The Amber

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The evening seemed glow, still emitting the residual heat of day in a long sigh. Hermione kept her hands firmly on the sides of the large ceramic dish of curry she'd just spent the past two hours making as she walked. Passing through the still broken gate that hung a fading sign said "Pick Your own Mistletoe", she picked up the pace a bit on the zig-zagging path up the hill. The Lovegoods' gardens were overgrown to shoulder-height in the rich summer. Various oddities reached out as she made her way up to the rook-like tower. Apparently the renovation had not included landscaping.

At the door, Hermione heaved one side of the dish onto her waist and knocked. She could already hear the sound of music and voices coming from inside. It was so unlike her to be late but cooking was simply not her forte and she'd been foolish enough to try to make something for the first time.

Luna swung the door wide open and beamed at Hermione. The bright yellow of her robes almost as blinding as the obvious excitement on her face.

"Come in!"

"Hey Luna, congrats on your house being done," Hermione said in a much more subdued tone and offered the dish forward. They'd barely spoken since the incident in the house and she wasn't sure what to say.

"Oh, this is looks very interesting. I'm quite excited. Thanks, Hermione!" Luna talked excited as she took the dish in her small hands and tilted her head inward, gesturing for Hermione to follow. "Everyone, Hermione's here!" she announced as she walked backwards into the curved sitting room.

Hermione closed the door behind her and stepped past the vestibule to give a small wave. Only a few people looked up and waved back. One of them was Harry, who sat awkwardly on a couch between Cho Chang and Padma Patil. Hermione couldn't help letting out a giggle when he stiffly sat up, each of his hands clenched firmly on his knees as he nodded absently to something Padma said. Many others were engrossed in conversation and barely noticed her entrance.

"Hermione, come see!" Luna called as she walked toward the dining room adjacent.

Hermione marveled at the smooth curvature of the bean-shaped sitting room as she passed it. The quirk of the way the furniture curved along the walls made her smile. She'd never seen a room shaped quite so organically, like the inside of a kidney. When she followed Luna around a wall to the dining room, she paused the note that it was an inverse of the other room, same in shape, but opposite in direction. A large upside-down tree chandelier hung from the ceiling, dangling candles in the shape of radishes from its branches. It was all very fitting.

Luna set the dish down on the bean-shaped table and lifted the lid off. She bent down to inspect it, and the tips of her long blonde hair fell into the dish. Hermione cringed at the sight and made a protesting noise. Her friend caught her mistake and lifted her hair out. Luna looked at the sticky mess for a moment before shrugging and placing the tips into her mouth, giving Hermione a dreamy smile in the process.

"It's quite good, Hermione."

"Right, thanks," Hermione replied hesitantly, a bit unsettled.

Throwing her hair behind her, Luna took Hermione by the hand and pulled back to the other room. "Come on, sit and chat for a moment. We're still waiting for Ginny and Ron before we start eating."

"Right," Hermione repeated and let herself be dragged along and pushed into a navy, crescent-moon armchair. She tried to put her arms on the two sides, then awkwardly put them back in her lap when they proved too high to be comfortable.

Terry Boot turned from the identical chair beside her and grinned, "Hey Hermione. How's it going?"

"Hello Terry," she managed, sounding more dry than she intended, "I'm well. How are you?"

"I just started working at the Ministry, Department of Magical Transportation. I had to file some paperwork on an unfortunate portkey incident yesterday," he explained as he made a dismissive gesture with his left hand.

"What happened?" Hermione asked out of politeness.

Terry swiveled his seat to face her more directly and continued with a serious face, "Some old wizard thought it a good idea to send his grandson a portkey so he'd visit more, but there was a mistake in the order and the poor kid ended up stranded in the middle of the English Channel."

"Oh Merlin, is he alright?" Her eyes widened in horror at the thought of landing in an ocean.

"Of course, just floated for few hours. Had a grand time, really."

Hermione nodded in feigned agreement. Didn't sound like a grant time... "Having a job sounds quite exciting."

The boy scratched his brown hair and let out a dramatic audible sigh, "To be honest, it's rather dull. It's a lot of sitting at a desk filling out paperwork that I don't think anyone will ever read. I'm a bit at a loss as to how anyone does this their entire lives."

The conversation's unexpected turn made her fidget with her hands uncomfortably. She offered, "I'm sure it gets better. How else would all our parents have done it?"

Terry considered this with a furrowed brow and took a sip of his drink. An awkward pause in their conversation took hold. She kept glancing at him, waiting for him to say the next thing. Wasn't that how small talk worked? To her dismay, Terry seemed lost in his own head, his blue eyes forlorn and lost as he stared at some spot on the floor behind her. Hermione forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. This was a party, they were supposed to be having fun.

