, Hermione decided, sleep. She wasn't very tired anymore; in fact she felt restless and ill at ease staying here in her room, so she got up and, as an afterthought, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. No need to spoil her Christmas holidays by catching a chill. Hermione grabbed her wand off her night stand and whispered "Lumos!"

With her wand in hand, she padded stocking-footed down the hall. She had no real destination in mind. Perhaps another time she might have snuck in to Ron and Harry's room, but not tonight. Besides, she told herself, we're getting too old for that kind of thing. Now Hermione began to doubt her decision to leave her warm room. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to get out of bed; no one else seemed to be awake and she found the stillness of the house rather unnerving. The sensible thing to do would be to go back to bed, but Hermione found herself wanting to ignore this practical side. She didn't feel like going back to sleep, she felt like curling up with a book. She really was in the mood for a little light reading. If only she'd remembered to pack Hogwarts: A History! Come to think of it, she was almost certain Lupin had a copy in his office. However, she really shouldn't be going in to his office without his permission. Still, he probab! ly wouldn't mind if he knew it was her.... She drummed her fingers against her chin as she thought. If she just crept in there and got the book, it wouldn't really be too intrusive, would it?

Her mind made up, Hermione tiptoed through the quiet house towards Lupin's study. She hesitated outside for a moment, her conscience giving one last small pang before she reached for the doorknob. It was locked. "Alohomora!" she said quietly, and the knob turned in her hand. Once inside, Hermione realized that finding any book was no small task. Stacks of books covered every available surface in the room, only leaving room for a chair and a small bare spot at the desk, which Hermione assumed was for writing. A quill and ink were tucked off to the side, and a piece of parchment lay there partially covered in writing. Hermione's morals got the better of her curiosity however, and she did not look at it. Instead she began to comb through the shelves, scanning the spines for a sign of Hogwarts: A History.

She was down on her knees looking under the desk when she heard something that made her pause: a scratching sound, followed by a thud and a...growl? Hermione looked over her shoulder and shivered, for it sounded as if it was coming from behind her. She held her wand out and its thin beam of light illuminated a door in the wall behind her. The only explanation she could think of for the door was that it was Lupin's bedroom. As soon as this occurred to her, Hermione also realized how much she did not want Lupin to find her poking around in his office at God knows what hour of the night. She had made up her mind to leave as quickly and quietly as possible when she heard a second, much louder, crash issue from the back room.

That was it. Hermione could no longer contain her curiosity, not to mention her growing sense of worry. Her heart was pounding, but she held her wand high and walked to the door. There was another bang and a strange skittering sound that Hermione could not place. She lifted her fist and knocked softly on the door. No answer. She knocked again, louder this time, and called out, "Remus!" Again, there was only silence in response. What was going on? she asked herself. The sensible thing to do now was leave, but she couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong. She couldn't leave now, not...not if he needed her. Don't be silly. Why would he need you? a bothersome voice hissed inside her head, but she pushed it aside. On the verge of losing her nerve, she forced herself to count under her breath, "One. Two. Three..." As she said three, she pushed the door open. The room was dark and seemed to be still, though Hermione heard the sound of some! one breathing heavily. She looked around and saw an overturned chest of drawers trailing spilled clothes across the floor.

"Remus?" she said, her voice quavering a little. "Remus, are you all right?"

She got no answer in reply, only a faint growl that seemed to be coming from under the bed. "Hello? Is anyone there?" she whispered, her scratchy voice sounding almost unfamiliar to her. Her heart was pounding but Hermione dropped to her knees to look under the bed. What she saw made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. A pair of yellow eyes were staring back at her. She gasped and began to back away, but it was too late. The yellow eyes moved closer and by the light of her wand she was now able to briefly make out a muzzle before the werewolf lunged forward, its claws scraping across the wooden floor. In her rush to get away, Hermione's wand fell from her hand and slid across the floor, while she tripped over a pair of pinstriped pajamas and hit the ground painfully. The last thing she had time to do was let out a lung-emptying scream as she felt the werewolf advance on her.

Severus Snape lay asleep in his bed. He was not resting peacefully, but this was not in itself unusual. It had been a long time since his sleep had been untroubled. Hermione's scream wove itself into his dreams and he slept on. His life and his nightmares had bled into each other long ago.

It was a soft, muffled sound that awoke him; the sound of people moving about in the dark, reaching for wands and slippers and bathrobes. There was a hushed panoply of nighttime noises, and then there was something underlying it that was wrong, that much he was sure of. Grumbling slightly at the interruption to his sleep (and knowing he would pay for it the next day), he arose and walked to the window. The stars had faded, and the moon's light had waned. It was very late, he thought. No one should be up at this hour. There was a sharp knock on the door and he instinctually reached for his wand, only to find it was not there. Of course, he was wearing his pajamas now...after a bit of fumbling around in the dark, Snape found his wand in the pocket of his robes. He was pulling on his bathrobe when there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"Severus? Are you awake?"

