Hermione Snape and the Divergence Point: Mahoukatoro Interlude #2

Chapter 1

"And you promise to write me daily, yes?" Severus asked, brushing Hermione's hair from her face.

"Yes, Dad," Hermione sighed. "I promise to write you daily."

Severus regarded his twelve-year-old daughter with apprehension. Hermione stood before him, looking every bit the fragile, vulnerable child he thought she was. Hermione's brown almond shaped eyes dominated her tiny olive face, reminding him a bit of a frightened fawn. He often mentally compared them to that of a doe or a doll, the latter comparison aided by her tiny stature, long eyelashes, and waist-length bushy brown hair that she so often loved to hide behind.

The two of them stood in their living quarters joined by a carved stone fox sitting conspicuously on their table. When the time came, Hermione would pick up the figurine and appear at the Petrel Landing, in Japan... It was supposed to be good for her, but it was so far away.

This wasn't Hermione's first trip to Japan, and it wouldn't be her last. However, he was even more apprehensive to see her leave Britain than the first time. Back in February the girl had been abducted and he feared he'd lost her. The image of her bleeding out at the foot of a staircase, or of her lying dead and forgotten in a deep underground chamber still haunted his dreams. He knew things could have been much, much worse. Severus was lucky to have his child back, and he wasn't exactly ready to see her off again, even if it was only thirty-one days.

"So much for never letting you out of my sight again," he set his hand on her head. How do other parents agree to do this for ten months?

Hermione tilted her head and offered a sympathetic smile. "You always knew you couldn't keep that promise, Dad."

"I know, love," he sighed. "I just don't want anything else to happen to you."

"Everything is going to be fine, Dad," Hermione tried to assure him.

Even if they had similar definitions of the word fine, which Severus was beginning to suspect they didn't, he would have trouble believing her. She had been playing at fine since she had been back, as if he couldn't see the clear exhaustion, the sudden disappearances and reappearances with red-rimmed eyes, and the increase in her nervous behaviours such as digging her nails into her own hands, checking things thrice, and dividing her food into thirds–-no that last one started before.

He could sense the guilt weighing on her like the cosmic heavens on Atlas's shoulders. Hermione saw it as her purpose to fix everything, to make herself 'of use' to people in any way she could. Which meant that if she could find a way to blame herself for harm done to others, she would without hesitation. Everyone who knew Hermione knew this about her, which is why he was currently infuriated by the only man he respected.

"What the hell was that about?!" Severus demanded marching into Dumbledore's office.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Severus," Dumbledore sighed.

"You know precisely what I'm talking about!" he spat. "The way you spoke to Hermione was completely unacceptable!"

"I see," Dumbledore nodded, rising from his chair. "Do you think the way I spoke to the girl was inappropriate?"

"Watching a grown man exploit my twelve-year-old daughter's emotional weak points while she bit her nail until she bled wasn't exactly the highlight of my fucking year!" he seethed. "I thought you've 'grown fond of the girl'?"

"And I have," Dumbledore said. "Hermione's an empathetic, sweet and clever girl, if at times cynical and vindictive. My goal was not to hurt her."

"Vindictive?" he scoffed. "The girl feels guilty the instant something cruel leaves her mouth, even if it's deserved. But enlighten me."