As if the graces were listening, Ginny and Ron arrived, breaking the entire room's conversation with their energetic presence. Hermione shot up from her seat upon seeing them. Her eyes met Ron's across the room and she felt a wave of guilt. He handed a platter of something to Luna and started to walk toward Hermione.

She saw him with a clarity that melted the rest of the room away. He was like a single still image in a blur of movement in the room. Holding her breath, Hermione stood glued to the ground as he approached. He reached out with his long arms and she instinctively returned the embrace. "Hey," he murmured into her hair.

"Hey," she returned and gripped him tighter. He was warm, real in her arms, but something was not right. She couldn't place it but there was an unmistakable dissatisfaction inside of her. Hermione felt him begin to speak and quickly added, "You don't need to say anything."

"Let's eat!" Luna waved both arm at the room, beckoning them to rise and follow her to the dinner room. Ron and Hermione broke apart and followed the crowd, the density of their meeting diffused by the casual excitement of the room moving all at once. Harry seemed to appear next to them from nowhere. He and Ron exchanged the slightest of nods as their only greeting.

"What'd you bring?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I made some curry," she replied, "What did you bring?"

"Blimey, that sounds impressive," he remarked, suddenly looking sheepish about his own lack of comparative skill. "Ginny and I made some biscuits. They're on the big silver platter. Uh, probably best to avoid those. Mum gave us instructions, but they turned out dreadful. They're a bit like rocks actually. I reckon you could chip a tooth on one."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "And you still brought them?"

He shrugged it off and raised his hands in defense, "Ginny insisted. The invite said to bring something."

"I actually just bought a pie and pretended I made it," Harry confessed.

Ron cursed under his breath and said, "I should have thought of that. Say, Harry, can I say I made that with you."

Harry pulled out one of the dinning chairs and responded with resolution. "No, Ron. I'm not going to say we baked a pie together. It just sounds—it's weird."

"Damn, you're right," the red-haired wizard admitted in defeat. He started to sit down, but jumped back up and pulled a seat out for Hermione next to him. She giggled at his poor attempt at being chivalrous and found herself saddened that she had stayed away. His silly nature always did lighten her mood when she was down.

As they waited for the floating plates and spoons to serve them, Ron leaned over and asked seriously, "Why haven't you come to the Burrow recently?"

"I— I have a lot of things to take care of right now," she deflected.

Not one to give up so easy, Ron pressed, "I haven't seen you in weeks. I miss you, Hermione. You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

Hermione looked at his earnest face and felt shame for staying away. It was deeply unsettling that she didn't know how to tell the truth, that his family's sorrow terrified her. The way they managed their loss in the open shook something inside of her, something that threatened to fall to pieces if she reached to find what it was. She gave a weak smile and attempted to reassure him. "I'm fine. Don't worry, summer is practically over. School's just a few weeks away; I'll see you everyday then."

"About that," Ron swallowed and averted his eyes, "I'm not going back to Hogwarts."

She froze. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Hermione. You can't be really surprised. We've been through too much. Plus, we'll be older than all the other seventh years. Harry's not going back either."

Hermione snapped her attention to the boy-who-lived to her right. Her word rushed out overly fast, like pouring water. "Is this true, Harry? You're not going back to Hogwarts in September?"

Harry gave her guilty look and nodded.

"When were you two going to tell me?" She flipped back and forth between her two friends, trying to make sense of their decision.

"If you actually came around—" Ron began but stopped when Harry shot him an icy look.

"I can't believe this. But it's your educations. You'll not be finished without the N.E.W.T.s," she protested, trying to make them see the error of their ways. Outwardly, she made it about them, but secretly she was afraid of being left behind alone. "You're going to regret not finishing something so important. It's not like it's that much time; just a year."

"Hermione, we're not going back," Harry said firmly, "You've got to admit it, Ron and I were never really any good at school. We'd rather just move on with getting jobs."

"Yeah, I'm massively relieved to not have to take exams. We'd be mental to go back," Ron added.

Hermione stammered, "It doesn't matter. This is your future. Jobs are miserable, you'll wish you were back in school again. And if you don't come back with me I can't... I won't see you the whole school year."

Ron placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she only felt the force of him pushing her away. "We'll write you every day and see you during the break. You said it. It's only a year."

"You'll write…"

She couldn't keep the crushing disappointment from her voice. How could they abandon her?

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When Hemione arrived home, she sat alone with her thoughts in the silent darkness of her flat for a good hour. With Luna mostly moved out, the rooms seemed infinitely lonely. Thank goodness her sub-lease was ending in a few weeks. It crossed her mind that she ought to be less bitter about having all this space. Some people didn't have any home to live in, and here she was unhappy with the luxury of two. The world was a terribly unfair place.

