Six

The air portended snow, and Hermione knew that if the clouds were thicker, blocking out the strangely green hunter's moon, snow would fall in the Highlands on Halloween night. Hermione pulled the cowl of her cloak further down to block the light, yet frigid wind blowing down the avenue of the high road, rusting the grasses between the paving stones and sending breezy whispers into the air from the waving pine boughs.

She waited in the dark behind the natural marker she had found the day before, the pillar of stone wide enough to hide her well from anyone passing along the road. As it was, Hermione had waited for what seemed to be hours, and nothing passed along the road, not even an animal from the depth of the pines. In the patches of moonlight that lit the road, Hermione could see the dampness of dew beginning to wet the weeds. Midnight was approaching and Hermione waited.

"This has happened before, but that time, the Queen's prisoner was set free. Tam Lin, was what he was called, and though he was a Muggle, he learned quickly enough the weakness of the Fae."

Hermione was dreaming again, and in her dream, Severus held her face between his large hands at the edge of the garden. He was explaining to her again, somewhat pedantically, what it was she must do.

"They will try to force us apart by using my curse against us both...in the tales my predecessor was forced to shift shape until his heroine's love and her embrace brought the Fae's magic to nothing. Love...love, you see, saved Tam Lin, as for me..."

She had felt guilt, love did not come like it did in fairy tales—instantaneously and firm. What she felt for the man whose impossibly black eyes revealed regret and sadness, was not pity, but sorrow that his life had been, and seemed to always be, pain.

Hermione loved him for needing her, and she hated him for the very came reason, and it was as his fingers moved to push a tendril of hair behind her ear that Hermione's sleeping mind perceived a sound outside of her dream.

He kissed her and thanked her, and Hermione's eyes fluttered open as the sound of horses hooves upon the paving stones woke her. It had been seven years since the last time the ancient high road had carried anything other than the stray fallow deer or fox. She had fallen asleep, her back to the stone pillar, her cloak warm and conducive to a comfortable sleep, but as she raised the cowl of her cloak and moved with as much silence as she could muster to stand, she could see a pale light coming down the road from the direction of Hogsmeade.

A sound wafted on the wind, and Hermione shuddered, a hand going to her belly as the twinkling of bells melded with the clop of hooves. There was a hum, and as the light came nearer, Hermione realised what she was seeing.

A procession of four white horses abreast, appeared on the road under the trees, which seemed to part as the parade passed. The horses were bright eyed and perfect, their bridles green and their mounts as luminous as the moon overhead. Dressed in green and silver, the riders were the most beautiful creatures Hermione had ever seen, though she could not discern a sex from the faces or their bodily features.

With skin as smooth as silver and eyes just as pale, the Fae were androgynous and otherworldly. Their hair was long and held back in ornate plaits and silver ornaments, white as snow and lustrous. Hermione could not help but hold her breath as they came nearer and nearer to her hiding place, frightened that the sound of her breathing would somehow alert them that a human woman was so close.

As the trees parted to allow the magical party to pass, banners flew upon an unfelt breeze; standards with strange markings that Hermione assumed identified the troop to other Fae and like creatures. As the first line of troopers passed, Hermione noticed they were arms with swords and lances strapped to their small saddles. The Fae, from her quick estimate were taller than typical men, with long limbs capable of only lithe movement. The delicate, but solid manner in which they rode told Hermione that these Fae were powerful, masters of the horses, and of natural forces.

As she watched, she turned her attention away from the enchanting vision of the Fae troopers to search the oncoming procession for a black spot amidst the light. Hands clenching and unclenching, Hermione's anxiety began to build as, further down the road, she saw him.

Severus Snape sat atop of black horse, hands bound with silver fetters, and dressed in fine black clothing fit for another time. His hair had been styled and was unfitting to his character, yet Hermione found him handsome for the first time in her life. His skin glowed and his eyes, fixed on the horn of his saddle, were alight with internal embers of passion. He was waiting for her, and Hermione gathered herself to be ready. Moving with the utmost stealth, Hermione braced herself against the hillside and the pillar, muscles coiling to move. The child in her womb was unusually still, and for the first time since leaving Severus, she felt as if she could defy the fact that her body was weighed down and stiff.

The procession moved slowly, and by the time Severus came near, Hermione could see the last rider, whose luminous quality outshone all the others, but Hermione did not have time to consider why. Instead, she drew her wand at the last moment, and cast.

The sound that filled the hollow between the hills was deafening and no matter how well trained the Fae mounts had been, the boom that echoed sent the horses running and jumping in all directions. The vision of otherworldly beauty had been destroyed as the troopers' voices shouted for order and for defense. Hermione paid no mind to the odd voices or to the sound of swords being drawn for she had launched herself at Severus, who, at the last moment, met her eyes.

