Survivors

CHAPTER 13

The Forest

During the remainder of that last week of holidays, Hermione took to regularly sitting beside Severus at meals, although never attempting to talk to him beyond a simple greeting. She understood that he preferred to dine alone, or, barring that, in silence. For her part, she was pleased that he seemed to accept this arrangement; perhaps he even welcomed it, as he started to return her "good morning" with a mumbled "good morning" of his own, rather than his usual grunt.

One morning, Hagrid showed up at the breakfast table, wearing a great bearskin overcoat and leaving huge muddy footprints on the floor behind Hermione's chair.

"Hey, Hermione! Yeh want ter come with me inter the Forest? Only I got ter collect some specimens fer Professor Grubbly-Plank an' Professor Sprout, an' I thought mebbe yeh'd like ter get away from the castle fer a bit." Here he gave the back of Snape's head a dark look.

Snape turned slowly to fix Hagrid with a baleful glare. "On a day like this? It has to be near freezing out there."

"Nobody's asking yeh, Professor," Hagrid growled menacingly.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione, but silently returned to his breakfast.

Hermione glanced at the gray sky through the windows; it did look cold and dreary and just not the kind of day she wanted to spend trudging through the mud, trying to keep up with Hagrid and avoid being trampled, eaten, or shot. She was about to beg off when she looked into his oversized face, full of eager anticipation, and knew she didn't have the heart to say no.

"All right, Hagrid," she said, forcing herself to sound enthusiastic, "it'll do me good to get some fresh air."

Hagrid beamed, glancing triumphantly at Snape's back. "Tha's wha' I thought. All work an' no play, yeh know!"

Hermione grimaced and stood. "It's all right," she said to Snape, and then added, jokingly, "If I'm not back by lunch, send out the St. Bernards!"

Snape grumbled something inaudible and scowled into his coffee cup.

...xOxOxOx...

The ground was a mixture of ice and mud, the snow from the previous week having melted and re-frozen in patches. Hagrid tromped happily over the dead branches and smaller bushes, his huge boots squelching and leaving holes the size of small toboggans for Hermione to skirt or jump over.

"Hagrid," Hermone called, "are we looking for anything special? Anything I should keep an eye out for?"

"Ach, I'll know when I see it," he called back cheerfully. "Don't yeh worry 'bout it. Jus' enjoy the scenery!"

Hermione glanced around at the bare, black trees, the piles of brown sludge, the tangles of thorny brambles, and the mysterious dark places in the distance, and scrunched her chin down further into her muffler. Although it was cold out, her exertions at keeping up with Hagrid were keeping her reasonably warm. Only her fingers were resisting all efforts from her circulatory system to pump warmth into them.

"Ah! Here we go," Hagrid finally exclaimed, after they had been wandering in what seemed to Hermione to be circles for about half an hour. "Knew it was around here somewhere." He hunkered down on his haunches and examined what looked to be a dead stick about half a metre long poking up out of the muck.

Hermione came up next to him and regarded the stick. "What is it?" she asked skeptically.

"Dead Man's Finger," Hagrid replied, frowning and peering at it.

Hermione jumped back, catching her cloak on some thorny bracken. "But aren't those--" she asked in horror.

"Yeah, but don' worry. They're perfec'ly harmless in winter. Saw it back in November, but I wasn't sure if it weren't still active, so I thought it'd be better ter leave it till the ground froze. When I mentioned it ter Professor Sprout, she seemed mighty keen ter get it fer her students. Well, here goes. Keep yer wand ready, will yeh? I'm jus' goin' ter see if it's dormant."

Hermione hastily fumbled with her cold fingers for her wand and held it out, pointed at the Finger. If it wasn't fully in its dormant phase yet, it would grab onto Hagrid as soon as he touched it and attempt to pull him under the earth. Just based on size, it didn't look like Hagrid would have a problem holding his own, but Dead Man's Fingers had been known to bring down horses within a matter of seconds, so she wasn't going to take any chances, and, it seemed, neither was Hagrid.