She changed and slumped into the bed but found her mind racing, unable to quiet down for sleep. The lonely space began to feel oppressive. Feeling restless, Hermione got up and lit a small fire in the old, non-functional fireplace and threw some floo powder into it. At least she could go be closer to another solitary soul. The flames roared green and she took a step without hesitating.

"14 Spinner's End."

When she emerged into the still dark of the house, she could instantly feel how different the air was from her own flat. There was a rich, dense quality to it that her own room didn't have, like there was a blanket of knowing welcome. Without stopping, she walked straight to the stairs and ascended the creaky planks toward the bedrooms. Hermione entered the first bedroom and laid down on the bare mattress.

As she laid on his bed, she felt a bit better, more at ease with the unknown inside of her. Despite being a warm summer night, the breeze barging in from the cracked window felt chilly against her back. Hermione rose and went to the closet in search of a blanket but discovered that she'd already tossed all the linens into the dumpster days ago. She reached down into the only box left and pulled out a flowing fluid of black.

Returning to bed, she threw the dark fabric over herself and wrapped her hand in its pleated seams. A hard object in a pocket poked her in the side uncomfortably and she reached in to take it out. It was something round and flat that she couldn't identify. Throwing it aside on the nightstand, she rolled and wrapped herself in the robes. She could still smell the ghost of wine and ash in it when she closed her eyes.

She knew this smell but couldn't match an image to it no matter how she reached. There was still so much missing.

"Don't tell me you are afraid of the dark."

"Of course not," she said aloud into the room, "I am just not fond of breaking the rules."

"Rules are for sheep. You don't strike me as a sheep, Granger."

Hermione's eyes flickered under her eyelids as she began to dream.

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She dragged a hand along the the banister as she descended Gryffindor Tower, carelessly wandering in the dim candlelight rather than truly doing her job with focus. Doing the evening sweep for curfew was one of the most irritating parts of her Prefect duties. Nothing was quite as dispiriting as the hateful glares she got when she caught someone out. It wasn't personally her fault that they chose to be reckless.

Hurrying as fast as she could, Hermione glanced around the narrow halls and ducked her head into the usual corners to make sure no one was hiding about. She should have never traded her day with Ron. Picking up her steps, she rushed through the long corridor past the transfiguration classrooms and began to turn back toward the tower. There were essays to get back to that she was running late on.

Dark robes zoomed around a corner in her peripheral vision and she rolled her eyes. Just her luck some inconsiderate idiot was out. She dashed in the direction and shouted into the dimness, "Stop!"

The person paused and turned back to see who had called. His frame stiffened as she approached. Hermione stomped toward him but stopped when she caught his sallow face in the low flickering light. "Oh, hello, I didn't realize it was you, sir."

Snape took his wand out of his pocket and lit the stretch of hall to better see her. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Granger?"

"I have to finish my curfew rounds," she replied, hold a hand against the blinding blue light of his wand as she walked up to him. Her eyes focused their observation on the heavy cloak he wore. He was going somewhere outside. He extinguished his light and the hallways suddenly looked uncharacteristically dark in contrast, enveloping him into the shadow's grasp.

"Very well, shouldn't you be getting back before the candles go out?"

Yes, of course. But her curiosity always got the better of her around him. She almost kicked herself when the words just slipped out of her mouth, "If you don't mind me asking. Where are you going?"

"To witness something interesting. It is the moon perigee tonight and the dust around certain magical creature will alter the order of matter itself. Mechanics of magic will invert. You can hear their calls; they are all restless," he replied easily and tucked his wand back into his pocket. "Would you like to come?"

"I don't know," Hermione said hesitantly, conflicted about the offer. She was not supposed to be out of bed when the hall candles went out.

Snape folded his arms and leaned over her in an intimidating manner. "Don't tell me you are afraid of the dark."

"Of course not," she answered defensively. "I am just not fond of breaking the rules."

He let out a small laugh at her insistence. "Rules are for sheep. You don't strike me as a sheep, Granger."

Her lips twisted into a bashful smile. "What do I strike you as, then?"

Dark eyes narrowed as he considered her overly eager face. She could barely see in the darkening hall lights to catch the expression he wore as he carefully thought of his reply. A moment passed before he said with acidic delight, "A magpie. Too clever for your own good."

"Oh," Hermione murmured, feeling taken aback at his assessment, perhaps a bit insulted. Magpies weren't exactly aspirational metaphors for wisdom. They were silly creatures. Not like other birds, phoenixes, doves, owls: magpies were not beloved. They were never the hero of the story, just unloved pests you shoo away.

