The headmistress sniffed and then put both her hands on Severus's shoulders. Hermione thought she might have hugged him had she not feared being flung halfway across the forest for her trouble.

"Be safe, Severus," she said, her cheeks ruddy with emotion. "Be well."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Cleared his throat and nodded. The nod of his head seemed the signal for the others to crowd around, claiming the embraces Severus could not.

"We'll be back soon," said Harry.

"We always come back, don't we?" said Ron. "Eventually." More softly.

"Don't worry about us, Headmistress," said Neville. "We'll be okay." He sounded to Hermione as if he was trying to convince himself as much as his former Head.

And yet, his back was straight, and Harry's eyes were bright. Ron looked restless, ready to set off, and Molly had given Arthur one last lingering kiss and Ginny one last hug.

The sun was high in the sky, and it was time to go.

The sun was low in the sky, and they were no further than when they'd begun. Oh, they'd hiked for miles, no doubt, but the elusive cave with its towering waterfall was nowhere in sight.

"I can't walk another step," said Ginevra as she sank down to sit on a stone alongside the path. Severus couldn't say he blamed her.

"Let's take a break," he shouted to those lagging behind. "Water and a rest."

A collective sigh rose up from the group, and they settled into a circle beneath a particularly shady tree.

"Can we see the map, then, Snape?" asked Harry.

Severus withdrew the scroll and unrolled it on the sandy soil, anchoring it on all four corners with rocks he'd found scattered on the ground nearby.

"I reckon we're about here," he said, pointing to a spot northeast of the Forbidden Forest, deep in the hills behind Hogwarts.

"Helpful, that," said Ron, peering closely at the map. "Did she say where she thought the cave might be?"

Severus tamped down his exasperation. At his best the boy had been annoying—impatient and eager for shortcuts—but in fairness, he couldn't blame him for his edginess today. He shared it, with or without the shadow's influence.

"The headmistress thought it might be beyond this ridge here," Hermione said, pointing to a spot perhaps a mile further into the hills. "When everybody's ready, I suggest we push in that direction."

"Food first," declared Ron, already rifling through the bags he'd been carrying.

Severus rolled his eyes, but he was hungry, too. The others seemed to agree, and silence fell as everyone drank and ate their fill. They were weary, and Severus wouldn't allow himself to consider what would happen if they didn't find the cave by nightfall.

He needn't have worried.

The setting sun, like a beacon, painted its crimson ribbons along the cascade hurling itself over the cliff's edge before thundering into the basin below. Like a hundred thousand shards of glass, it glistened. An impassable sheet of armoured water.

Behind the falls, they glimpsed it—the mouth of a cave.

It might just as well have been a thousand miles away for all the good it did them.

"How are we supposed to get past that?" whispered Ginevra.

"First we need to get closer," said Harry. "We'll figure it out when we can see it better." He looked to Severus. "Does that sound all right with you, sir?"

Severus hesitated, startled. Sir? "Call me Severus, Potter. And yes, that sounds reasonable to me."

"It's Harry." His chin was angled almost defiantly, as if requesting that his former professor—former adversary—call him by his first name was an act of utter defiance.

"Harry, yes." Severus looked him squarely in the eyes. "Let's proceed, shall we?"

The boy looked inordinately pleased, and Severus wondered whether the world had finally gone entirely askew. Here they were, on the precipice of possible death and despair, not necessarily in that order, and Potter—Harry—was interested in a truce.

Hermione, though, was beaming, and as far as Severus was concerned, that was all the affirmation he needed.

The water pounding its way onto the rocks was every bit as loud as she'd imagined, though she hadn't anticipated the sensation of the earth moving in a constant hum of thunderous motion.

"That's some waterfall," said Arthur, almost admiringly.

"Which would be splendid, Dad," said Ginny with a sigh, "if all we had to do was appreciate nature's beauty."

"Well, maybe we should at that," said Neville. He sat on the damp grass alongside the basin and stretched his legs. "It's beautiful here, so what could it hurt to enjoy it?" he asked. "We're not supposed to go in until moonrise, are we?"

"That is correct," said Severus. "However, we have still not established how to get beyond—" he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm "—that."

The waters roared their agreement.

"Stop thinking," said Hermione, pulling him down to sit alongside her. "The fortune-teller told us that this would be intuitive, so let it be." She didn't know where the impulse came from to say so, but the moment she did, she knew it was right. Years of strategies and plans had done them little good. They had nothing left but raw instinct to guide them. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that it would be enough.

