Harry Potter and the Brethren Prophecy

"Have you heard?"

"They say she's gone mad, you know."

"Well she was always a little crazy, her nose always in a book. She's so disconnected from the rest of us. She spends more time trying to up her marks in potions then socializing."

"She's always been nice to me."

"Well, it only happened last year. Those kind of traumatic events can really change a person."

"But, Hermione? She's the smartest person at Hogwarts."

"Was the smartest person. I heard from one of Ginny Weasley's friends that all she does now is sit and stare blankly into space."

"I heard that only thing she'll talk to is that ugly cat of hers."

"Dumbledore made her Head Girl."

"No? Really? He chose a mad Gryffindor over a perfectly competent Ravenclaw?"

"Over you, you mean."

"Quiet! She's coming this way..."

~~**~~

Ron and Hermione were carefully making their way through the crowd of students gathered on the stairs in front of the enormous oak doors of the Entrance Hall. Hermione gripped Ron's hand, letting him lead her through a throng of snickering Slytherins and into the path of a small group of familiar Ravenclaw and Gryffindor girls.

"Hello ladies," Ron said warmly, a flirtatious smirk lighting up his freckled face. "Hello Lavender, Padma, Orla. Oh, hello, Parvati, didn't see you standing there." Emerging from behind her sister, Parvati waved a small hello to Ron then shot Hermione an uncertain smile. The other girls didn't even bother to acknowledge Ron's presence, instead they turned their collective attention to Hermione with tactless synchronicity, regarding her with the harsh meticulous stares of a farmer choosing steer for slaughter.

"Hermione, dear, how are you doing?" Lavender asked slowly, enunciating each syllable as if talking to a frightened toddler.

"Yes, how are you? Ready to be Head Girl? Are you up for all that responsibility?" Padma asked, looking at her with wide, sympathetic eyes.

"Well, yes, of course," Hermione responded, caught off guard by this strange line of questioning. She unconsciously gripped Ron's hand tighter, pulling him in front of her slightly to deflect some of their penetrating looks.

"Well, it's been nice seeing you again," Ron cut in, sensing Hermione was beginning to panic. "We're off to find Harry, see you at the Sorting Ceremony."

The girls nodded in unison, not taking their eyes off Hermione, even as Ron steered them back into the crowd.

"They sure were acting strange," he commented.

Hermione didn't respond. She had spotted Harry and was pulling Ron towards him. He was sitting at the base of a stone gargoyle a couple feet away from Lavender and her friends with an open book on his lap. The thick tome was left unnoticed, though, as he was busy shooting the cluster of gathered gossips nasty looks, having overheard the majority of the girls' brash conversation. In fact, he was so engrossed in his eavesdropping that he failed to notice that Ron and Hermione had appeared in front of him.

"Harry? Hello?"

Blinking rapidly to clear his head, Harry's eyes flickered upward, catching Ron's gaze. "Sorry," he shrugged, placing the book to his side as he pulled himself slowly from his reclining position against the statue.

"No problem, I know how fascinating those girls can be," Ron smiled, offering Harry a hand up. "So how long have you been waiting here?"

"Not that long. The walk was short and I didn't have much to carry. Some house elves came to collect my things beforehand."

"You got everything back from the Dursleys, then?"

"Sirius did," Harry said with a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

Hermione frowned and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "He didn't do anything that could get him in trouble, I hope."

"Oh, no, of course not. Sirius would never do anything illegal." The three had to chuckle at that, the residual mirth from the verdict still resting happily within them.

"Oi! Harry!" a familiar Irish lilt interrupted their glee, calling out above the rising din of the growing numbers of students. Harry turned to see the well-known sandy coloured locks of Seamus Finnigan bounding through the crowd, followed closely by the cheerful face of Dean Thomas.

"Seamus, Dean!" Ron called out, happy to see his dorm mates' friendly faces.

After brief greetings and friendly small talk, the five stood together away from the rest of the growing crowd, chatting about their summers and laughing over Seamus' attempts at humour, all the while studiously avoiding the more sensitive subjects of Death Eaters and trials.

