Proximity
[VII – Sand and Stones]
"Would you like to know your future?
If your answer is yes, think again. Not knowing is the greatest life motivator.
So enjoy, endure, survive each moment as it comes to you in its proper sequence - a surprise."
–The Perpetual Calander of Inspiration
"Short hair suits you," was his only comment.
Hermione groused and fussed with her reflection a bit more. A stranger looked back at her in the mirror, someone with large green eyes and closely cropped, graying blonde hair. She added freckles and a larger, more pronounced nose as an afterthought, and dimpled her cheeks. She'd always been envious of Ginny's perfect dimples. Her new reflection wasn't beautiful, not by any means. Glamour charms were something she'd never perfected, but it would do for the time being. Polyjuice Potion was out of the question, considering they'd need a great stock of it for the next few days and there simply wasn't time.
"All right," she said after a moment, turning around. "Let me do you."
"I'm perfectly capable of changing my own appearance, Miss Granger," he said rather waspishly, but she sat him down anyway and pulled out her wand. He glared at her, untrusting, and she rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to give you warts or a third eye or anything, I'm not that childish," she told him firmly. Still wary, he closed his eyes and let her work.
It was odd. She had been focusing on him more, considering she was shackled to him anyway, and it felt strange to change the features she knew so well. The hooked nose shrank and his upper lip grew, and she set to work on the unforgiving widow's peak and curtains of dark hair. Seeing his strong features vanish, bit by bit, was a little odd and sort of unsettling.
Thinking back, Snape's appearance had been the butt of many, many vicious jokes among the students. Ron and Harry in particular liked to make jabs at their dark professor whenever they got poor marks on a quiz. Never to his face, of course, since he was too frightening. Hermione released his hand and moved forward a little, pushing his hair back so she could get at the roots and shorten his hair. He stiffened at the soft touch.
"It's all right," she said, very quietly. His eyes opened and he gave her a sidelong look. Hermione tried to smile a little, feeling odd in her new skin and expressions. Kinder, somehow.
When was the last time someone had been kind to Snape? Certainly not recently. Not since the War. Possibly even further before that. Unconsciously her hand smoothed down the shoulder of his overcoat, then straightened his scarf.
She added a beard, and then Conjured a pair of glasses, pushing them onto his nose. "Can you see?" Hermione asked softly.
He was studying her, examining her new appearance. "Yes," he said after a moment, very quietly. "Yes, I can."
She had forgotten to change his eyes. Obsidian eyes, like flints, emotionless and blank—how carefully he had maintained his façade over the years. How cleanly he had played both sides. He looked different up close. Perhaps it was how close they physically were, perhaps it was the strain of being stuck together, but Hermione was beginning to recant her previous assumption; there were worse people to be stuck with. Snape had a way of deliberation, every insult and snide remark seemed to cut especially deep because he noticed things. But he paid attention. How many times had she had conversations with people who simply nodded, smiled, and then nodded again? At least he paid attention. He had an odd way of looking at her like he was watching every breath, every movement, to assess for danger or perhaps just to make a snarky remark. But it was almost nice to be...observed, in that quiet way of his.
They were a bit too near. Hermione realized this a little belatedly and pulled backwards quickly, sitting back in her chair, a flush creeping up her neck. "Well," she said, clearing her throat briskly, trying to paper over the awkwardness, "I suppose we should get going, shouldn't we?"
Severus caught her hand in his, and then stood, his eyes impassive. They both glanced at themselves in the mirror one more time, looking at their new reflections.
They looked like a middle-aged couple, holding hands. Hermione could see just the slightest bit of resemblance in Severus's nose and mouth, a trace of his old sneer still lingering on his features. And if she looked very closely she could see that half-irritated, I-need-to-be-somewhere expression on her face. But with these new reflections, they could be anyone.
"So!" Hermione said, much too loudly, much too abruptly, "our itinerary is as follows. We get a Portkey to Hogsmeade, to get to the school grounds, and then go to the Forest. After that, we'll catch another Portkey, and then a short train ride to Cornwall to get some fresh sea foam and visit that apothecary you mentioned. Are you sure you want to use the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Correct. The Hogwarts herd is remarkably docile compared to the rest of England." Snape said, tucking his scarf into his overcoat. Hermione frowned.
"Wasn't a boy nearly killed by a trampling unicorn? Fairly recently? What was his name, Bertie Mudsworth or something?"
"Muddersworth. And that's considered docile, for unicorns," Snape said wryly. "We should leave. McGonagall will be waiting for us at Hogsmeade, and we don't want to miss the Portkey."
"Will she know we're—"
"Disguised? Of course. Minerva is the very embodiment of discretion."
