Chapter 43

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(38 hours earlier)

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A beach. It had to be a beach. But what beach? ...What seaside place would Remus have taken her to?

For over a week, Severus had dreamt of a beach. At first he imagined that it was only some construct of his unconscious; a metaphor for his emotional desolation. After the fourth night, though— by which time he'd noticed that his perspective of said beach would shift sometimes between looking down on it from somewhere above, to walking along the length of it— he began to wonder whether Hermione was trying to reach out to him. She'd told him that the link was still active; perhaps she was transmitting these impressions of her location, whether consciously or not. Anyhow, it was the best lead Severus had to go on. He'd begin his search by checking out some beaches.

He knew of quite a few wizarding communities in the U.K. that incorporated seaside property into their domain; the question was, where to start. Since he couldn't Apparate directly into any of them— what with the Death Eater alert system in place— he'd have to plan his route carefully around his travel limitations. Any Apparations would be limited to remote areas; from these places, he was able to fly to the edges of Muggle communities and back, utilizing Muggle transportation methods to get from one place to the next. It was a rough journey, and a painfully slow one, but at least this way he wouldn't get caught. In this way he'd already made it as far as Morocco, and had just boarded a train departing from Marrakesh; he'd reach Tangier in under ten hours. From there he'd be able to take a ferry headed for Gibraltar, though he'd Apparate off the ship mid-journey (since the open ocean was untraceable) to the nearby, small Spanish island of Alborán. He was somewhat nervous about this move (Apparating overseas in unfamiliar areas was tricky enough without aiming for a tiny island as a landing point), but it was his best option. From Alborán he could Apparate as far as the remote region of Auvergne in France, which brought him within range of the Isles of Scilly. After one more harrowing Apparition to one of the more remote outlying islands there, he could fly over to the nearest ferry that would transport him to Cornwall. He wasn't looking forward to any of it (by nature he was a homebody, and loathed traveling), but it had to be done. He couldn't rest until he'd set things right with Hermione.

As long as he was in Cornwall, he supposed that the magical community of Tinworth would be as good a place as any to start his search. It wasn't far from Penzance, where the ferry out of Scilly would most likely take him. He had no knowledge of any Order safe house in Tinworth, but that didn't mean that one didn't exist; the others wouldn't have thought twice about keeping such a secret from him. Once, he had overheard Arthur Weasley whispering to Minerva about taking his wife to Tinworth for their anniversary; perhaps the Weasleys have property there...

Severus reviewed his maps, making mental notes and double-checking his remaining currency as he finalized his plan. He was beyond exhaustion at this point, having entered survival mode over a week ago. Any sleep he managed to catch was brief and unsatisfying, as he'd wake from those dreams of a dark and dreary beach with renewed anxiety over Hermione, fearing how she might perceive him now. He was certain that she knew he'd killed Dumbledore by now, and he could only imagine what conclusions she might have drawn. Even if he could set the record straight, he wasn't convinced that it would make any difference; the fact remained that he was simply not a nice man.

A better man couldn't have done it; a better man wouldn't have allowed himself to be manipulated into such a scheme. A better man never would have taken the Dark Mark; never would have entertained the notion of joining Voldemort in the first place. Severus had always known that he was not cut out for any decent kind of life. He was tainted from the start; his father had seen to that. He'd tried to better himself, sure— but turning to Dumbledore for help had been less about his own redemption than about doing right by Lily, the only person who had ever regarded him as a true friend. He knew that he could never fully integrate with his fellow Order members; he'd always be the wolf among their skeptical, paranoid flock. Deep down he was still the same person, no matter whose side he really fought on. He wondered if Hermione realized this.

Pushing his maps aside, Severus leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, listening to the soft hum of the train. What was he thinking, chasing after her like this? What did he really want from her? ...What did he expect? Supposing she accepted his version of that night, he'd still have more obstacles to surmount with her. Was he being selfish, hoping she could return his feelings? Even if she could— which would be more than extraordinary— ...what then? Would he whisk her away to enter into a life of hiding with him? That would hardly be fair of him. Aside from how wrong it would be to expect such a sacrifice from Hermione, he still had the war effort to consider. Though he'd forfeited his own position in the grand scheme, he still owed it to Lily to do what he could for her son. If he stole Hermione away from the Order, he'd be stealing Potter's friend— possibly Potter's only chance to defeat Voldemort, if the damned prophecy had any merit. It would be unthinkably selfish of him.

The alternative was to try and stay with her, if the Order would even allow him to live. As unlikely as this scenario was, he doubted it would ever work. He'd made too many enemies on both sides to have any chance of living in that world for long. Supposing Hermione did accept him, it would be unfair to take advantage of such acceptance only to risk being killed shortly after. She'd been through too much already to endure the pain of seeing him killed as soon as she welcomed him into her heart.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He still had no reason to believe Hermione would forgive him so easily, let alone give her heart to someone like him. He wondered what would happen if he did manage to confront her, only for her to reject him face to face. Could he handle it? Could he just walk away from something like that? His anxieties over such a rejection were relentless as he imagined increasingly horrifying scenarios in which Hermione refused to accept him as anything less than a murdering villain. He broke out in a cold sweat as he pictured her face, twisted with scorn and derision as she rued the day she allowed him to touch her, hating him for deceiving her. He didn't think he could take such a cold reception from her. He thought he might die on the spot if she refused to allow him to touch her again.