Snape smirked upon seeing the knitted crease above her preoccupied eyes and began to walk toward the west gate. Hermione quickly rushed to follow him, caught in the magnetic field of his vague explanations and doublespeak. She felt a greedy compulsion to take up his time. As they walked, she stole glances at him but immediately pretended to look away when he seemed to notice.

It was often that she wished she were better friends with her professor, that she were not only just another student of his. To her dismay, he'd begun to completely ignore her during class, a change that only fueled her desire to demand his attention more. If only so she could speak to him during the week and not just the a short hour of tea he gifted her with on the resting days.

"Watch your step," he instructed as he pushed the heavy door open. They stepped into the darkness of night, guided only by the moon hanging high and brighter than normal.

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Hermione woke with a start.

Her feet were cold, just like they were in her dream. But it was not much like a dream at all. Closing her eyes, she tried to will herself back to the chilly April night where she was walking through tall grass on the Hogwarts ground, following her professor toward the stables. The memory came back in fits and starts. She could remember him pressing a round piece of amber into her hands, the hard edges digging into her palm as she held it carefully. The details of what he said escaped her, something about the inverse of seeing thestrals.

Hermione curled up into herself and buried her head under the robes, trying to return to the evening. It was dark, she couldn't see what he was trying to show her. Her hands ran across taunt rough skin of an unexpected creature and she jumped.

"Of course you can't see them." There was a sardonic edge to his voice.

What had he said about the amber? The reflexive property in magic?

She reached out and grasped for the amber she'd tossed aside. The tacky surface was the familiar under her fingers, pulling her back into the memory, but in disorganized pieces. Only those who have seen death can see thestrals. In this night where magic was going awry from the close proximity of the moon, strange things were viewable through the amber. She remembered. Through the amber, instead of magic revealing thestrals to witnesses of death, magic would show them the death of the witnesses.

His hands were cold as they stood on either side of the creature invisible to her. She reached over the animal and made a circle with his hand, holding the amber between them as they looked through toward one another.

"How dull, you are old."

Hermione tilted her head to see him and felt panicked horror at the revelation. His ashen face, empty eyes, slack expression. Blood, blood, drowning in blood. She couldn't let him know. If he hadn't run into her in the hall...that meant, he intended to see it for himself. There was something despairing colliding into the moment. She forced herself to lie, "So are you."

The moonlight scene flickered and warped. He was saying something to her but she could remember it. Her vision skipped around, throwing her out of the memory and into others. It was dark and she gripped the strong neck of a thestral as it flew through night. She caught sight of him falling, spiraling to the ground. The darkness faded into the yellowing light of a camping tent. He was hovering over her with wild desperation, his wand raised, saying something.

"Can you not recall?"

Eyes flying wide open, she sat up with a jolt.

"Memora Vivere."

Where had she seen that charm before? She played it again and again in her mind, she'd seen it somewhere, written in his sharp, slanted script. Reaching back, she felt all around that image of the two words. They were on a strip of parchment. The parchment was used as a bookmark in a heavy red tome with a rippling front.

Hermione jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs, two steps at a time. She rushed to the box of books in the corner of the sitting room. Possessed by manic urgency, she sifted through the shrunken boxes under dim wandlight; she searched frantically for the one marked 'M'. Placing the tiny box on the floor, she returned it to its regular size and began to dig through for the book with the rippling cover.

Throwing books on the floor all around, she dug and dug until her fingertips touched the ridging material. She lifted the the book out with both hands trembling in anticipation. The bookmark was still peeking out from the bottom. Reading the title, she instantly knew this was the answer to her questions. Forgetfulness and Deeper Forgetfulness.

The book yielded to her touch easily when she flipped to the bookmark. Just as she recalled from the packing process, the rectangular bit of paper held only one spell. Memora Vivere. Removing the parchment, she scanned the page for what he must have been reading.

Memory enchantments made against the will of the victim must always dissolve through pieces.

She felt a flood of indescribable and conflicting emotion. So he was the one who cast the spell on her. After all her misguided attempts to defend him, to believe the best in him, the truth was wretched and simple. All this time, she had been a fool, going out of her way to embrace the delusion. Why else would he have given her his house?

Hermione sank back against the wall.

But it didn't make sense. He had no reason to do it. There was still something she was not remembering properly. Whatever it was had to have been catastrophic for him to resort to erasing all of him from her memory. It was calling her urgently like a huge iceberg hidden under the sea waiting to tear her apart.

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Notes: Amber and dust, reference to Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials. Dust is the manifestation of matter understanding itself.