Hagrid stuck out one of his thick fingers and tentatively touched the tip of the plant. It quivered, but remained stiffly in place. He touched it again, more firmly. Nothing happened. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and lowered her wand.

"Yep," Hagrid announced with a satisfied nod, "like I thought. Well, have a seat or summat, this'll likely take me a bit to dig 'er out." He fished around in the large burlap sack he had brought along and got out a shovel.

Hermione looked around for 'summat', since there wasn't anything that looked remotely like a seat. Her eye alit on a rotting log lying half-buried under a pile of frozen foliage. Not very inviting, but with a quick Transformation... She had already begun the incantation when Hagrid looked up, alarmed.

"No, Hermione, don'--!"

Hermione finished the spell and the log straightened itself out into a short bench. She looked at Hagrid, wondering what had rattled him. The Transformation had gone fine. Then she felt something plucking at her skirt. Thinking she was just caught up on the bracken again, she gave it a tug, but it wouldn't release.

"Quick, Hermione, change it back!" Hagrid urged, jumping to his feet and rushing over to tear at the bush with his bare hands.

"What--?" Hermione now saw the nearest tree swinging its branches slowly toward her, blindly groping. The thorny plant was quickly reeling in her skirt, knocking her off balance.

"Yeh can't use magic against the Forest, Hermione!" Hagrid shouted. "Change it back, now!"

Quickly grasping his meaning, Hermione swished her wand to reverse the Transformation she had done on the log. The wood sank smoothly back into its previous form and settled once again on the foliage. She stared at Hagrid with round eyes, her breath coming in short gasps.

"What did I do?" she asked fearfully.

"Yeh used magic ter change summat that belongs ter the Forest. It sensed that an' tried ter protect itself." He ripped her skirt free of the bracken, which was now still and stiff again.

"But we've used magic in the Forest lots of times," she said. "It's never reacted like that before."

"Yeh've never used magic against the Forest before," he corrected her.

She shook her head. "I wasn't attacking the Forest; I just wanted to make a bench. And you've cut down plenty of trees, and nothing ever happened to you."

"The Forest understands 'bout chopping down trees. Tha's nature. Heck, if some trees didn' get thinned out, the Forest'd choke itself to death. But the Forest don' take kindly to magic bein' used against it. An' I know, you didn' mean any harm, but the Forest isn't so smart. Kinda like centaurs," he continued in a conspiratorial whisper, looking around carefully. "They don' differentiate between good magic an' bad magic. To them, all human magic is bad."

Hermione nodded, well remembering how the centaur herd that lived in the Forest had reacted to witches, wizards, and even Hagrid coming into their midst. All the same, she remarked, "That's something they didn't mention in Hogwarts, A History."

"Well," Hagrid said, exhaling heavily. "Why don' yeh sit on this here--" He tossed the burlap sack down onto the log. "--until I've got that Finger there dug out."

Hermione eyed the log warily. "If it's all the same to you, Hagrid, I think I'd rather stand."

"Suit yerself," he said with a shrug. He picked up his shovel and started hacking away at the semi-frozen ground around his booty. "Got ter be sure not ter damage the body," he grunted.

Hermione nodded again. The Dead Man's Finger was, like the tip of an iceberg, the smallest part of the organism. Below ground was a nodule, called 'the body', which could grow up to two metres in diameter. This one was likely much smaller, given the size of its above-ground extremity. Still, it would be a while before Hagrid was able to exhume it.

As they had so often in recent days, Hermione's thoughts drifted eagerly to Severus. As she had spent more time with him and found out more about him, her opinions of him had drastically altered. First of all, still uppermost in her mind, was his status before and during the war. She had found out much now about his involvement with the Death Eaters, some of it admittedly contrary to what her original impressions had been. She had had a romanticized notion of him infiltrating Voldemort's inner circle as a sort of observer, being privy to the the Dark Lord's most secret plans for no reason other than that he was a dab hand at potions (if she had even thought so far as to come up with a reason for his being in Voldemort's favor), and hiding his true feelings and loyalties from that most skilled of Legilimens. But the truth was turning out to be much more complicated, and not very pretty.

