Chapter Text
The early morning fog around her blanketed her skin in a layer of condensation, her eyes straining to see more than twenty feet ahead of herself. The streetlamps shone dimly through the fog, blocking her vision from anything other then what is in her immediate vicinity. Her sneakers pounded on the pavement as she maintained her pace, heart pounding in her chest. The world remained asleep around her as she continued down the sidewalk, her breath coming out in harsh spurts. Hermione, rationally, knew that she wasn't being chased, that she was perfectly safe, but the fight or flight instinct in her brain was dead set on convincing her otherwise.
12 Grimmauld Place was less than a block away and the area was still under light Ministry surveillance, despite the protests from both herself and Harry, so Hermione knew that she was safe. Or as safe as she could be, all things considered. Kingsley had insisted that there would be an Auror patrol route installed in the area after the war, until the majority of the remaining Death Eaters that went on the run following the conclusion of the war were caught. There had been a slew of arrests in the last month or so but the number of remaining Death Eaters, and their supporters, was unknown to the Ministry. Hermione didn't want to live in fear of them any longer, and refused to allow her fear to dictate how she lived her life.
As the dust had settled following the first days after the wars end, the question of what would be done with 12 Grimmauld Place arose. While it was still the default headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, it had passed into Harry's possession after Sirius' passing. Despite invitations from both Molly and Arthur to, even temporarily, move into the Burrow with the Weasley family, Harry made the decision to move into his late godfathers home. With nowhere to go herself, Hermione jumped at the opportunity when Harry opened his home to her.
Hermione also wasn't sure where things stood with her and Ron so she didn't want to throw living with him in the mix, as selfish as that may be. They had a heat of the moment kiss in the Chamber of Secrets; a kiss that held a build up of years worth of tension, complicated feelings, and the lingering thought that they were both going to die, but Hermione felt no spark in it. The feelings that she had for him when she was 15, and younger than that if she was being honest with herself, had died when he left her and Harry alone in the woods that winter. She still loved him deeply, they had shared their childhood together and were bound by the traumas of war, but that love no longer transcended friendship. Neither of them have brought up the kiss since it occurred so Hermione assumed that he was feeling the same way and just didn't want to talk about it yet, or at all.
The final battle was two and a half months ago, Voldemort had been defeated once and for all, but Hermione was still waiting for something else to happen. For some of the remaining Death Eaters that haven't been caught by the Ministry to attack either herself or Harry or Ron or anyone she cares for. For someone else to rise up and try to take Voldemort's place. For anything to happen to shatter the peace that came with the conclusion of the war.
There were still things to be done such as there still being Death Eaters to catch, then the trials of said Death Eaters and their associates to occur, and so much needed to be rebuilt that thinking of it made Hermione's head spin. The reconstruction of Hogwarts had begun weeks ago and they were nowhere near being done, even with the use of magic and an endless stream of volunteers. Every department within the Ministry had to be purged of any remaining supporters of the Dark Lord and then all of those positions needed to be filled.
And funerals.
There were still so many funerals left to attend.
Molly and Arthur had held Fred's funeral at the Burrow at the beginning of the month, a small ceremony with only family, Harry, and Hermione in attendance. He had been buried on their property, as was the Weasley family custom. Lupin and Tonks' joint funeral had been only days after that, and every time that Hermione looked at baby Teddy she couldn't help but tear up. The war had orphaned yet another child and there was nothing that could be done about it.
Hermione huffed as she rounded the corner that led back to 12 Grimmauld Place, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. Exhaustion had seeped into her bones these last few weeks, her limbs protested every movement and it felt like her head was underwater half the time. It was easy to write it off as a product of lack of sleep and a poor diet mixing with all of the trauma she's endured in the last year so that's what Hermione did. Her early morning runs alleviated some of her symptoms, exclusively the mental ones, but only furthered her physical exhaustion. She was worried that every day she wouldn't be able to pull herself out of bed. It was becoming harder to hide her physical discomfort from Harry, who has taken to watching her like a hawk whenever they were in the same room.
She just didn't know how to explain everything to him, that her body felt as though it was slowly giving up on her.