He smiled, and for the first time, Hermione knew that, despite all her doubt and vacillation, she loved this man.

Hermione's arms wrapped about his neck, and together, they flew over the back of Severus' mount, falling to the road. The impact was spelled to be soft, and Hermione landed with her face in Severus' chest. The chaos that surrounded them gave the two humans time to stand, though Hermione would not relinquish hold of Severus' neck.

They stared at each other for only a few moments before the troopers reformed, but not in procession. Instead, all eyes, pale and unnatural, were upon them, a circle formed with no escape.

'So it shall be…' a voice sounded, as soft as the wind, but as powerful as a gale, and Hermione glanced out of the corner of her eye to see that beyond the circle, sitting higher than the rest, and glowing brighter than the moon, was the Queen of the Fae.

This creature, distinctively female, as compared to her troop, was a giantess upon a horse whose coat was impossibly green. She was mounted sidesaddle, and was dressed in the most luxurious white furs and green velvets, ringlets of silver falling from her thick golden hair. This woman was undeniably beautiful, and Hermione felt the inferiority of her magic by simply meeting the Fae's bright silver eyes. Yet, as beautiful as this queen was, Hermione could see the marks of cruelty in her face.

'…but shall never be again. You are cursed Severus Snape…' and at the utterance of his name, Severus choked.

Hermione returned her attention to the man she held, and found that his face was no longer human. Clothing tore and bones splintered, but Hermione held fast to Severus as his body shifted with much pain and blood into the form of the beast Hermione had first encountered trying to save Mr. Belby. The beast snarled in Hermione's face as its weight pushed Hermione down to the ground so that it stood over her.

This was only the beginning as the violence of another form began, and Hermione closed her eyes and hanged on. Claws tore at her, teeth and bone, and though Hermione remembered that in the ancient ballad of Tam Lin Janet had not come to harm, she knew that it had been a lie. Fur and scales, skin and barbs pricked and alternately caressed her skin.

The cries that came from the mouth of what had once been Severus Snape were chilling, but Hermione did not open her eyes as she felt her flesh being torn. The life in her womb protested the trauma to its mother, and Hermione bit her tongue to keep from screaming as she felt the bones in her ever fast arms snap and her left shoulder dislocate as the forms Severus took changed with every second that passed.

Then, finally, the feral cries silenced as Hermione felt the form of a man fall against her, pinning her to the road below. The sensation of Severus' breath against her face forced Hermione to open her eyes at last, but the shock and regret she saw in those eyes were as painful as the freely flowing wounds in her body. He touched her face and from the corner of his right eye, a single tear fell.

"You came…you came…" he whispered, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Hermione said nothing, but winced as Severus lifted himself up to look between their bodies and the obvious bump of her belly. For a split second, Severus' eyes widened, before narrowed with sorrow again. With no more strength and the pain becoming to be too much, Hermione's arms fell from about Severus' neck. Severus moved off Hermione to stand nude, moving to lift her up into his arms, but before he could begin to act upon his wish, the circle of troopers crowded in on them and sword tips and lance ends fell toward their vulnerable bodies.

'You think love has saved you?'

Hermione rolled onto her side to look up at Severus and toward the sound of the queen's voice, but could do no more.

'You think we would simply let you go now that you have broken the curse?'

"I am no longer under your power," Severus said, his chin lifting with a sense of pride. Hermione wondered how long he had wanted to say those words aloud.

'True, but that does not mean that I cannot bring you under my power again, Severus Snape, and I will…now…'

The queen's voice, as ethereal as it had been, turned cold and sharp, and before Hermione could think to find her wand from the tatters of her cloak, magic was beset upon her, and the pain that came was unlike any she had felt before. There was no comparison, the Cruciatus and the near miscarriage was nothing, and Hermione screamed in such a way that startled even the Fae troopers.

The ripping of flesh, and the gush of blood had Hermione flat on her back, eyes blind to even the moon overhead as the child in her womb seemed to swell and begin to push down inside Hermione's pelvis.

"No!" a voice called out, and Hermione did not realise it was her own.

She had never considered how painful childbirth could be, nor she did consider ever having her child in the open cold of night, months before the babe was full-term. The magic that forced this premature birth, also aged the child, and Hermione had felt the tendons in her belly and back tearing, and compounded with the violent muscle contractions of imminent birth, she wished the pain would simply render her unconscious. However, as Hermione forgot about the man she had saved and the danger of the creatures that surrounded them both, she focused her instinctual and dwindling energy on pushing.

Logically, and oddly enough, she was not thinking about Severus Snape or the Fae, but was thinking of how she could make it back to the castle. She knew that with her wounds she could move without aid, and all the pain from her wounds could not matter if she wanted her son to live through the night.

And as the first cries alit the air, there was a palpable sigh, not from those assembled, but seemingly from the blood stained earth itself. The whispers that followed were frightening to Hermione whose perception began to expand beyond herself and her bloody newborn son in her ruined arms.