Before she had time to voice a protest, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her outside. His long legs carried him swiftly down the porch and Hermione had to double her speed to keep up with him. Glancing behind, she thought she saw the house shimmer slightly, as though the wards were coming into effect again. There was an ominous, foreboding twinge in her stomach when she thought about their mission, but she pushed it down. They would have to keep on guard, but they were two extremely experienced and talented wizards. They could handle a Death Eater or two.
They turned off of Spinner's End and down the street, towards the bustling, grimy city. They walked in silence, with Hermione struggling to look unhurried. Off to the left there was a little alleyway, and Snape took a sharp turn; lying on the muddy ground, half-in, half-out of a puddle, was an old sock. With a pang of emotions—fondness, nostalgia, alarm—Hermione recognized the lumpy knitted article of a Weasley make. She picked up the sodden sock somewhat unhappily.
"Did Ron arrange the Portkey?" she asked. There was a little lilt in her voice.
"Yes."
Dating Ron had simply not worked. At the end of the day, they were simply too good of friends—it was difficult to try and explain that to people. She knew him too well. There was no thrilling, exciting, wondering dates and questions and fun arguments. They had spent their fun moments during their friendship and there was nothing left in a romantic relationship, nothing but arguments and petty little spats. And once things ended it was sort of a relief, especially for Harry—inevitably he would be drawn in the middle of arguments, further complicated by his relationship to Ginny. It had been awkward, to say the least.
As though reading her mind (which come to think of, he might have been), Snape took hold of the soggy sock somewhat distastefully. "He must've though it would be amusing," he said dryly.
"Sounds rather like Ron," Hermione said fondly, almost wistfully.
He opened his mouth to say something, looking into her new green eyes. "Miss Granger—"
But before he could say anything, they both felt a jerk, like a hook attached to the small of their backs, and the sock dropped down to the alleyway.
They stumbled to a stop after the spinning died away, and Hermione gripped Snape's arm. Automatically he steadied her elbow and they continued off down the street. Overhead the sky was bright and overcast, a sort of glaringly bright winter day, with a crisp bite of snow in the air, and Hermione was grateful for her gloves and scarf.
McGonagall was standing on the street corner, wearing a square plaid cap buttoned under her chin, with sweeping woolen robes and a drawn expression on her face. She noticed the two of them arm and arm, and seemed to study Severus's face for a moment.
"It's a poisonous morning," she said tartly.
"Worse than a serpent," Snape replied quietly, something like a smile twitching at his mouth.
It must have been some kind of code, for Minerva smiled tightly at him. "It's good to see you again, Severus." She surveyed Hermione and gave her a brisk nod. "I see Flitwick did you well," she muttered, noting their Charmed appearances. "We should start towards the castle."
As they hurried up the road towards the castle, Hermione couldn't help but notice that McGonagall was slower than she used to be, and she seemed a little stooped. Had she always been that frail? There was a slight tremor in her left hand, as well, and Hermione's brow furrowed in concern. The Battle of Hogwarts had not been kind to anyone, but especially not to the older witches and wizards. Still, McGonagall tramped through the snow determinedly, clearing a path with her wand.
"You'll be glad to know," McGonagall said, her brogue thick as ever, "that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter have been hard at work scouring the library for a cure. At the moment they've discovered virtually nothing—they departed for Grimmauld Place last night."
"The potion is the only cure we've discovered so far," Hermione answered, using her wand to clear a path through the snow. "And there's quite a few…specifications."
"Be sure to keep the Order abreast of the situation," McGonagall reminded them sharply. "This isn't a very common curse. We're going to help in any way we can, and that includes protection for you, Severus."
Severus scoffed. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Minerva," he replied flatly.
Hermione jabbed him unceremoniously in the side. "The Order can help us, we're not doing this all on our own," she told him. "Professor McGonagall, would you mind dispensing a list of the ingredients we need among the Order members? The sooner we can gather all of these, the better."
He winced and glowered at her, but she hung on firmly to his elbow and ignored the deathly look.
"Of course," McGonagall answered crisply, "I'll spread the word immediately."
They had arrived at the looming gates of Hogwarts, and McGonagall flicked her wand. They swung open with a slow, agonizing creak and Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck raise up. The wards surrounding the grounds were ancient and powerful—a millennia old, perhaps more. Nothing but layer upon layer of protective enchantments, defensive spells, and shielding hexes, and all of them walled the castle and kept it safe from outside forces. She had to grudgingly marvel at the sheer gall of the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, to break into such a place. It would be like trying to knock over a tree with a feather.
Far away, spreading halfway around the school was the black smudge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's Hut was a little stone dot, but the door was barred and no smoke was coming out of the chimney. Indeed, the whole place had a somewhat deserted, empty feel to it, and Hermione drew a little closer to Severus.
"Was it always this large?" she said quietly, looking around the vast expanse of snow. It had been a very long time since she'd felt small and insignificant.
He glanced down at her, an odd expression on his unfamiliar face. "Yes."