"Have any of you seen Neville?" Hermione asked, bracing herself against Harry's shoulders to try to get a peek into the crowd. "I hope he's not looking for us."

"I got an owl from him last month," Seamus said quietly. "His gran's pulled him out of school. He said she said it was too dangerous for him here."

"Dangerous?" Hermione gasped, astounded by the fact that someone could put anything over learning. "But he won't graduate! We only have one year left."

Seamus shuffled his feet and avoided Hermione's inquisitive stare. "It's just that after all that happened last year..."

"Look, there's Malfoy. I hear he's cracked," Dean interrupted with a smile, happy for the distraction.

"Malfoy?" Harry questioned, letting the previous conversation stray from his mind as he looked over Ron's shoulder to the slender silhouette of pale flesh and dark, high collared robes approaching his Slytherin peers. Harry strained over the noise of the masses to catch bits of conversation that passed between them.

"There he is," Crabbe growled as Goyle nodded by way of a greeting.

"Hello, boys," Draco responded in a tone that suggested he was conversing two six year olds. Harry watched as the pair closed in around Draco, like two converging elephants upon a twig.

"We've heard about what you did."

"Yeah? It was spectacularly stunning, wasn't it?"

Crabbe scratched his head; Goyle furrowed his massive eyebrows together. Both looked utterly confused. Draco chuckled softly to himself, which only served to knock the confusion off Goyle's face and replace it with a look of simmering anger. Harry couldn't help but smile, even though he wasn't exactly sure why.

"What's so funny?" Seamus asked, interrupting Harry's eavesdropping as he hopped on the balls of his feet in an attempt to follow the line of sight.

"Nothing, just Malfoy and his goons."

"Always entertaining," Seamus agreed, then turned and resumed his conversation with Ron.

Harry looked back to Draco, utterly fascinated by the prospect that Draco had apparently done something so terrible that even Crabbe and Goyle were disgusted with him.

"...Where'd you hear that from? Honestly what sort of feeble minded imbecile would tell you that rubbish?" Draco snapped.

"My dad," Goyle growled.

"Ah, well there you go! Who are you going to believe, the man who brought you into this world or me?"

Goyle's growl escalated into a full on snarl and Harry swore he saw droplets of white foam gathering in the corners of his mouth. Something akin to panic flashed across Draco's face. His eyes darted frantically through the crowd, scanning for the best escape route. Finding Pansy Parkinson among a gaggle of seventh year Slytherin girls, he raised his chin and nodded curtly to Goyle, who said something Harry couldn't make out above the rising voices of the people around him. Draco paled and briefly faltered, then, squaring his shoulders, he pushed past Crabbe, who was still trying to wrap his Neanderthal-like brain around Draco's previous comment, and into the crowd with all the elegance and poise of a retreating dignitary.

It was not more than half a minute later when he collided straight into Hermione.

"Watch it, Mudblood," Draco snarled, glancing over his shoulder to see that neither Crabbe nor Goyle had followed him. Catching Hermione's wounded look, an expression of malicious glee slithered across his pointed features. "On second thought, in your, ah, delicate state of mind, I suppose you can be forgiven for your utter lack of sense."

"What's that supposed to -" Ron started, lurching forward with his hands balled into fists at his side.

"You're one to talk, Malfoy," Seamus interrupted, placing a restraining hand upon Ron's shoulder. "We've all heard the rumours."

"You better shut your mouth, Finnigan," Draco said, a lone platinum streak of hair falling onto his face, slicing a stark contrasting gash against his flushed cheeks and the dark shadows under his eyes.

"Or what?" Seamus hissed, "You'll tell your daddy on me?"

Lightening flashed within Draco's stormy grey eyes, the tumult betraying the impeccably straight lines of his posture. Brushing the offending stand of hair back with a choppy sweep of his hand, Draco stared directly into Seamus' mocking gaze and did something that would have the gathered Gryffindors talking with a shocked reverence for years to come.

He turned and walked away.

"Seamus," Ron breathed in an awestruck whisper, "how in Merlin's name did you do that?"

~~**~~

"You mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"They say Malfoy got pissed at a big Death Eater to do, embarrassed his whole family and his father hasn't spoken to him since then."