Since it was Dumbledore, Snape bit back the worst of the usual sarcastic comments that came to mind, and simply opened the door. "Albus. Minerva. What unforeseen event brings you to my door at this late hour? Tell me, what calamities have occurred while I was otherwise engaged?"

"Severus, this is not a joking matter. We have a serious situation on our hands, " said McGonagall.

"And we did not before?" he retorted, arching one eyebrow.

"Your much esteemed wit is not going to help matters now," she said, measuring out each word in a clipped tone. "Considering the hour and the circumstance, I suggest we keep all banter to a minimum and focus on the situation at hand." How she managed to look so tightly pulled together in a bathrobe and slippers, with her hair up in a braid about her head and her spectacles on a chain around her neck, intrigued Snape.

He paused for a moment, but he knew she was right. "Very well. Agreed."

"Well then," said Dumbledore. "Shall we go on now?"

As they walked down the hall, Dumbledore briefly explained the situation and apologized. "I am sorry that this gathering had to take place on a full moon. I would have postponed this meeting if it were any other time...but I discussed the matter with Remus and he believed that the measures in place would be enough to stop his condition from interfering."

"It appears that the Wolfsbane potion is not having the desired effect, then," he mused.

"So it would seem, though that is your area of expertise, not mine," Dumbledore said. "Ah, here we are."

By the time Snape had arrived at the scene, Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody had already restrained the werewolf. Ron and Harry had emerged from the second floor, hair rumpled and eyes sleepy, wanting to know what had happened. Dumbledore was saying something in a calm, reassuring voice, but Snape didn't listen to his words. Usually he would have been busy thinking about the Wolfsbane potion, possible side effects perhaps, or interactions that other substances could have upon it, but right now he couldn't ignore the feeling that something was missing.

And then he knew: of course, it was Hermione. She should have been there, looking annoyingly inquisitive and concerned. Shouldn't Potter and Weasley be wondering about her by now? he thought. Of course, if they aren't getting on, perhaps not... It looked as if he would have to be the one who brought up the subject. Snape cleared his throat and said, "Has anyone seen Miss Granger?"

The rest of the Order were now in the midst of a conversation and did not notice that he was speaking. A visibly shaken Tonks was talking. "...just an hour before dawn...should be out of it by then...it's been harder on him lately..." Their attention was on her and Snape received no response.

The next time he spoke he almost shouted to be heard above the din, "Has anyone seen Miss Granger?" They looked at him for a moment, and then began to all talk at once. By the time he had managed to slow them down and hear them out one by one, he understood they were all saying the same thing: they had not seen Hermione.

Snape held his wand up and began to search the corridor carefully. What he saw made him feel as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water onto his chest. A small, bloody handprint was smeared against the wall outside Lupin's office door. There were a few stray drippings of blood dotted along the floor, but no other sign that someone had passed. Snape began to walk faster until he rounded the corner and almost bumped into a short figure dressed in white. In the beam of light from his wand, he saw Hermione standing before him in a plain white nightgown stained with blood. She leaned against the wall, her hair forming a wild halo of frizz around her bone-white face. For a moment she stared at him, wide eyed and confused. "What? What are you doing here?" she said weakly, but before she could finish her thought, her head began to slump forward.

Snape was at her side in a fraction of a second, and he caught her in his arms as she sank forward. She felt so light and fragile he was afraid he would hurt her as he lifted her in his arms, not noticing the blood smearing against what was his newest bathrobe (a present from the staff for his last birthday). He carried her back to the cluster of people standing outside Lupin's office and pushed his way into the circle, not caring if he was interrupting them as they were conducting desperate last minute measures to save Lupin's life (in fact, he rather hoped they were). "Look what I found," he said, not intending for his voice to come out as rough as it did. He couldn't help but notice the baffled expressions that crossed Harry and Ron's faces, and the strange look Tonks shot him.

As Snape had expected, Dumbledore acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary by him turning up with Hermione in his arms. "Thank you, Severus," he said.

McGonagall was at his side instantly, reaching out to support Hermione's head. "Oh dear, she seems to be bleeding quite a bit. I had better get to work on some healing spells. I might need to floo Poppy for some supplies...if only it wasn't so late..." She set to work at once giving directions. "You, Nymphadora, don't just stand there. Someone needs to open up the guest bedroom down the hall--the one with two beds, mind you. It looks as if Remus will need a little patching up when he comes around--assuming you didn't hit him too hard with that Stunning Spell, Alastor." Her proclamations done, she rolled up her sleeves and hurried down the hall.

Snape was left standing in the hallway with Hermione in his arms. She stirred slightly in his arms and moaned, and he looked down at her, realizing for the first time that her blood was soaking into his clothing. Their eyes met for a moment, though he saw that her pupils were dilated and she seemed to have trouble focusing on his face. "What--what are you doing? Where am I? Put me down!" she protested, struggling against him slightly.

Snape ignored her hands flailing against his chest. "We need to do something, Albus. Based on what little I know about Muggle medicine, I assume she's going into shock."

"Then I think you had better get her into bed."

"I can assure you Headmaster," Snape said, "that I will see to it."