The neighborhood was quiet that morning, quieter than normal which only helped to perpetuate Hermione's unease. She used to go on runs with her father as a child when they both couldn't sleep and had resumed the habit after the war had ended. The thought of her parents brought tears to her eyes, tears that she hastily wiped away as she continued her jog to no avail. The Obliviate that she had cast on them was irreversible, and she had known that when she did it, but it didn't make it any easier. It was to keep them safe if Voldemort were to have won, and Hermione had been, and still is, willing to make that sacrifice for them.
They were living in Australia, where they had always wanted to go when they had retired, not knowing that they had a daughter in England. They would never see her graduate from Hogwarts, or get married, or have children, but they were safe. And that's what matters.
Tears streamed, unbidden, down Hermione's cheeks and she gradually slowed down until she was walking. The more she approached 12 Grimmauld Place, she could make out a figure in the fog, sitting on the steps. Dragging her palms across her cheeks in the hopes of wiping away her tears, Hermione approached the figure hesitantly. The only people that knew of the actual location of 12 Grimmauld Place were members of the Order so it must be one of them. The Aurors that patrolled the area knew that there was a 'safe house' in the area but hadn't been told the actual location of the house.
The familiar green eyes of her best friend met hers as she approached, the dark bags under his eyes surely mirrored by her own. Had he seen her crying? She hoped not, or that if he had that he would keep his questions to himself.
"Good morning" Hermione says in greeting, coming to a stop in front of him.
He looked up at her with a tired smile, exhaustion etched into his features.
"You jog every morning?" Harry asks.
As most her runs occurred during the early morning hours, Hermione had yet to tell Harry about them. Not that she had to explain her whereabouts to him but she knew if she had he would have insisted on coming with her. Hermione loved her best friend dearly but she needed something for herself. To process her thoughts, to cry without anyone asking if she's okay, to just exists on her own without being Hermione Granger the War Hero.
"Not every morning but sometimes" Hermione says, maneuvering herself to sit down on the steps next to Harry.
She sees him nod out of the corner of her eye.
"Couldn't sleep?" She asks him, trying to change the topic.
"I did, for a little bit" Harry asks, leaving out what doesn't need to be said.
Nightmares.
They both had them, Harry worse than Hermione but they both did. Nightmares that transported them back to Hogwarts during the final battle, to Malfoy Manor before Dobby saved them, to any point throughout the last seven years that Voldemort's poison had infected. Nightmares where they had lost and all of their loved ones were killed or tortured.
"You didn't bring your wand, 'Mione" Harry says softly after a few moments.
Jostling herself out of her own thoughts, Hermione looks at him with wide eyes as she feels at the pocket in her sweatpants where she kept her wand. Her noticeably empty pocket. She could have sworn that she had put her wand in that pocket when she was leaving her room that morning but maybe that was yesterday? The lack of sleep was getting to her brain, clearly, and now she was putting herself in harms way by leaving the house without her wand.
"You went in my room?" Hermione asks instead, embarrassment hot on the back of her neck.
The room in question hardly looked lived in, as it was one of the guest bedrooms that had barely been used even by the Order, and Hermione had yet to completely unpack. Most of her belongings still remained at her childhood home as she had transferred the deed to her name before she Obliviated her parents. The money she had received from the Ministry for the role she played in ending the war was paying all of the bills but she still had yet to set foot there since. So the belongings she had at the Burrow had been brought to 12 Grimmauld Place and that's all that she had there, all of the essentials were covered but none of her personal items were there. Had Harry been offended when he saw the state of the room? That it still looked like a guest room instead of her bedroom?
"I went to see if you were awake and when you didn't answer the door I got worried, okay?" Harry snaps back defensively.
Hermione nods.
"You need to be more careful if you're going out by yourself, especially during the middle of the night" Harry says, concern lacing his tone.
"I know, and I really thought I did" Hermione sighs.
Harry wraps an arm around her and pulls her in for a sideways hug, which she leans into willingly. She rests her head on his shoulder and sighs, a wave of exhaustion hitting her now that she was sitting down. Her eyelids felt like bags of sand the longer she forced them to stay open so she closed her eyes, knowing that she was safe with Harry here.
"You still up for visitors today? I can ask Kingsley if he'd be willing to reschedule the meeting" Harry asks softly after a little while of them sitting together.
Hermione groans.