"Really? I heard he slaughtered his dad's favourite dragon hound because he didn't like the way it was looking at him. His dad got angry and makes him sleep outside in the dragon hound's old bed."

"Sounds like something Lucius would do."

"I heard that, too, only he used the hound's blood to evoke some dark demon that Lucius owed a bundle of money to. Needless to say his dear old dad wasn't too happy."

"That's crazy, do you really think Draco is dumb enough to do something so dangerous?"

"'Course he would. He's a Malfoy."

~~**~~

The Gryffindors' conversation was interrupted by the grinding noise of heavy oak against stone. The large doors opened with a shudder revealing the smooth orange glow of torchlight inside the Entrance Hall. The crowd started pushing forward, eager to get away from the damp night air and into the warm glow of the Great Hall.

Once everybody had found their seats, Hermione situated next the Seamus and across from Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, the steep drop of the number of students was painfully apparent. The long Gryffindor table, once overflowing with students, now lay half empty, and only about twenty Hufflepuffs sat at their place, casting forlorn gazes down the empty stretch of grey brown benches. A few quiet Ravenclaws were missing from where they had sat just a year ago, but the decline was for less noticeable than in the other two houses. Only Slytherin seemed to have suffered no loss, a fact only highlighted by the dismal attendance of the rest of the school.

With a bang, the doors of the Great Hall swung open and Hagrid's large, woolly form emerged, followed by eight tiny first years, shuffling their feet and gazing in awestruck wonder at their surroundings. Hagrid led them up to the teachers table and regarded Professor Dumbledore with a sad look on his face.

"Only eight this year, Headmaster, best to get them sorted and be on with dinner."

"Indeed," he said, his tone mimicking the sadness on the half-giant's face. Hagrid moved to take his seat between Professors Lupin and Trelawney as McGonagall stepped forward with the Sorting Hat to deliver her usual speech to all the new students. Harry only vaguely registered the Sorting Ceremony; instead, he, like most of the students, was occupied with trying to discern any information from the gloomy looks on the teachers' faces.

The diminutive Professor Flitwick sat propped up on his usual arrangement of books and pillows, a comforting hand resting lightly on Professor Sprout's arm. She was staring blankly at the nearly empty Hufflepuff table, looking as if she were about to cry at the loss of all her students. Professor Lupin was staring down at Snape, looking as if he were trying to gauge the stern professor's reaction to the fact that the majority of students now resided in his own house. Snape appeared unperturbed, his chin was held high. He gazed at the Sorting Ceremony through narrowed eyes, staring over his long hooked nose as the last of the new students was sorted into Slytherin.

The instantaneous appearance of piles of savory food in front of Harry's plate drew his attention away from Snape as his needy stomach overcame his curious mind.

"Five for Slytherin while Gryffindor gets nothing," Ron complained as he heaped potatoes onto his plate. "Where's the justice in that?"

"It's the Sorting Hat's decision," Hermione said with a disapproving frown. "There's less new students this year, it's just a coincidence that the majority are Slytherins. At least Hufflepuff got one."

"Explains some things though, doesn't it? All these spawn of known Death Eaters with nothing to stop them."

"Don't be silly, Ron. To launch an attack on the school under Dumbledore's nose would be suicide. No Death Eater is that dense..." Hermione paused, watching as across the room as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle simultaneously lifted the sleeves of their robes, revealing the brilliant stain of green and white tattooed onto their forearms to some intrepid first years.

With a deep breath, Hermione looked away, chalking the scene up to her brain trying to make conclusions where there weren't any, refusing to let herself face the reality of just how much danger she might actually be in. She spent the rest of dinner ignoring any conversation regarding Slytherins and threats of war, politely changing the subject whenever these topics came up. Thus, the Gryffindors ate without much discourse, have exhausted all avenues of comfortable small talk back outside as they waited entrance to the Sorting Feast.

The click of silver against crystal heralded a hush to fall upon the Great Hall. Dumbledore rose, long argentine wisps of beard flowing brightly against navy blue robes, and cleared his throat. The students waited in nervous anticipation, watching for the Headmaster's famous toothy smile and jovial welcoming speech that greeted each pupil at the start of term.