Neville was right. It was exceptionally beautiful here, beneath the flowing water and towering cliffs. Spring had arrived, and the soft grasses gave them a cushion on which to sit or lay or, if you were Ron, sprawl. It was hypnotic, she thought. The sound of the water rushing faster and faster until it collided with the earth below. She wondered how long the falls had been here, and what, if anything, they concealed behind the mouth of the cave.

The sun was moving to its nadir at the edge of the horizon. Its corona burned her eyes but she couldn't look away. Severus sat beside her, silent, staring at the water with narrowed eyes.
"Let it be," she whispered. "It will come." She hoped.

As darkness fell, only the sound of the water pounding the rocks and the whisper of the wind remained, wrapping around them like a silken cloak. They sat together, for how long she would never know, and just listened. And breathed. Until Severus reached into his cloak and pulled out the pouch containing the glowing mesh of light.

He drew it from its cover gently, as if it might shatter from the scents and sounds around them. And for a moment, it seemed as if something had shattered. Silence, deafening in its suddenness, startled them.

Silence. And the reflection of the nimbus in an enormous, rippling pane of glass—glass that had, just an instant before, been a raging waterfall.

The moon was rising, and they were at an impasse.

"I will not discuss this any further," he said, endeavouring to ignore Hermione's stricken look. "I will stay out here, anchoring all of you with the nimbus. Otherwise, how will you find your way out again?"

"We won't leave you behind, mate," said Weasley, as stubborn as ever. "Hermione would have my head. Can't have it."

Severus snorted. "Hermione will be the least of your troubles if you don't get yourself behind that glass," he said.

Weasley snorted and muttered something that sounded like, "Just wait."

He might not have to, he saw when he turned back to Hermione. Her expression was stony, and he could feel the shadow lurking beneath her skin. Fear. Anger. Hurt.

Severus took her arm and pulled her to the side, away from the others. Her expression was fierce, and his heart swelled at the protectiveness he knew she must be feeling. Towards him. Him. And yet. It didn't matter. It couldn't matter. He knew his role in this as he had in every conflict before it.

His was to stay behind.

Alone.

"I am the anchor," he said to Hermione. "The fortune-teller said that I was the 'bearer of light'. I have to do this. I can't stand the thought of you getting lost in there."

The light strands had already attached themselves to each of them in turn, as if they'd been instructed as to their purpose. His had found him, too, but still, he held onto the woven ball of thread with both hands. He would not relinquish the circle of light. He would not leave it behind and join them in the cave. It was his job alone to lead them back. And if it meant sacrificing himself in the process, well, he would deal with those consequences later.

"Hermione, please," he begged. "Please." Let me. Let me do the right thing without hiding it. For once. This time. "Please."

She was sobbing when he kissed her that last time, tears wet on her cheeks, and then on his when she clung to him.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear. "I will always love you," she murmured into his tear-dampened skin.

"I cannot lose you." Words and tears, and heartfelt wishes falling into the wind.

Which were hers and which were his would have been impossible for anyone to say.

The basin was cold, the water knee-deep and still.

In the reflected and refracted light, all they could see was black ice laced with golden strands, a rippled, massive shield. There was visible breach through which to access the cave behind it. No spell or hex could penetrate it.

Arthur stood closest, looking at it with a contemplative look on his haggard face.

"I wonder—" he muttered and stepped up to the glass, placing his hand against its surface. He sighed, and then with a shudder of air and light, stepped right through.

The cave was dark, even with the light thrown off by the threads they'd each wrapped around their wrists. High-ceilinged and damp, it seemed bottomless, with no light at the end, or anywhere they could see. Still, they made their way, marking the path as best they could in the dark, hoping that the meandering path was, in fact, more direct than it appeared.

"Do you see anything ahead?" asked Harry. "Anybody?"

"Not a thing," said Neville grimly.

"Whose idea was this, again?" muttered Ginny.

Hermione bristled.

"Now, now, Ginny," said Arthur, his arm around her shoulders. "Let's not do this."

Ginny nodded and shot Hermione an apologetic look.

"I hate this," Hermione muttered, her voice filling the small space. "It's wet and it's dark, and I don't know where we're going."

Ron laughed, sharp and short. "If you can do it, so can we," he said. "You're here, aren't you? Without your planner and everything."

"What rousing encouragement, Ronald," she said, scowling into the dim light. "I'm ever so grateful that you appreciate the depth of my sacrifice."

He snorted and walked on.

She was thankful that he had moved in front of her. This way there was no chance he could see her eyes fill with tears. Did he know that it was hardly her planner—or even a plan—that she missed most? She thought of Severus, of her last view of him standing outside the mouth of the cave, holding onto the nimbus—their anchor—as if for dear life.