For Lord Voldemort had certainly demanded signs and proof from his followers of their fealty. Snape would have had to participate in activities which might have ranged from simply distasteful (brewing and perhaps administering Dark potions) to downright evil (torture and killings). He must have been particularly effective at whatever it was that he did, in order to work his way into Voldemort's inner circle. And one of those things had apparently been the murder of Albus Dumbledore. For no matter how Hermione tried to turn the facts over in her head, the inescapable conclusion was that Severus had performed the Killing Curse. With Dumbledore's permission, to be sure, or even under duress, but he had performed it nevertheless of his own free will. The only way Hermione could explain the fact that he had escaped Azkaban was that members of the Order sitting on the Wizengamot (Minerva sprang immediately to mind) had pulled strings on his behalf, knowing that he had only acted as he had for the greater good.

Severus was not proud of what he had done, however, quite the contrary. He was pained and guilt-ridden, that much Hermione had been able to deduce from the responses he had given and from his actions. It seemed there was no way in which he could redeem himself, not even in his own eyes. Hermione, also, recoiled from the knowledge of Severus' role in Dumbledore's death, but was slowly coming to terms with the seemingly inescapable fact of it. And while she rejected the act itself as despicable, no matter its justifications, oddly enough, it deepened her regard for the perpetrator. For it would have taken an enormous inner strength to stand up and carry out Dumbledore's wishes. Draco hadn't been able to do it, even with the threat of death (not only his, but his parents' as well) at the hands of the Death Eaters behind it.

Strength. Severus was strong. That was the trait which Hermione found she admired most in him. He stood alone, didn't rely on others, didn't care about their opinion of him. For if he did, surely he would have made the circumstances known under which he had operated. He was physically strong, deceptive in his leanness. She knew full well that he could run circles around her without so much as breaking a sweat. He also had an incredibly strong mind. Being able to survive for years under Voldemort's constant pressure on him was proof of that, if nothing else. His intellect was unsurpassed; Hermione had to admit that he was more intelligent even than she, at least as far as inventiveness and creativity went. Her intellectual strengths lay elsewhere, in memory and precision, although he might be able to give her a run for her money there, too. And magic. A ferocious magic flowed through his veins, which it seemed he was almost ashamed to let show, so great was its power. In addition to which, he was still young, had not reached the prime of his magical ability, so that barring unforeseen events, he would become more powerful still. All in all, an incredibly potent combination, which no one but Hermione had even begun to appreciate.

And that appreciation wasn't just an academic exercise. Perhaps it was due to her eyes being opened to the complexity of the man, perhaps it was an attraction to the power she was seeing in him, perhaps a matter of simple chemistry, but Severus Snape had become a man worth pursuing.

"Eh, there it is," Hagrid said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The great bulbous gray 'body' lay exposed now, its 'finger' pointing adamantly heavenward. "Get the sack ready, there."

Hermione picked up the burlap bag and brought it over to Hagrid, holding the mouth open as far as she could. Hagrid knelt down in the mud and, putting both hands as far underneath the body as he could reach, heaved the mass out and into the sack with a thud.

"Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" Hagrid beamed at Hermione. She nodded weakly.

He stood, heaving the sack over his shoulder. "Now to find those Libella."

Hermione followed resignedly behind Hagrid, ready for another half-hour of aimless wandering in search of the cocoons in which the giant insects spent their winter torpor.

...xOxOxOx...

What she sees in that half-breed giant I shall never understand. I could fathom Potter's affection for him as the one who rescued him from those dismal Muggles, but why she persists in maintaining friendly contact with him now that Potter is gone, is simply beyond me. Accompanying him into the Forbidden Forest on a day like today, or any day for that matter, simply 'to get a breath of fresh air' goes above and beyond good manners. He's more likely to get them into danger than out of it.

Where are they, anyway? Lunch was served ten minutes ago and they still aren't back. Ah, here comes Moony. Perhaps she is with him... No? How irksome.