'Will you yield yourself, or shall I kill your son, Severus Snape?' the queen asked, her hard eyes peering down a perfect nose to consider the naked man in the moonlight.

'What shall it be, human?' the trooper whispered in chorus, ever devout to their queen, and to their ancient ways. A soul would be given that night, and to the Fae, it did not matter which soul would go.

With great difficulty, Hermione wrapped the babe in the tatters of her cloak, hoping that the Warming Charms were still in effect though she could not feel anything but cold from blood loss. Then, with even more difficulty, she moved to grasp the back of Severus' heel, hoping that by touching him she would somehow ease her immense pain.

"A trade," Severus muttered. "I was the one who was to be the tithe. I will go willingly in the place of the woman and child, but you must swear that neither will come to harm and after this night be unmolested by the Fae."

Hermione wept, fear seizing her, and as Severus spoke to the Queen, going as far as bowing down to one knee, Hermione knew that she was naïve to think that she might have a chance of living beyond that night.

He would sacrifice himself, and Hermione could not allow it to happen.

'Why would I want your soul when I can have one as pure as new snow and as precious as diamonds?'

Rage replaced agony, and Hermione felt her magic, what remained, begin to pool in a space near her heart.

"NO!" she said, and her voice was laced with the force of her remaining magic, and her remaining will to fight. The power of that magic startled the Fae, but the sound of their twittering and pitying laughter sapped the last bit of hope from Hermione's soul.

"I will go, I am the Teind, my Queen," Severus said, stepping away from Hermione's weakening grasp to go to one knee in supplication.

The agony of movement was nothing compared to the utter despair that swept through her heart as she clung to Severus' back, unable to find the words to plead with him to fight. If she could fight, Hermione would, but the effort of trying to keep her baby warm and safe at her breast was far more important, and all hope seemed to be gone from even Severus.

"You will not be the sacrifice again, Severus Snape. I forbid it!" Hermione hissed, the anger in her voice beginning weakened and thin. "Better we all die!" she gasped.

Severus said nothing, but Hermione could feel a change in his demeanor by the simple stiffening of his spine. What choice did they have, after all?

The circle broke around them and one by one the troopers began to reform their procession. Hermione, racked with exhaustion, could not protest as soft hands lifted her away from Severus, but as her child was taken from her limp arms, Hermione gave one last shout and fell silent. She was swirling about the event horizon of the darkness of death, and she was powerless to stop the sudden peace that fell over her brain.

The ruined cloak and dress she had been wearing were pulled away, as were her boots. Cool fabric was wrapped about her instead; black muslin covered her wounds and through some trick of Fae magic, slowed the bleeding. When her face was covered and Hermione only just see the moon through the weave, she sighed.

"Where's my baby?" she asked the hands that cradled her gently and placed her into Severus' warm arms.

As Severus mounted his black horse, Hermione knew then what was to happen next, and with the last bit of her living energy, draped her arms about Severus' neck to rest her chin on his left shoulder. Standing under the shadow of a pine, a lone trooper Fae stood with a cloak swaddled babe whose dark eyes peered back at her with longing, limbs wriggling and mouth moving to begin crying again. No newborn was ever so attentive, and Hermione feared that whatever power the Fae had would mar the child in some way.

"What have we done?" she whispered as the procession began to move again.

This was not how the story was supposed to go. In the old tale, Tam Lin and Janet found happiness and lived…

Severus held her tightly as the Queen passed by them, moving to her position at the back of the procession. Hermione watched the woman through heavy eyes, and wondered if the Queen would allow the child to live.

Severus apologised, but Hermione paid no mind as the road bent and the vision of her child was lost.

Perhaps this was her punishment for a life wasted in vain pursuits of knowledge, and perhaps this was only a precursor to what Hermione Granger's Hell would be. As she closed her eyes for the last time, Hermione clung to one thing, the only thing that mattered when all hope was gone—her love. It was trite, she knew, but it was all she had left, and the man who held her in his arms loved her for simply trying to love him in return.

As far as Hermione knew, as she began to slip over the edge of death, the passage beyond the waterfall was to a place very much like Elysium written about in the ancient texts of Homer and Hesiod. It was where Severus should have gone fourteen years before, she believed.

Her last physical sensation was that of being carried, off the horse, and passing through the parted water and into the darkness of Severus' idea of the Hell-mouth. It was there that Hermione felt Severus shudder and shake, feeling as though his life was a never ending string of failures to the people he loved in his life. If she could have reassured him, Hermione would have tried, but already she dangled from his arms, dripping the last of her life's blood behind them.

Yes, Elysium and then to the Fields where heroes lived forever, Hermione could see it, could smell the lavender and wild flowers of the plain…