Hermione's cell phone rang, waking her up. Well, she'd already been kind of awake after a nightmare. She had just decided to try to get some more sleep, too. She hated the nightmares. Some nights they weren't so bad anymore, but they were always there. She would think living in a secure building her subconscious would know she was safe and she wouldn't have them when at home. Traveling she could understand and she always set silencing spells on her rooms whenever she was sent elsewhere so no one would think someone was being murdered in her room.

She regarded the phone on her nightstand with trepidation. It was way too early for it to be anything good. For that matter very few called her on it when she was in London as she currently was. If it was a work related crisis they'd call the phone that went to her room. And, yes, she assumed it was a crisis because a phone call before six in the morning was never good. She looked at the phone, saw it was Buffy and instantly grew even more concerned. Hermione was aware there was a rogue slayer in Sunnydale, and she was unable to help her friend. Rogue slayers unfortunately weren't something she could help much with. That fell to the people who were familiar with slayers far more than Hermione was.

She wondered if she'd ever learn. Magically she was no slouch so certainly she'd be able to stop a slayer somehow. She would think anyway. The Council told Hermione when she volunteered to go try to do something that she was too valuable for them to let her try. She had quickly become their go-to person for research, knowing she'd do it quickly and it would be accurate. That made her feel good, but she still wanted to do more for her friend.

"Hello," she said.

She tried not to sound as sleepy as she was. She had been gone for three days and gotten back around three o'clock that morning from Turkey. When Lydia had told her there'd be the possibility for travel her supervisor had been underselling the expectation drastically. For every night she spent at her flat in the Watchers Council building she spent three to four elsewhere. There'd been times she'd gotten back in the morning and filed her reports only to be told she had to leave again that same day!

She'd truly had no idea that demons and such were so active around the world with such frequency. And now after almost a year of being a researcher for the Council, she almost wished she didn't know. Obliviousness was kind of nice!

Her greeting to Buffy was responded to with tears. That couldn't be good. Had something happened to her mum?

"Buffy, hey. Take a breath to try to calm down so you can tell me what's wrong."

Had Angel gone bad again?

Funny how they both lived in worlds where people could come back from the dead. As it turned out, Angel hadn't died but instead had been sucked into a hell dimension. That hadn't been known until his sudden return in October. Hermione had found that out a couple of weeks later as Buffy had been busy with a second slayer's arrival in Sunnydale.

The few times she'd spoken to or emailed Buffy, the Slayer seemed to understand as glad as she was to have him back and still loved him that they could not be together in that way. Had she given into the temptation, though? She knew they'd been training together and getting closer the past month or so.

Hermione didn't fool herself into thinking Buffy cared for her more than Willow or Xander, but it had taken Buffy a while after her return to Sunnydale to tell her watcher exactly what had happened with Angel before she'd fled from Sunnydale. Buffy had seemed relieved in a way when Hermione admitted to knowing, but Hermione knew that talking about it was what the Slayer really needed. Hermione knowing wasn't the same as unloading and getting everything off her chest surrounding the events leading up to that moment. And talking to the people she loved was huge.

"Faith poisoned him. He's going to die!"

Hermione was still half asleep but her ears perked up at the word poison. This was maybe something she could help with despite an ocean separating them. She had magical resources that the Watchers Council may not have access to when it came to poisons.

"Do you, or does Mr. Giles, know the name of the poison, Buffy?"

Tears and sobbing were her answer. Hermione was patient as her friend worked at collecting herself. Eventually the crying slowed to the point she could talk coherently.

"He thinks it's something called Killer of the Dead."

Well, that couldn't bode well if the poison had a name like that. Best not say that, though. That would only upset her more. She tried a different tactic, getting her to talk about the events leading up to this telephone call. The more information she could gather the more apt she would actually be able to help her.

"What happened?" Hermione asked as she grabbed her wand to turn her lights on before walking to her desk.

She knew Buffy wasn't really expecting Hermione to have a solution. She just wanted to talk to someone else who understood the unknown. They'd kind of bonded over being involved with something not many others would even believe let alone get. As her friends weren't with her at the mansion to know what actually happened at the time she'd felt alone. And hearing about it versus knowing Hermione had seen the memories so saw it happen were different she supposed. Hermione had also offered her acceptance and friendship at a time she felt no one else was.