Hermione, what to make of you? In turns intrusive, then thoughtful; infuriating, then endearing. At times I want nothing more than to erase every memory of you from my mind, at others I crave thoughts of you. An attachment of any sort is of course out of the question. She is perhaps too young and inexperienced to realize it. Not that there is no attraction there. Physically, certainly, there can be no denying that, but the body is fickle, ruled by whimsy and instinct, treacherous if not mastered. Her mind, too, is far from simple, and in the past few months I have begun to appreciate how cunning and adaptable she is. And the things she remembers... of course, her youth is much more recent for her than mine is for me...and her memories much more pleasant than mine...for the most part. Although she has suffered, too. She is always analyzing, comparing, combining, weighing options. Not always making the wisest choices, however. The folly of youth? Or a character flaw? Albus would have said it was a strength to follow one's heart, even if it led to heartache. Gryffindor foolishness. Heartache comes no matter what choices one makes.

Snape grimly picked at his steak and chips, alternately trying not to be concerned about Hermione's whereabouts and cursing himself for letting such a trivial matter occupy his mind.

Blast! They're already a half-hour late. Look at Moony, tearing into his steak, oblivious. And he purports to care about her. They could have been attacked by those xenophobic half-breeds, the centaurs; Hermione may have gotten out of (and into) many a scrape with the help of Potter's boundless luck and Weasley's bumbling bravado, but I'm not sure if even she could outwit a band of armed centaurs. Although there was that incident with Umbridge, if I recall correctly... There, Lupin's finished and strolling out as if he didn't have a care in the world!

Snape tossed his napkin down onto his half-finished steak and chips and got up, cutting Remus off just before he reached the staff door.

"They're not back yet," he snarled.

Remus blinked. "Who's not back yet?"

"That half-breed gamekeeper and Her-- Professor Granger!" Snape snapped.

Realizing what he meant, Remus suppressed a smile. "Oh, I wouldn't worry. Hagrid wouldn't let anything happen."

Snape glanced back at the staff table, aware that Professor McGonagall was now looking over at them. "She said they'd be back by lunch, and they're not!" he hissed in a lowered voice.

"I'm really not sure what you expect me to do," Remus replied. "If they're not back by nightfall, I might begin to get concerned. Until then... Maybe you should check in Hagrid's hut. They're probably reminiscing over old times." He grinned cheekily at Snape and left.

Of all the presumtuous, smart-alecky... I bloody well will not go running after her! If he can wait, so can I!

...xOxOxOx...

Hermione made her way back up to the castle, happy about the results of the morning. On the way to the Libella cocoons, she had noticed a patch of hellebore blooming in the humus. Knowing that hellebore is an important ingredient in many potions, she decided to pick them for Severus. Thus inspired, she had kept an eye out and found witch hazel flowers, holly and pyracantha berries, and long strips of peeling birch and maple bark, and now she had quite a little collection to deposit with the Potions master.

Hagrid had imposed on her to stay for lunch, since he didn't like dining at the castle more often than necessary. A combination of melancholy over Dumbledore's death and the, to him, intolerable presence of the former Headmaster's killer. Hermione hadn't even tried to reason with him. The fine distinction of whose orders Snape had acted upon would be lost on her large friend.

Eager to get the specimens to Severus while they were still fresh, Hermione hurried down the stairs and checked first in his classroom, then, finding it locked, went to the now-familiar ashwinder trophy.

"Severus? It's me, I have some things for you."

Not three seconds later, the wall swung inward, revealing a very out of sorts Potions master.

"What happened to you?" he barked, immediately taking in her torn skirt.

Hermione looked down at her clothes. She had completely forgotten about that. "What? Oh, that," she laughed. "The Forest got me. Didn't have time to fix it yet."

"The Forest got you? What the hell do you mean by that?" His eyes were dark as storm clouds.

"There's no need to swear, honestly, aren't you going to invite me in? I have some goodies in here for you." She lifted the linen bag which Hagrid had loaned her and shook it invitingly.

Snape stood aside and Hermione entered, immediately going over to the table and setting the bag down for him to examine the contents.

"Look, I found hellebore and witch hazel blooms-- Oh, they're already starting to wilt, you'd better dry them quick, and here are some holly and pyracantha berries. And here's some bark--" She lifted a curling strip of cinnamon-brown out of the bag and turned to show it to Snape, but he was right behind her, grabbing her shoulders, pressing his mouth onto hers, fiercely, proprietarily, taking her breath away.

