The Shrieking Shack, 2 May 1998
Her wrists were on fire.
Was the magic in her finally trying to protect her? But from a dying man?
Merlin, what threat could Severus Snape pose to her now?
Her heart was in her throat, her thoughts dizzying as she passed the flask to Harry to catch the silver flow of tears —of memories— from his eyes. As much as she hated his betrayal, for Severus to die in such a way, the blood pouring from wounds his feebled fingers couldn't staunch, betrayed by his hateful Lord…
"Look…at…me…"
A whisper to her or to Harry, she didn't know, but the burn of the Ut Animam Meam spell gripped her and she had to fix her eyes on his. Black. Endless black, but there, something —gods, just like her dreams— a spark, a wisp of faint fire in their depths…
Her heart clenched so tight it forced a gasp from her.
"Mione!"
Ron's heavy hand was on her shoulder, yanking at her to move, but she couldn't. Not from the need that held her in that moment. The need to chase that fire, to coax it back to life, for it to burn…
"Come on. Harry's leaving. Snape's dead. And good riddance."
But he wasn't dead, was he? That fire was there, the tiniest of sparks and blood still slipped over his fingers.
Dead men didn't bleed.
"Go. You go. Stick with Harry. S-Snape should, he should face a trial. There shouldn't be…" She was about to say an easy death for him. But, Merlin help her, this wasn't easy. It was low and foul. Even for a wizard such as Snape.
Ron swore, but a second later there was the heavy thud of his boots against wood and only the gurgling gasps of her Professor to melt into the groans of the shack.
Magic burned through her, from her wrists into her fingers, a blistering heat, moving beyond the need for a wand. It was instinct. This magic could save him. Whether he would thank her, she had no idea. Because alive, he would face interminable years in Azkaban for his crimes. But whatever the madness from her Second Year wanted, it apparently got.
Yes, to add to her wild day, she was about to save Severus Snape.
Hermione pressed a hand over his as it still clutched his torn throat, her other pressing to his chest, the fading beats of his heart there under her palm.
His eyes fluttered, spent too long in a slow blink and the curl of fire was little more than a pinprick of light.
Hermione glared at him. "Oh no, you won't die on me today. Not today."
The fire of the ancient magic poured from her, surging into his weakened flesh. A low moan broke from him, his mouth parting, his back a sudden arc. Light suffused him, shining out from under his deathly pale skin.
And his own magic spun there…
Rising to it, embracing it.
Hermione's chest swelled. Gods, there was her magic too, twisting and curling through his in a wild dance. It was hard to breathe. His magic was so…beautiful. Delicate. Powerful. Merlin, endlessly powerful…because he was healing.
Snape's torn skin had stitched itself together under the power of the ancient Babylonian spell. His eyelids drooped, but the fear —and Merlin help her, it had been fear— was gone. He wasn't in danger of slipping away.
Of leaving her.
That thought made her blink and she staggered back, her hands pulling away as she fell on her arse.
There had been those illicit dreams that had plagued her during her Sixth Year…and through the long days in that fucking tent. Of being waylaid in a dark alcove by the Potions Master, of his strong hands, of that voice whispering all manner of depravity…
…but his betrayal had rocked her. In the end, for all his brilliance and power, he wasn't…worthy.
She stared at Snape as he slipped into unconsciousness, her gaze hard on his chest. The solid rise and fall eased her heart.
His betrayal had hurt her. In that moment, she had to admit, broken her.
As sharp a wound as Ron's leaving. She rubbed her wrist, the circle bright and exposed in the gloom. It eased her breathing, clearing her thoughts.
If she were being honest with herself —completely honest— Snape's betrayal was a deeper wound.
"Is that what you wanted?" She huffed a laugh at the flare of cuneiform. "Why you saved him? Deep down, I couldn't see him…die." Hermione choked on the word She pressed a bloodied hand to her mouth, her throat tight, the pain there in her chest at the thought of this wizard…dead.
The taste of blood was foul on her lips and pushed her to practicalities. She whipped up a cleaning spell, flicking the blood and gore away from them both.
Clean, Snape appeared simply to be asleep, his face relaxed and younger. So much younger. But then he was what, thirty eight? Barely middle aged for a wizard. Her fingers were reaching out before she realised, wanting to stroke the pale warmth of his high cheekbone.
Hermione's fingers curled in, nails biting into her palm. No. Her lips pinched together. She didn't want to see him —that hated word wouldn't form. But she did not have…feelings for this murderer.
Right, she had to get Snape somewhere safe. Secure. And find Harry.
It was about bloody time to finally kill a Dark Lord.
Let me know what you think! :)
I'm at the end of the canon part, so I need to get my Snapelings in a row as SSHG relationship starts to pick up. I should be able to post at the weekend. I do have about another 6 chapters so far, but it needs to be tied together more.
This is the joy of having no clue about a story when I post the first chapter. Yep, I am a total panster! ;-)