"Where are all the students?" Hermione queried. Even when classes were in session, there were usually students running around, playing on broomsticks, feeding biscuits to the Giant Squid, or generally getting into mischief.
"Once a month there's a defensive exercise," McGonagall answered. "Students are taught how to use shield charms and how to find the safest places in the castle."
More fear and uncertainty rippled up Hermione's back. "Like a fire drill?" she asked, her voice sounding a little too loud to her own ears.
"Yes. Exactly like a fire drill."
Hogwarts had always been the safest place. There had never been any need for drills or protection or anything else of the sort, because Hogwarts—the very castle itself—would keep them safe. The school was more than a place for learning, it was a refuge. The reconstruction had taken ages to accomplish, trying to keep the original integrity and rebuild the wards. Hermione had been indirectly involved with the politics after the Battle of Hogwarts; someone had to step up and organize things. And there had been an outcry for the further protection of the students, which she had thought was ridiculous.
But what if something like the Battle of Hogwarts happened again? Hogwarts was no longer impenetrable.
She squeezed Severus's hand tightly. "We should go," Hermione said. "The unicorns."
Severus stirred. "Of course." He looked down at her, his brow furrowed, seemingly just as unsettled at the change in the atmosphere of Hogwarts. Their fingers intertwined and Hermione felt a little bit safer.
They trudged off through the unbroken snow, heading away from the school. Hermione had spent the better part of seven years living, eating, sleeping and learning on these grounds—but now, it felt as though she'd never seen it properly before.
"Well," Hermione groused sometime later, "This is certainly familiar."
They'd been going in circles. The Forbidden Forest was a wretched place; huge, monstrous, twisted trees circled them on every side, with slimy, slippery black moss hanging from the tree branches and covering the ground. Roots and rocks made the ground uneven and the rough path they followed looped and circled back on itself dozens of times. Here and there, deep gouges in the earth could be seen, along with an uprooted tree or overturned boulder. Grawp had clearly been busy. The idea of finding the giant in the forest was a chilling thought—hopefully, he would still remember her. Pressed into the mud and ice on the ground were paw prints, much too large to be a common dog's, and intermingled with those were sharp crescent moon shapes, which had been cut into the snow by hooves.
"You know for a Forbidden Forest this wasn't very off limits," Hermione said after a moment, as Severus helped her down from a log.
"Only because Potter and your gang of cohorts simply made it another part of the school grounds," Severus snapped. "Before you, the only ones the staff needed to concern themselves with were those blasted Weasley twins."
"That was mostly Ron and Harry," Hermione pointed out, slipping her hand back into Severus's, "I didn't come in here until my…what was it, my third year? To hide Buckbeak. But that was only on the very, very outskirts. And then my fifth year, of course. With Hagrid. And then with that woman."
There was an unmitigated amount of distaste in her last sentence, and she could have sworn she saw Severus's mouth twitch. The fact that Umbridge, despite all of her sickening actions towards the Wizarding community, with Muggle borns and other species in particular, was still escaping prosecution—that was something that made her blood boil. Hermione picked up the pace, thinking of the trial she had in a few short days. Once Macnair and Malfoy were behind bars in Azkaban, she could go deeper internally. Not just the Death Eaters who were in the public eye, but the ones behind the scenes. People like Umbridge and Yaxley and a dozen others who hadn't picked up a wand, but had signed off on horrendously discriminating laws and ordinances. If there could be no criminal charges levied against them, she would make damn well sure that they were sent to rot at some tiny desk, powerless, and stuffed in the most freezing, rainy part of England possible. And then left there.
"Enough marching," Severus said, jerking her arm. "We're getting close. Quiet."
Hermione had been so preoccupied with her inner thoughts that she hadn't noticed the increasing amount of hoof prints on the ground. Severus was examining them carefully, his wand out, and the tip glowing brightly.
"Unicorns or centaurs?" Hermione whispered, looking at the hoof prints. She couldn't tell the difference.
"Almost certainly unicorns," Severus murmured. "Look for white hair on bushes or trees. It needs to be as fresh as possible."
She scanned the scrubby, low growing bushes which tangled around the bases of trees, looking for the sparkling, brilliant strands of unicorn hair. When fresh they practically glowed, but they staled very quickly, which was partly why they were so expensive. A twig snapped and she jumped, squeaking a little in alarm.
There was an arrow an inch from her nose.
"You are most unwelcome in these woods," a deep voice rumbled.
It was a centaur.
Hermione understood, in a flash of the moment, the sheer terror that must have gone through Umbridge when she was dragged off by the herd. The centaur was enormous—tall, with blunt features and long, plaited hair and narrow black eyes. His powerful chest and haunches were covered with rich, coal-black fur and his fetlocks were tangled with grass and leaves. The arrowhead which was so close to her looked lethally sharp, and she could see the sharp, shadowed line of muscle in his shoulder and back where he pulled the bow taut. There were several fresh pink scars along his haunches which hadn't yet begun to silver.