Sacrifice, indeed.

He could feel them in there. He hadn't anticipated that when he'd insisted on remaining behind, guarding and holding on to the ball of thread that would lead them back to him. Until he held it in his bare hands, he hadn't noticed.

Arthur's fascination with the nooks and crannies of the cave. Preoccupation a distraction from helplessness.

Harry's eagerness to plumb its depths, his vague worry for his wife's well-being. And his wife, Ginevra's, anxiety hidden beneath bravado. How frightened she still was; how frightened she'd been for so long. What a tragedy that for so short a life, she'd had so many reasons to fear.

Weasley, irritation kept barely at bay. Hating that they were wandering again. Wishing he could be a hero, that he could find what they needed and triumph.

He felt the ebb and flow of emotion, broken with long stretches of concentration as they climbed a slippery patch or climbed an incline to a new ridge. Disappointment as each new archway led nowhere.

Neville's cautious tread, watching for flora and fauna despite the shadowy darkness.

And Hermione. Her heart pounding with anxiety for what they might find around each sharp corner and beyond every ragged archway. Terrified of plunging into the unknown, but doing it anyway. Doing it for all of them. For him, because he couldn't. Wouldn't. Her heart with him no matter how deeply she ventured into the cave.

And so, when six of the survivors of Voldemort's Horcruxes turned one more corner, out of the dank cave and into fresh air and sky, he felt their collective surge of joy and rush of peacefulness as if it were his own.

They stumbled out into a copse of trees. Well lit by moonlight, the golden glow of the nimbus-threads lent an ethereal feel to an already idyllic scene.

Trees.

Hundreds of them. Perhaps thousands. To Hermione's untrained eye, it seemed a motley collection of all shapes and sizes. Towering trees with branches that reached into the inky blackness of the sky. Lush ones with leaves the size of dinner plates; spindly-trunked ones with branches as delicate as spider webs.

"So many," whispered Hermione.

Neville nodded, running his hand along the smooth branch of the one nearest the mouth of the cave before darting to another alongside, and then another, across the clearing.

Not a cave, Hermione realised. A tunnel. A passageway, perhaps. To this place.

"Where are we?" asked Ron.

"An excellent question," said Arthur. "Neville? You seem best equipped to tell us. Do you have any idea where we are? What this place is?"

Neville nodded again as if he were unable to speak. He had stopped moving from tree to tree, leaning against a squat tree with luxurious branches that reached its arms wide, his forehead against the rough bark of its trunk.

"They're wand-wood trees," he said finally, breathless. "I can't be sure, but I think all the types are here. I saw an oak over there." He pointed to the sturdy tree at the edge of the clearing. "And see, there's a hawthorne hedge over there, and holly here."

"You're right, Neville!" exclaimed Ginny, breathing in the nutty scent of the hazel tree she was leaning up against. "I've never seen so many different sorts of trees all together like this."

"That's because they wouldn't naturally grow in the same environment, Ginny," Neville explained. "There must be some enchantment on this place. Otherwise, not all the trees would survive the climate here, or the soil. It's inexplicable without magic." He had turned away from the group to commune with the cherry-wood tree, and he looked as if he might burst from the joy of it.

"Neville?" Hermione asked, but it was no use. He had begun to whisper to the leaves, stroking them until she swore the branches had wrapped themselves around him. He nodded, as if he had come to understand something gravely important, and then he pulled out his wand.

If a tree had hands, fingers to clasp, Hermione would have said Neville's tree—for that's what it was, she realised, Neville's—had reached its out to take his wand. For an instant, Neville trembled, his body shaking as if the earth trembled beneath him, and then so did the branches above him until, without warning, the wand was swallowed into the vibrant wood that cradled it.

And Neville sank onto an indentation in the tree roots and fell asleep.

At least Hermione hoped he was asleep. She ran to him, felt for a pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when she found one. Slow and steady.

Asleep, then.

Oh, hell.

A/N: Alpha and beta reading thanks to Annie Talbot and DrinkingCocoa, whose words of guidance and incisive observations always make the story better. Thanks also to Lady Karelia for beta reading at the speed of light, and to JunoMagic and Kittylefish for words of support and encouragement in the final hours.

'What final hours?' you may ask.

Well...

This is the penultimate chapter of King of Swords. The final chapter of the story is complete and will post sometime tomorrow.

Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed, and been so enthusiastic about this story. I hope you enjoy the final installment.

*hugs you all