The Order had a meeting planned for this afternoon that was being held at 12 Grimmauld Place, as it was still being used as Order of the Phoenix headquarters. Hermione assumed that the Order would be disbanded after the war but a couple of the members, namely Kingsley, wanted it to remain operating until the dust settles. It would be selfish of her to ask for the meeting to be reschedule due to whatever was going on with her body, this Hermione knew, but it was definitely tempting.
"No it's fine" Hermione says as she opens her eyes and slowly extracts herself from his grasp.
Harry nods as they both stand, turning to enter their shared home.
~~~****~~~
As more members of the Order arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place, it became more lively than it had been in years. The meeting had yet to officially begin so there were people milling about all over the ground floor of the home. Harry and Hermione, as well as Kreacher, had spent the morning cleaning the ground and first floor of the home to get it ready for hosting multiple guests. Music was softly playing through the Muggle radio that Harry insisted that they have in the kitchen, something about keeping his mind occupied while he cooked, as Hermione entered the dining room.
The rest of the members of the Order that would be attending the meeting were in there, except for Kingsley who was uncharacteristically late, and they were all talking amongst themselves. Silently, she sat down in the empty seat between Ginny and Ron. Harry sat at the end of the table closest to them, as the host of the meeting, while the seat across from him was reserved for Kingsley as he was the current leader of the Order.
"Any word from Kingsley as to why he'd be late?" Harry asks the table.
"Just that he had to pick something up before he arrives" Arthur answers from his seat across from Ron.
Harry simply nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. Was this something that Kingsley had communicated to him prior to today? Were the two of them keeping things from the rest of the Order?
"What's so important for him to pick up that it couldn't wait until after the meeting?" George asks from further down the table.
"Probably some Ministry rubbish" Aberforth adds.
Conversation begins to swirl around Hermione and she cannot find it within her to engage with it. These people were, arguably, the closest people to her and yet she barely had the energy to converse with them. Was this due to her lack of sleep or was it because of something else? Was there something wrong with her? She knew that if it were to continue that it would be in her best interest to go to St. Mungo's but there was something inside of her that protested against that. That soon she would be fine but she had it wait it out until then.
It terrified her, that it felt like her body was shutting down on her. She hadn't survived everything that she had gone through just for herself to be her own undoing. It wasn't fair.
"Are you okay" is whispered into her left ear, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts.
Ginny was looking at her with concern palpable in her bright brown eyes, her hand grasping for Hermione's underneath the table. Hermione squeezes the other girls hand back in response, as she forces a tired smile.
"Just tired, how are you?" Hermione whispers back, trying to take the attention off of herself.
"Don't lie to me, Hermione, I know you and I've seen you tired before. This isn't that" Ginny whispers back with a frown, motioning at Hermione with her free hand.
Was it that obvious that she wasn't her normal self? Or had only Ginny noticed? The younger girl knew her better than anyone at that table, apart from Harry and Ron, so Hermione shouldn't be surprised that she had noticed that something was off.
"Can we talk about this later? We should be paying attention" Hermione says, pulling her hand out of Ginny's grasp.
She can feel the redhaired girl glare at her as Hermione turns her attention to the rest of the table. She didn't want to confide in her friend in front of all of these people, they would have time to discuss everything later. The other members of the Order didn't seem to have noticed their side conversation, as theirs was still flowing.
"How are the castle repairs coming along, Minerva?" Molly asks.
Throughout the summer some of the members of the Order have volunteered their time to assist in the rebuilding of Hogwarts, including Hermione herself. The times she had volunteered had been when the process first began, before the very thought of using that much magic had fatigue building in her wand arm, and she hadn't been back in weeks.
"Ahead of schedule, thanks to all of those who have volunteered their time. You all have my thanks" Professor McGonagall replies, looking around the table with sincerity in her eyes.
"Will classes commence in the fall?" Molly asks.
"If things continue according to plan, yes" the professor answers.
Hermione's mind flashes to the two letters that had arrived from Hogwarts earlier that week, one for herself and one for Harry. Due to the war, many students in their year, and the year below them, either didn't return to Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death or didn't learn anything while the school was under Snape's command. As a result of this, Professor McGonagall was extending an invitation to all of these students to come back and redo their last year of schooling. The pursuit of knowledge has long been Hermione's main passion in life, but she still was contemplating whether she would return or not. Did she want to return to the grounds where so many lives were lost and potentially relive those memories every day for nearly a year?