However she did recognize him, and there was a shameful twinge in her belly when she did so—it was Bane, one of the centaurs who had dragged Umbridge off.
"Bane," Hermione breathed. "I, oh, goodness—I apologize for this intrusion. We mean no infringement upon your territory."
The thick tail twitched as though swatting a fly, although the arrow didn't quiver. "Regardless of intention you stand insolently before me, painting yourself in absurd layers of illusions."
"The illusions were necessary for our survival," Severus said quietly, not breaking eye contact with the centaur. "We seek merely an ingredient, a single unicorn hair. Once we obtain this we will be on our way."
Bane opened his mouth to say something, pulling the string back further, but a loud voice broke through the trees. "Bane!"
A slender centaur with a palomino coat and white blonde, curly hair stepped through the trees. By both human and centaurian standards he was astonishingly beautiful, with an almost feminine cut to his jaw; there was many deep scars which looked like gashes along his flanks. Hermione recognized him almost immediately as Firenze, and the centaur had a reproachful look on his face. "Bane, be ashamed, can you not see through illusions? This is Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, heroes of the Wizarding war. Lower your bow and be at peace with them."
Bane lowered his bow reluctantly, scowling at the pair. Firenze stepped forward and bowed. "The stars foretold of a visitor's arrival," he said solemnly, his striking blue eyes half closed. "A pair afflicted with a strange, unbreakable curse. I did not think it would be you."
"It is breakable," Hermione said quickly. "That's why we're here. We needed unicorn hair for the potion we need to brew."
"A potion, to break a curse?" Firenze asked mournfully. "Nay. Your efforts are in vain, the curse will never be broken, simply lessened."
A cold, clammy feeling was stealing over Hermione. "No," she said automatically, squeezing Severus's hand tighter, "no, we'll be able to break it. I…we have to. There's no other option."
Firenze shook his head. "Tangled souls, no matter how damaged, cannot be unraveled. The stars spoke of this and it became law when the world was sang into being, when the first two souls became one. Look into your heart, Hermione Granger, do you doubt my words? Fate makes no mistake—the only error is in our interpretation."
Severus seemingly had had enough. "I know the extent of a human soul," he snarled, "I know it can be ripped in two, destroyed, obliterated, and diminished. I know exactly how damaged a soul can become before the human body begins to deteriorate. If a soul can be torn in two, it can be merged, and if combined it can be taken apart again."
The centaur blinked slowly and then smiled. "Think of a jar," he said patiently, with the air of someone explaining something to a child, "filled with both rocks and sand. They merge together, filling the gaps between the rocks and creating something solid. Extract the rocks, or remove the sand, and you shall be left with two separate entities—empty sand, and unstable stones. Be well." Firenze waved his hand in dismissive gesture and a smile upon his lips.
With that, the two centaurs disappeared into the bushes, tails swishing. Hermione hadn't stopped squeezing his hand—the idea that the curse couldn't be broken was thundering through her mind. What would she do? They would have to live together, sleep together, eat together, for the rest of their lives. This thought slammed around in her mind for a minute or two, images flickering past like pages in a book. What would happen?
Being in Severus's proximity was not a pleasant experience. He was not a pleasant man. But she felt something, something she hadn't felt in a very long time, muffled as she was beneath the bureaucracy of the Ministry: Feeling alive. Useful. It was like reaching the top of a hill and slowly beginning to descend, after struggling for so long, it was like being able to breathe. They had both sacrificed so much, their lives had been turned upside down and then shaken vigorously. But they could make it through this, of course they could. They could do it together.
Slowly, she relaxed.
"We should get the unicorn hair," she said gently. "Don't think about what they said, centaurs don't make a lot of sense anyway."
He wasn't paying the slightest bit of mind to her. Hermione reached up and tucked his scarf more firmly around his scarred neck. Suddenly she had his full attention, those black eyes glaring straight down at her. Hermione shrank back, resting a hand on his chest. "We'll fix this," she assured him. "We'll make the potion. I'll…I'll pass off the case to my adjunct, if I have to. She's more than sufficient, the evidence is all there. We're going to wait for the full moon, and brew it properly, and then…then we'll be done."
"A month," he said hollowly, almost jeering but without the strength, "with you."
It stung.
"It could be worse."
And he laughed, full of bitterness. There was something wild and nearly desperate in his eyes when he looked at her, as though he wanted to spring forward to crush her to him.
"No, Miss Granger, it could not possibly be worse."
Is it just me, or are these chapters getting longer? I think they're getting longer. we nearly had a makeout session in this one. you would not believeeee how hard it is to NOT have them jump each other's bones.
Special snowflake sparkles to araeofsunshine, my fabulous beta, as usual -nylex