Dumbledore stared out into the sea of bodies, his face a somber mask. "As you all notice, the enrollment this year has declined sharply. I am sure you are well aware of the rising threats and speculations pertaining to the Dark Lord. For this reason, the school rules will be strictly enforced. No student, save the house prefects and the Head Boy and Girl shall be allowed outside of their dormitories after lights out, barring emergencies. Visits to Hogsmeade will only be made in hours of daylight with the authorization of a teacher. Finally, the Forbidden Forest, much as its name suggests, is still forbidden, no exceptions." Dumbledore paused, shifting a steely glance across the room in a careful appraisal of its occupants. "I promise you all that no harm will befall this school while it is under my care." A collective sigh of relief, was released, Dumbledore's serious tone leaving no room for argument. Despite any evidence to the contrary, Harry felt infinitely relived that the Headmaster was here to watch over them all.

"On one last note," Dumbledore continued, "It's my pleasure to announce this year's Head Boy and Head Girl." Hermione smiled, remembering the owl that had swooped into Ginny's bedroom one morning with the crisp Hogwarts letter telling her she'd be Head Girl clutched between its talons. The letter, although extremely satisfying, had been vague at best and she had spent the remainder of the summer quietly speculating over who would be chosen as Head Boy.

"Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor house," Dumbledore announced to a round of cheerful applause from Hermione's fellow housemates, "and Mr. Draco Malfoy of Slytherin house." A shocked silence was followed by a round of reluctant applause from the other Slytherins. Hermione sat stock still, staring with wide eyes first at Harry and Ron, then across the room to where Malfoy was sitting with his arms folded smugly across his chest, impeccably shiny boots propped up on the table.

"I would like a quick word with the two of you before you go off to your houses," Dumbledore continued. "Prefects, please escort the students to the common rooms and show all of our new pupils what's what. I suggest all of you get a good night's sleep as classes begin tomorrow. You will all receive your fall schedules at breakfast. Pleasant dreams."

With a wink and a wave of his wand, Dumbledore had the tables cleared and the various Prefects were already bellowing for their housemates to follow them.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" Hermione said as she rose from her seat, watching as Malfoy disappeared into a small door behind the teachers' table. She sighed, and with a small, uncertain 'goodnight' to Harry and Ron, followed Malfoy's lead, just as the group of Slytherin first years passed the Gryffindor tables on their way into the Entrance Hall.

~~**~~

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, that's the smug git."

"He doesn't look so tough."

"He's not. I heard that a single Death Eater was able to take him out and if it weren't for some passerby, he'd be dead and gone."

"Yeah? I heard that he did die, and Dumbledore ordered an Auror to take his place. I think his corpse is kept in Dumbledore's office, you know, so they can get the hairs to make the Polyjuice Potions with."

"Really? That should make things easier for us then. No Saint Potter to get in our way."

"Hey you, Slytherins. You heard Professor Dumbledore's speech, no students out after lights out. Get you your common room before I take house points."

~~**~~

The night had progressed in a steady stream of non-events. Harry and Ron were just finishing their third game of Exploding Snap when Hermione had popped through the portrait hole, throwing her hand up at the wave of questions that promptly spilled from her friends' mouths.

"I'm exhausted. I'll talk to you in the morning," she said, quickly heading to her private room before Harry or Ron had time to argue.

Ron soon followed Hermione's lead, ascending the stairs to the seventh year boys' dormitories with a yawn. Harry had opted to stay behind and catch up on some of his summer reading for advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Lying on the cozy scarlet couch in front of the warm blaze of the fire soon lulled Harry into a peaceful doze. He had no sense of how long he had been like that when the soft scrape of a chair sliding across the floor and the padded shuffle of feet on stone woke him from his dreams.

Hermione was sitting at the window, gazing out silently gazing out into the night. From Harry's vantage point her features seemed etched from shadows, dark bruises that were not all tricks of light. Walking as quietly as he could, Harry came up behind Hermione, tentatively reaching a hand out to touch her warm shoulder.