But if she were to not return what would she do instead? Becoming an Auror is the dream that Harry and Ron share, not her. Returning to Hogwarts to complete her education would open doors for apprenticeships in nearly every magical discipline, furthering her career prospects in the future. It was a lot to think about, something that Hermione didn't have the energy for.
The resounding thud of a door closing elsewhere in the house is loud enough to cease the conversation at the table, all of the witches and wizards present snapping their attention to the dining room door. Hermione ignores the pounding of her heart in her chest as her fingers twitch against the wood of her wand, mentally reassuring herself that only other members of the Order have been granted access to 12 Grimmauld Place. Footsteps approaching the dining room cut through the now silent room, the rest of the Order just as on edge as Hermione.
The door opens and two familiar figures enter, although they were only expecting one. The sight of who the other figure is makes Hermione, as well as the others at the table, gasp. How? It simply wasn't possible. Despite the obvious shock on his face, Harry stands from the table and approaches the two men. Hermione doesn't miss how he quickly grabs and squeezes Ginny's shoulder as he walks by, either to reassure her or to ground himself she is unsure.
"I hope that we're not too late, apologies everyone" Kingsley says, glancing around at the room to see who was present for the meeting as he shakes Harrys hand.
"He's supposed to be dead" Ron says, looking at the man that Kingsley brought with him with sheer disbelief.
"Sorry to disappoint, Weasley" the man drawls, his signature scowl forming as he speaks.
Severus Snape had died on May 2nd so how was he now standing in front of them?
"Thanks for joining us" Harry says, looking at Snape when he speaks.
Hermione's eyes widen at the interaction, how long had Harry known about Snape's survival? They had seen him die in the Shrieking Shack, the three of them, so how did he manage to survive? And why hadn't Harry said anything to either herself or Ron? Did he tell anyone? Or was he sworn to secrecy by Kingsley and the professor?
Harry had gone in front of the Wizengamont at the beginning of the summer to shed light on what Snape had done for their side in the war, to absolve the charges that had been raised against him, but why was that duty given to Harry when Snape survived? Instead of the entire court accessing the memories that Snape had given to Harry, he could have just testified on his own behalf. The Ministry, and the greater wizarding world, believed the man to be dead so how was it possible for him to stand in front of them? And why now? Why hadn't any of them been told before now?
The man in question seemed.....different than how Hermione remembered him to be. Still dressed in his signature all black robes and had a perpetual scowl on his face, the man looked more rested than she's ever seen. His dark hair fell in velvety waves that was pulled back into a low pony tail, akin to how Lucius Malfoy styled his hair, and his skin, albeit pale, had a healthy glow to it. The beginning of what Hermione assumed to be the scar from where Nagini had bitten him could be seen above the collar of his robes but that was the only indicating that he'd been presumed dead two months ago. The man who was supposed to be dead looked like he'd spent the last couple months thriving, if the added mass to his frame had anything to say about it. Why was Hermione over analyzing his appearance? Since when did what the man looked like matter?
Kingsley takes his seat at the end of the table opposite from Harry while Snape sits down to his right, Hermione craning her neck to keep her gaze on the two of them. Maybe it was due to the shock of seeing Snape alive but a burst of energy erupts within Hermione's chest, the exhaustion that she's been facing for weeks pulling back ever so slightly. The former Potions professors dark eyes find her a moment or two after he took his seat, his gaze perfectly unreadable. Had his gaze always been so intense? Hermione was sure that it was, unwilling to read into whatever it would mean if that wasn't the case.
"Severus.....how?" Professor McGonagall asks, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
"A steady diet of antivenoms and a stashed away bezoar" Snape says vaguely, his gaze finally leaving Hermione.
Was that really it? Had he merely pretended to be dead until the three of them left him alone before ingesting a bezoar? Hermione couldn't find it within herself to believe that. She wouldn't put it past him to have been ingesting some amount of antivenoms while in Voldemort's presence because of Nagini but something wasn't adding up here.
"Are we ready to start this meeting?" Kingsley asks before anyone can ask anything else.
Everyone at the table glances at each other before they all nod, Hermione included. Her want to know how Snape survived can wait, for now.