"Don't you ever do something like that again," he said a moment later, his voice rich with threat and desire.

Hermione was caught completely off guard. That had been one hell of a kiss. What had just happened? She searched his face, looking for a clue as to his behaviour, but again there was no trace of tenderness that she could detect, just displeasure. "Severus, what...?"

He kneaded her shoulders, his fingers pressing into her flesh. Gods, that felt so good... She dropped the bark and slid her hands onto his back, clutching the heavy fabric of his robes and feeling the tautness of his waist underneath them.

"Don't make me worry about you. I don't like it." His voice was low and many-layered and made the hairs on her arms stand erect.

"But you knew where I was..." He had worried about her? Great gods in the heavens, Hermione felt like laughing for joy.

"I knew only that you were with that oaf Hagrid, blundering around in the most dangerous patch of land in a hundred kilometres, and that you hadn't returned when you said you would."

"Really, Severus, don't you think that you're getting a little bit carried away? After all, that oaf Hagrid is the best protection there is in a hundred kilometres. Nothing's ever happened to anyone when they were with him. Not that I mind the reception." She grinned and squeezed him around the waist.

So this is all some great joke to her. She has no idea, is truly oblivious of the dangers around her.

He thrust her away and took several steps toward the fire. "You have no idea of the seriousness of what could have happened," he berated her, swishing his robes about himself.

"What, I know that there are dangerous things in the Forest. I was there, I know what happened, and you don't. Do you think I'm some child who can't judge situations for myself?"

He whirled around and fixed her with a penetrating dark look. "Yes."

Hermione snorted. "Really? And is that how you welcome back a child?"

Snape drew his robes tighter about himself. "Hermione-- You are making this quite impossible!"

"I'm making this impossible? What, you mean this--" She motioned between the two of them. "--this here? You're the one who can't seem to let anyone get close to you! There's something here, I know it, or there could be, anyway. I know that your past was horrible, I know that you did things that maybe you regret."

"You have no idea--" he began bitterly, but she interrupted, "Maybe not in the details, maybe you'll tell me someday, or maybe it's better that those things remain buried, I don't know, but I'll tell you that from what I do know, I admire and respect the person that you are today--"

"Pah," Snape spat.

"--And it makes me sad that you don't. I don't think you appreciate your own qualities, how much you have to offer."

They stared at each other, Snape bristling with discomfiture at what he had done, not willing either to ask her to leave or to soften his stance; Hermione silently pleading for some inkling of an idea as to how to salvage the situation, because this was clearly a breakthrough, and she didn't want to abandon it by leaving now.

Finally she sighed. "OK, Severus. Why don't we just get these ingredients properly preserved. Then my morning with Hagrid won't have been a complete waste." She picked up the bark from the table and replaced it in the bag, then held the bag out to him. "Come on, I don't know whether you want these dessicated or vacuum-packed or enfleuraged or what. Tell me and I'll help you." She waited, arm outstretched, watching him.

After an eternally long moment, Snape launched himself into motion. He stopped next to Hermione, closing his hand over hers on the bag. Her breath caught at the encircling warmth and the potency of his presence.

"I can accept your help in this matter, but in nothing more." It seemed to be a great effort for him to speak the words.

"All right," she whispered. It was a start.

Severus separated the ingredients which Hermione had brought and directed her which ones to dessicate; he apparently thought that was a simple enough procedure to entrust to her. She was done quickly and offered to help him with expressing the remainder of the berries, but he was already deeply preoccupied with a steam distillation procedure and waved her away.

She went to the door, then paused to watch him. He was bent over the distillation apparatus, thin strands of his black hair hanging straight down and nearly obscuring his face, but she could see the absolute concentration in the set of his jaw and fixedness of his stare. A master at work. Just as she was about to go, he raised his head and looked at her, holding her gaze long enough to cause her stomach to clench, sending slithering rays of pleasure up and down. Then, wordlessly, he lowered his head once more.