It'd been almost a full year since she had had any contact with the magical world. The owl the Watchers Council had provided her with had gone unused as far as correspondence went to this point. She'd used one of the Council's owls to send her letter to the Ministry declining their job offer. Tonight she'd finally earn her keep.

She'd felt kind of bad about the fact Beatrice was stuck here for the most part. She had no idea if owls that were commissioned for that purpose felt useless if they weren't kept busy. She did exercise, train, and spend time with her every day that she could. Beatrice was hers and kind of all she had at this point so she did her part to ensure she was loved. The owl seemed to appreciate that even if she didn't see many different locales. And she was loyal to Hermione to the point she stayed in Hermione's flat when she was home. She hadn't gone to get her upon returning home since it was so late, planning on getting her once she'd woken up. She never dreamed she'd have an owl and need a steady supply of owl treats and such in her flat!

She listened as Buffy filled her in on the past few months of activity. Hermione cringed a bit when Buffy told her about the act that they'd put on for Faith's benefit that included Angel appearing to have lost his soul again.

That could not have been easy. Forget easy, that had to feel all over again as if her heart had been ripped out. Hermione didn't know Buffy during the time Angel was without his soul, but she'd spent a few nights while they were in LA together filling her in. To lose her virginity to him and have him lose his soul as a result of that act. Hermione got the impression Buffy had not spoken in depth about that night before and she was truly humbled the Slayer trusted her.

How crushing!

It could not have been easy to see the person you'd tried to befriend go after the man you love either, even if they both knew they couldn't be together physically. That didn't mean they didn't love one another. Hermione could hear it in Buffy's voice anytime they talked. She wanted it all, as she deserved. So to see Faith go after him had probably stung even if she'd known it was an act.

Eventually, confident she'd done what she could to listen to her friend as well as assure her that she would research the poison and any possible antidotes personally, they disconnected.

Hermione reviewed the letter she'd distractedly penned while talking with the Slayer.

Professor Snape:

I hope this letter finds you well and I apologize in advance for any intrusion seen by your receipt of this correspondence.

I'm writing with the hope that you might be familiar with a poison that from my understanding was specifically designed to kill vampires: Killer of the Dead.

More precisely, I'm wondering if you are aware of any remedies that would assist in circumventing its effects. Are you aware of an antidote or any way for someone to survive this poison? It was dispensed via an arrow to the chest, very near the heart if that information is needed or helpful.

My owl, Beatrice, will wait for your reply. At your convenience, of course. She will likely enjoy the company of the other owls in Hogwarts owlery while she waits if it takes you overlong as she doesn't get company often.

As a personal aside, I hope Beatrice and this letter find you quite well and that you are enjoying a sufficiently quiet life. Deservedly so.

Regards and Respectfully,

Hermione J Granger

Satisfied, and impressed she'd been able to pen that while talking and listening to Buffy, she sealed the letter and walked to the small owlery the Council building housed. She offered Beatrice a treat and a scratch to her ears before sending her off with the letter. The owl hooted in apparent excitement at the fact Hermione was finally giving her a task. There weren't many other owls here. Hermione hadn't met anyone else magical, and imagined they were in other departments or offices. If they were even based out of London and Council headquarters.

She knew that Severus Snape had returned to his post as potions professor at Hogwarts. The Council had a subscription to both the Daily Prophet and Quibbler. Most mornings Hermione could be found in the cafeteria with her breakfast perusing the newspapers. Just because she was needing a break didn't mean that she wasn't curious about the magical world's doings.

She was not at all surprised to have read recently that Harry and Ginny were engaged. Nor was she surprised that Ronald had dropped out of auror training and was trying his hand at professional quidditch. He was also apparently dating someone. She knew that she should put little stock in what the Prophet said.

It should have bothered her, she supposed, even knowing the stories may not be very factual. Ronald dating, moving on so easily. (As if she needed more proof he wasn't the man for her.) Harry and Ginny moving forward with their life together.