"You okay?" Harry's slightly baritone voice, thick and groggy with a stubborn film of sleep, made her jump perceptibly in the near-tangible stillness. After all Hermione had been through during the previous year and the fragile guise of sanity she wielded throughout the summer, the sheer normality of her reaction stood as a surprising testament to her level-headedness, or perhaps an accolade to her own denial. Any other person would have either cracked long ago, or would have retreated into their own numbness, preferring to remain wrapped in the soft, impenetrable cocoon of shock. However, Hermione had spent nearly three months perfecting her mask of composure, carefully repainting the chips and cracks after each successive night of grotesquely vivid nightmares and each day of seeing Harry.

She flashed a guilty smile, dimples forming in her hollow cheeks. "I'm fine, just came down for the view. Did I wake you? Sorry, I didn't realize you were in the room."

"`S'allright. I guess I just nodded off. It's good that you came along, I would hate to have the misfortune of witnessing some of our fellow Gryffindors before their morning showers."

This caused a faint ghost of a smile to spread across Hermione's drawn face before she turned back to her quiet prognosis of the dark horizon. Harry looked out the beveled glass himself and saw nothing but a never-ending expanse of inky blackness. He furrowed his eyebrows at this so called `view' and pondered the real reasons behind his friend's disquiet. Gently lifting her chin to gaze into her lovely countenance which was streaked a violent orange by the dying fire, Harry witnessed a myriad of disturbed emotions flicker over her eyes in rapid fire until finally settling back to a serene hazel.

"Really, what's wrong?"

She squirmed away and crossed her arms defensively. "Nothing. I told you, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Something's bothering you."

"Harry, I know we've been friends for almost seven years now but really, you cannot presume to be an expert on me. Believe me, I'm fine."

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes defiantly. "That's absolutely not true. I know a lot about you. For instance, one time during fourth year I went to your room because I needed help with some Potions homework and, er, well let's just say I know you have a birthmark that looks a bit like a fairy on your -"

Hermione's scathing glance in his direction quickly quelled the rest of that particular revelation. Harry sighed theatrically. "All right, point taken. But any idiot can see that it's pretty obvious that something's eating you. No matter what, it can't be worse than everything that's tried to eat us over the past five years." He shut his eyes for a moment as visions of giant hairy spiders and fleshy pink Blast-ended Skrewts popped in from the corners of his brain and waved a horrible hello.

She looked away, avoiding his eyes. He placed a palm against her cheek and firmly steered her gaze back to his. "Hermione, don't do this. You've been avoiding me since the trial. Talk to me." He paused for a moment, groping for the right thing to say. By and large, Harry Potter was a man of action, not of words. Any speech in times like these were usually spectacularly, stunningly wrong as he had never had any formal training in being affectionate with his pathetic excuse for a family. He finally elected for the safe and simple path. "I'm here if you need me."

He watched, aghast, as her lower lip began to tremble and her eyes shone with the terrible luster of unshed tears. Of course Harry had seen her cry before, given all of the travesties they had endured; however he always knew exactly what was wrong, having always survived right by her side. There was an uncertainty in her tears that made him feel utterly lost in the vast expanse of her emotion.

"Oh, Harry. It's such a horrible feeling," she breathed, her face pressed to his chest, hiccuping slightly with the sobs racking her small frame. "I've tried to be sensible and tell myself it's all over, but it's getting worse. And I know it doesn't make sense, but I'm more afraid than when I was alone in the forest and he had that knife . . ." She trailed off. Hermione hardly ever brought up the events that surrounded her kidnap and apparent torture the previous year. Only once had she recounted the tale with a cold downcast glance and deep shuddering breaths when Dumbledore told her it would be absolutely necessary that she do so. Harry remembered the story of Voldemort towering above her, godlike and rapt in his undying passion for revenge and total power, slicing at her with a jeweled blade merely for the fact that she was born of Muggle parentage and she happened to be friends with The Boy Who Lived. He pictured the alabaster skin and crimson snake-like eyes flickering menacingly through the rapt darkness of the Forbidden Forest; the steel in his satisfied smile slicing to the heart more cleanly than his pointed dagger ever could. Revenge, power, and evil distilled by time and agony to their purest essence: that was Lord Voldemort. Harry involuntarily shuddered with a mixture of grief and sympathy, tinged with the bloody smears of guilt. Hermione could be forgiven for her residual hysteria. He, after all, had his fair share of sleepless nights after the many traumas of his young life. He coughed to hide a sob, took a few deep breaths and plunged headfirst into an attempt at being comforting.

"Hermione," he whispered gently, stroking her thick mass of wavy hair, "It was a terrible thing, I know, but it's over now. You got to believe me. We're all here for you. There are a lot of people here to ensure it never happens again. Besides, Voldemort is weak, we don't even know if he has enough strength to be physically capable of hurting a housefly." He concluded with his best lopsided grin, "Just remember, you're safe. It's over."

Placing her small trembling hands upon his shoulders, she drew back slightly, her robe and night gown hanging from her body in a flow of folds and drapery; she seemed a reluctant Prophet, bracing herself to impart an unspeakable knowledge.

"That's just it. There's something . . . somehow . . ." She waved her hands in the air with a vague frustration, seemingly trying to grasp at something which simply wasn't there. Giving up, she buried her tear stained face in her hands, and whispered the words as if she dreaded the power of their utterance, feared someone might overhear.

"Harry, I . . . I don't think it's over."

~~**~~

Outside, the rats stirred restlessly.

The stereotypical estimation of these particular creatures is actually very accurate. They really are filthy, disease ridden, disgusting animals, the only thought in their heads being to survive at the expense of others and reproduce as often as possible. They crawl through life hating everyone and everything that doesn't supply them with copious amounts of food and even with those who do, one would be hard pressed to find an appreciative rat. They care for no one but themselves and are generally unaware of any danger unless it is posing a direct threat to their own well being. These particular rats had hid insolently in the cracks and crevasses of the Chamber of Secrets, watching with a yawn as the mayhem of battle infringed itself on their home. Their minute brains cause them to be ignorant of most of the evils of the world, which was why the manner in which they were pricking their ears, biting their tails and cowering nervously in dank corners was so disturbing.

~~**~~

Harry wore a look of calm resolution as he patiently tried to ensure Hermione that Voldemort was not lurking underneath her bed, even while feeling slightly betrayed by the faintest touch of subconscious apprehension that, in fact, that's just where he might be. "We both saw that spell the Order performed on Volde -" Hermione flinched at the name which, after the events of the previous year had taken on the same horrible connotation for her that it carried for those who had grown up with the knowledge of the Dark Lord. Harry corrected himself. "On You-Know-Who. We both saw what he was reduced to. He's practically dead."

"That hardly stopped him last time," she sniffled, displaying her trademark infuriating practical logic. "Besides, no one could produce a body. There was no evidence. We both know that as well."

"Yes, but - " he sighed and looked down at his hands. Lifting his gaze he stared directly into her pale face, his voice taking on an unwavering air of certainty. "I promise you, I will personally see to it that nothing like this ever happens again. Don't let Voldemort get to you. There will always be evil and we'll always have to fight, but you can't let it get to you."

Harry was speaking words bred from years of pain. There was knowledge and acceptance behind his speech that stemmed from a boy forced to grow up much too quickly and Hermione suspected that he had frequently used the lines as a mantra of strength in his own recurrent times of sorrow. Moreover, she knew he was one hundred percent correct and she couldn't let this swallow her whole.

"It's just - just a feeling. It's hard to explain. Just a vague sense of," she waved her hands about in the search for the perfect word, "...dread. Like something's coming." She vaguely wondered if this was what Divination was all about. If this hazy sphere of doom is what Professor Trelawney felt every time Harry Potter walked into her classroom. Hermione's logical, rational intellect had never believed in it before, but then again, it seemed everyday more of her fevered nightmares were proving to be reality. In short, she didn't know what to think anymore.

She slipped from his embrace and drifted back to the window like a forlorn phantom. "I shouldn't have said anything. You probably think I'm mad. Maybe I am, but . . ." She halted mid-sentence, eyes widening as she raised a trembling hand to the cool glass and pushed it open. "There, can't you feel it? Can't you smell it? It's horrible."