It didn't really, though.

Maybe a little, but she'd chosen to leave without an explanation. Of course their lives would move forward just as hers was. She was happy for them. Really. She just didn't find herself feeling happy yet, so she knew while she missed it - them - it wasn't time to return yet.

She was always startled when her name appeared in the Quibbler every month or so asking for any information as to the whereabouts of the missing member of the Golden Trio (how she hated that moniker). Someone was obviously missing her.

Or was it just Luna's efforts to draw her out? Did Luna know where she was, for that matter? The witch had an uncanny way of knowing things that she shouldn't. Consistently.

There were times she felt bad that there was concern for her even now a year later. She wasn't ready yet and somehow suspected that sending Professor Snape the inquiry that she just had would not lead to her having to return.

If anyone could understand surely it would be the former spy.

She hoped anyway.

Everyone at breakfast, not just those at the head table either, turned to stare when an owl flew to Severus' spot, dropping a letter on his plate (barely missing his eggs), and then proceeded to perch itself on the table in front of him watching him with its golden-yellow eyes. Not even his trademark scowl worked at getting people to stop staring at this change in the morning routine.

Severus had to admit, the owl was an impressive creature. Not one common to Britain he knew. An Eastern Siberian Eagle Owl if he had to guess based on its size and the coloring of its plumage. That being what it was, he did not recognize it so had no idea what it was bringing him.

It gave a soft hoot as Severus offered it a piece of toast and a rather overcooked piece of bacon, broken into edible bits for the animal. He scowled again as he noticed people still staring.

Severus Snape receiving letters was not a common occurrence. Oh, for certain, for months following the Battle of Hogwarts he received an overwhelming amount of mail from witches (as well as wizards) making some incredible offers.

Some he was certain would land him in Azkaban for even entertaining the idea of the contents of said letters. Did they not understand what being a spy and infiltrating the Death Eaters meant? He was not a psychopath and did not truly have sadistic or masochistic tendencies. It had been an act!

Okay, maybe there had been some truth to his biting words and bad moods. That hadn't changed from his tenure here as a student. He didn't see it improve much anytime soon either. He was not supposed to be here any longer. That was not the plan!

He'd like to see ninety-nine percent of the wizarding world survive on as little sleep as he did and keep their wits about them as he had.

Some offers would result in him ending up with a sexually transmitted disease of some sort. Not that he'd entertain those ideas anyway. Sex had not been nearly as fulfilling as he'd been led to believe in his teens, for him or the witch or two involved. Not to say he wasn't curious, the researcher in him was of course very inquisitive regarding the joys of the flesh. Finding a witch as curious as he was who would understand he wanted to learn what he might lack in experience so that he could become proficient with and for her was not going to happen he'd realized many years ago. So, he'd shelved that curiosity and dismissed it as unobtainable.

Others were just too ludicrous to finish reading. Others he read merely for the amusement value and to observe the level of stupidity people could stoop to.

And some.

Well they'd been rather sad in their attempts at connecting with someone else they saw as a lost soul.

Severus, of course, had incinerated the lot of them. The number had dwindled month by month to the point they'd stopped coming completely probably in March. He couldn't deny he was glad people had moved onto a new cause.

It helped that he rarely left the safety of Hogwarts. As he still could not speak above a raspy whisper at best most days, even Hogsmeade weekends were off the table for him. It was hard to chaperone if he couldn't yell at, er call out to, the students. So, by his preference or not, he stayed pretty close to the castle these days. He didn't find this arrangement bothersome for now. He imagined some day that would change.

He opened the letter, eyes widening at the sight of the very familiar handwriting. Six years of grading her papers were still freshly etched in his mind. He wasn't sure, truthfully, he'd ever forget what her handwriting looked like. He glanced at the others who were watching him. Even some students were still watching, he noticed.

]

His scowl turned into a full-blown sneer then.

Good grief, was his receiving mail that earth shattering? Of course, receiving it from this witch certainly could be considered as such.

He slid the letter unread into the pocket of his robe before finishing his breakfast. There was no way he'd be able to read it here without someone growing curious. Once finished he extended his forearm to the beautiful owl who he imagined was instructed to wait for a reply judging by its behavior.

"Come," he mouthed, the word barely audible but the bird heard or understood and hopped onto his offered arm.

He glared at the others as he took his leave in a flash of billowing robes.

He may have been essentially rendered mute but he still knew how to command attention. And he did it with gleeful exuberance.

Inwardly, of course. He wouldn't let anyone actually see how much he enjoyed it.

He descended to his office in the dungeons, settling the owl on a perch he had for just such occasions.

He read the letter through twice. He conjured his patronus, which had changed into a rather impressive German Shepherd. He thought it was somewhat appropriate since they tended to be empathetic dogs used for people with medical conditions. He didn't have to vocalize to this form either he'd come to find out, which was more than convenient. Of course he'd never had to find out if he could wordlessly communicate with his former patronus.

Please let the headmistress know I am taking the morning for some research at Spinners End.

Minerva's cat patronus appeared a few minutes later, appreciating the notice and hoping that everything was okay. No doubt he was being gossiped about right now. He snorted at the thought. If only the headmistress knew!

He had heard of Killer of the Dead, but until now had no reason to research it specifically. If the inquiry had come from anyone but this particular former student he wouldn't even bother doing so now.

"Do you wish to accompany me?" he mouthed to the owl.

Beatrice.

Was it a Shakespeare influence, he wondered. Somehow he doubted this witch would name an owl after a Divine Comedy character. Did she even know Beatrice Portinari? He assumed she did. If anyone had read Dante, it would be Miss Granger.

She hopped onto his offered arm again. He gave her a chuck with his finger at her ear, which she seemed to thoroughly enjoy and then apparated the both of them to his home. Minerva had not revoked his privileges of apparating from the premises despite him stepping down as headmaster due to the fact he could not reliably floo without a voice. It helped that apparently Hogwarts still recognized him as headmaster. He'd given control to Minerva so there were no issues, but for whatever reason Hogwarts still considered him a person in charge.

Beatrice took a spot high on one of the living room bookcases as he began perusing titles, hoping one or two would have information he could provide to the witch.

What the Prophet or Quibbler would likely pay him for proof that Hermione Granger was in fact alive and well. He kind of envied her a year of nothing. She was obviously somewhere muggle despite the owl.

Why obviously?

Any magical community would have said something if she'd been spotted there. It was possible, he supposed, she was living reclusively and glamouring herself when she did embark among the masses. He doubted it, though. Some trace of her would have occurred by now: a bank deposit or withdrawal. Proof she had a job as he didn't think she had enough funds to come up with a new identity.

Something.

He'd like to say she was foolish, but there was a part of him as he looked around his childhood home and realized she was perhaps quite the opposite of foolish. And instead brave for going it alone. She hadn't seemed like a quitter, though, that was the part that made him … curious.

Potter and Weasley had insisted, repeatedly over the past year that nothing between the three of them had occurred to make her leave. No argument, no lovers quarrel. Ronald Weasley had insisted they were not lovers for there to be a lovers quarrel. Harry had not noticed any unusual behavior on her part leading up to her disappearance. No mail or visitors. Kreacher would have told them if there'd been something or someone that had come while Potter was out of the house.

So, it seemed that she'd just left. He'd been inclined, like Minerva, to believe something dastardly had happened to her. For her to leave Potter and Weasley high and dry there'd almost have to have been something nefarious at work.

And then he received the letter. Unless she was writing it under duress, but who in their right mind would want Severus Snape involved in a hunt for the witch. So, setting that idea aside he was back to the idea that she'd just … left.

He eyed his home with a sigh. Since taking possession of it in the eighties he'd never bothered to update it. He always assumed he'd be dead soon (what constituted soon he was never certain but he wasn't planning on an overlong life), so why waste the time and money. He'd managed to come through the war with his life intact, though.