Harry wandered over to stand immediately behind her, pursing his lips and craning his neck speculatively, he sniffed the air experimentally.

"Smells like Hagrid's cooking to me."

~~**~~

"Ugh, rats. Vile creatures."

Collapsing his sturdy form upon the narrow bed, Severus Snape clutched at his head and fervently wished for the summer holidays. Not that he was by any means ungrateful for his Hogwarts accommodations or respected position of superiority, it was just that there was far to much here that grated on his already frayed nerves. Rats being one thing: students, teachers, classrooms, ghosts, things that moved in general and the castle itself, being others. There were advantages however, decent wine and brandy which was in no short supply in the kitchens, being the two principal benefits. Most importantly, Hogwarts offered a protection that his tiny flat in Bath could not dream of providing. There were bars on the windows and doors with big locks, one of the primary reasons Snape had originally chosen the dungeons as his humble abode (the other reason being that he really didn't tan well and simply would feel too silly to walk around amongst students and faculty in an oversized sombrero). There were spells and wards and man-eating beasts, not to mention a number of complicated passwords, all to ensure he slept safely at night. After all, deep beneath his tough, high gloss veneer, Severus Snape was as cowardly as the rats.

He reached up and rubbed both hands over his face, a long, narrow physiognomy whose hollow cheekbones, sharp chin, heavily lidded eyes and vaguely piscine lips gave the impression of a waxwork figure left out in the sun just long enough to elongate. Shifting position to clasp his hands behind his head, he groaned as sudden jolt of pain coursed through his forearm and proceeded to hammer violently against his bones. There was a searing rhythmic motion to the discomfort as if calling out to him in Morse code. A petrified look of stark terror crossed his grim features as all at once the pain subsided and he was once again left alone.

As feeble excuses of changing weather conditions and the residual pain of long suffering implanted themselves in his consciousness, he grimaced as another dissonant rat chorus emanated from the corners of his damp chambers and rudely pulled him away from his own uncertainty.

"What in bloody hell is happening?" He stomped over to the window and glared out at the night as if it represented a personal affront to his sensibilities. "Look! There's nothing out here! Nothing at all - "

His jaw suddenly hung slack, lips pursing into the befuddled expression of a man a bit too tipsy to realize just what was going on. For a moment, he could have sworn . . .

But it couldn't have been. He reduced it to the effects of the strong tea he had been sipping and vowed to never again use more alcohol than actual tea. Shrugging, he returned to bed and buried his head under the pillows. Blocking his ears seemed a more efficient way to deal with the situation than reasoning with the something that couldn't possibly be there.

As it turned out though, Severus had unfairly besmirched the reputation of both the quality of his drink and the rats themselves. Not having partaken in any alcoholic beverages, the rats knew exactly what they had seen, and exactly why they were so upset.

For just a moment, the passage of something dark had blotted out the stars.

~~**~~

Hermione was still laughing when Harry placed a comforting hand atop her own, seeming to transfer some of her tension to himself.

Finally drawing back, she smiled sweetly up at him. "You said just the right things," she whispered.

"That's a first," he whispered back, eliciting another giggle from Hermione.

~~**~~

And a shadow sped swiftly through the night, skimming the treetops and snaking amongst the tall grass in a mad rush of power and vengeance. As fast as the consuming passion of flame as dark as the frightful shimmer of onyx, following the pounding call of a fanatic...

~~**~~

Pulling her up to join him by the fire, Harry sat with Hermione in silence until the last glowing embers died and a quiet wisp of gray smoke rose from the ashes. Feeling calm and strangely subdued, they rose and walked quietly to their respective dormitories, settling themselves into their separate beds, each with the heavy curtains pulled tightly shut around them.

~~**~~

And the shadow flowed like water through the forest on the wings of a breeze, coming to rest over a bubbling cauldron and the fresh gleam of silver amongst frantic cries and shouts of exuberant Latin. Swirling around the scene, it settled, oozing into the monstrous skeletal corpse that lay carefully upon the earth. It had known pain. It had known death. It had known waiting.

It was tired of all three.

~~**~~