Surviving may not have been his idea, he hadn't saved himself, but here he was. Facing a continued existence he decided that he no longer wished to live in squalor. The last year had seen many changes in his childhood home. Everything had been thoroughly cleaned, many things had been remodeled to accommodate his wants and needs not his father's. All appliances and plumbing had been brought into the twentieth century. He even had cable TV and the ability for Internet. He didn't foresee needing that, but as he wasn't certain he'd stay at Hogwarts or the magical world he figured he may as well do that, too, just in case. He liked to think his mum would like it. He had to admit that it was … nice now.

On the small side yet homey.

Other than the bookcases, nothing remained that had belonged to either of his parents. Oh there were some pictures and other things in boxes in the basement that he hadn't been able to part with, but in the areas he lived in everything was new.

He found very little on the poison in question, which was not surprising. Most people did not research how to stop a vampire from dying once again. He thought over what he knew about the poison. What it was reputed to do. An idea came to him. He wasn't sure it would work, but it was all that he could think of.

Severus went to his basement and the lab he had there. He found the potion he was looking for, blew the dust off the stopper and peered at it while tilting the vial to be sure it was still of satisfactory color and consistency. This was a potion he wouldn't even think to store at Hogwarts.

He returned upstairs with it and sat at his desk, taking a quill and dipping it in the jar of ink after opening it. He exhaled sharply before putting quill to parchment. He hoped this wasn't a grave mistake.

Miss Granger,

I sincerely hope that you know what you are doing, presuming this is a vampire we are talking about. Being who you are and that, choice in friends aside, you have not left me with the impression that you are a dunderhead. Well, I am acting under the assumption that you do and that you have all your faculties about you. If I'm wrong, well I guess Merlin help us all.

 I could not find much information on the poison you referenced. I even searched some ancient Latin texts just to cover my bases. I presume this is because no one has wanted to attempt to reverse the effects of said poison.

That being said, I am enclosing a potion that may be of assistance. Again, assuming this is for a vampire. They have no heartbeat, that is in part what the poison feeds on from what I can gather. This potion, Pulsatio, will mimic a heartbeat, and therefore a circulatory system, for up to an hour when two drops are applied to the subject's tongue. The potion was designed to fool someone into believing a subject wasn't actually dead but unconscious instead. I leave it up to you to fill in the blanks as to why this would be useful to someone questioning another subject.

This is not a permanent cure, mind you, but until the blood of a slayer can be found it might halt the poison's internal destruction of the subject. Also, assuming you haven't left the magical world to take up being an assassin and won't be hand-delivering a slayer to a vampire I'm saying the following for informational purposes only.

Presumably less of the Slayer's blood would be needed with use of the Pulsatio added into the mix. That is to say, the vampire may not bleed the Slayer dry.

If you use it, please advise of it's efficacy as it would be information I could file away for future reference. I would of course credit you if I published an article about it.

Sincerely,

Severus T. Snape

He sealed the letter with the vial with it, casting a spell to protect it during the owl's flight and sent the owl on its way back to her mistress.

He briefly thought of putting a tracking spell on Beatrice but decided against it. He'd hung up his figurative spy gear a year ago and had no true interest in knowing what the witch was up to as long as she wasn't unleashing hell on earth.

He could only presume having survived one war that she wouldn't go out of her way to bring about another purposely. He thought, too, if anyone had earned a reprieve (for he truly believed she would return to the magical world one day) it was the brains of the Golden Trio. How he loathed that moniker, but it was appropriately fitting for the witch. Without her, Potter and Weasley would have been dead at the age of eleven.

And Voldemort likely would not have been defeated.

There was a disturbing thought that Severus did not want to dwell on today. He had been defeated. Severus had the scars to prove it, physical as well as mental. As did many others he knew including the witch he'd just sent a return correspondence to.

He returned to Hogwarts well before his afternoon classes. He nodded as he strode past Minerva and Pomona on his way to the dungeons.

His last thought as he entered his classroom?

He never imagined the day would come that he wished Hermione Granger would be more wordy instead of less so.

Where was the witch? Was she in danger? Why did he wish he could have discussed the poison in question and his Pulsatio potion with her personally instead of briefly through letters? If anyone would be able to figure it out and talk about it with him coherently it was her.

Story ©Susan Matthews/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com