And if he survived such a rejection, what then? He wondered what kind of life he'd be reduced to, afterward. He'd barely survived Lily's rejection after she refused to accept his apology, and that situation hadn't been nearly as portentous as this one. That petty squabble had cost him so much; it had hardened him beyond repair. He feared that Hermione's rejection would cost him far more, reducing him to a hopeless wreck of a man. He surely wouldn't survive it for long.

Maybe he was going about it all the wrong way... Maybe he was being too hasty in trying to confront Hermione in person. Would it be enough, just to know she was all right? Could he walk away once he found her safe and well looked after? It might not be easy, but perhaps it was the only way. If he truly loved her, perhaps he shouldn't force himself on her; shouldn't put her in a position where she had to accept or refuse him. Perhaps it would be better to explain himself in a letter, then disappear for awhile. That way, at least his timid heart could survive while in hiding, and she'd be free to live her own life without carrying the burden of his love. For what was his love to her, if not a burden? Nothing good could come of it, aside from a fleeting, star-crossed bliss...

But how to write such a letter? What would he say? Taking up a pen and his notebook, Severus started writing. Even if the effort was in vain, at least it was something to occupy his troubled mind while he waited out the long ride.

'Dear Hermione'... no... 'Dearest Hermione'... gods, no. That won't do. 'My sweet...' oh damn it all...

'Hermione,

If you're reading this letter, it means I have found you. Please forgive my not approaching you in person, but for so many reasons I have decided that it would be best if I say what needs to be said in writing. I hope you won't think it means that I don't wish to see you again; nothing can be further from the truth. I've given the matter some thought and I know this to be the best course of action for both my own sake, and especially yours.

Perhaps I should start by admitting that I have kept certain facts from you, which you have undoubtedly come to know by now. I never meant to deceive you. I couldn't tell you about the Headmaster without risking your trust, and it was crucial that you trusted me while I was trying to help you. I only ever wanted to help you, Hermione. Please believe this. From the moment I saw you on that floor, broken and battered at Voldemort's feet, I've been determined to protect you to the best of my ability. Would that I could relate to you how much I cared for you, even then. I never wanted any of this for you; you deserved so much better. I blame myself for what came afterward — it was my own negligence that allowed you to be taken by those people. I thought that I could find you and fix it somehow, but I fear that I have failed you a second time.'

Severus sighed as he glanced over what he'd written so far, hoping his words were sufficient. He was hardly in the right frame of mind to be composing decent prose, but he might not have a better opportunity to attempt it. He could always revise it later if need be...

With a deep breath, he began explaining the truth about Albus' death, telling her as much of the story as he was able to. It was hard for him to write about it now, but he hoped that the exercise might be somewhat cathartic. Maybe once he'd delivered his letter— if he ever figured out where to deliver it to— he'd be able to put it behind him once and for all.

'...Now that you know the truth, you can judge me as you see fit. I don't expect a full acquittal from you; in fact, I hope you will be more discriminating than that. You know what I am, Hermione: what I was, and always will be. Don't let any romantic notions of vain redemption and empty heroism cloud your judgement. At heart I am entirely selfish. I admit as much to you only because I owe you this, and more. For now, I fear this is the best I can do to redress the balance. Though selfish, know that I still strive to maintain a strong set of principles. Without these I am nothing.

It goes against these principles to tell you what I'm about to write, but it must be said, or else I fear I'll lose my mind by keeping it to myself. I'm afraid that I've fallen in love with you. If you knew how much it hurts just to write those words, you'd know a fraction of what it feels like to carry this around with me. I'm not built for love. I can bear inhuman quantities of anger and resentment, sorrow and self-loathing — but love cripples me. I fear that if I saw you now— if I was close enough to touch you— this love would break me. Whether you'd push me away in disgust or welcome me with open arms, this love would destroy what little remains of my higher reasoning and would reduce me to waste. It might even make me do something I'd be sure to regret. In any event, neither of us would be spared from its exigencies.

I want to demand that you release me from this torment, but I know it's not your fault. Neither is it within your power to remedy. You see, you could trample my heart to pieces— verbally disembowel me if it came to that— but I would love you, still. My love is a perversion; an incurable disease. It is a sickness that would only grow more foul if you were to nurse it with all the tenderness I know you to be capable of. It would have you— all of you— if I were to let it run its course. Were you foolish enough to come close to it, you would surely be tainted by its pestilence. This is why I must keep away from you; this is why I write to you now, rather than tearing down the door of whatever place Remus has rightfully hidden you within and forcing you to acknowledge the complete misery that is my love for you. I won't subject you to its savagery.

Have I frightened you, yet? You ought to be frightened. I can only hope that, for your sake, I'll be able to resist seeking you out after this letter has been sent. You're better off without me, Hermione. You have to believe this. You have to accept it while I still have the power to admit it. If this letter reaches you, it means that I still have enough sense to offer you this way out. Take it. It might well be your only chance.'

Severus grimaced as he wrote the last words, before slamming the notebook shut and throwing it across the small cabin space. It bounced off the opposite wall with a louder bang than he anticipated, causing the stranger in the adjoining cabin to beat their fist twice against the wall in protest. The train ride was an overnight service, and apparently some people were actually trying to sleep. With a heavy sigh, he supposed he might as well try to do the same.

...

By the time Severus made it to Cornwall, he looked (and smelled) pretty frightful. He hadn't had much time to tend to his appearance, and even less time to properly bathe. Freshening charms could only go so far when the grime really started building up, and he'd given it up as a lost cause. At least Hermione wouldn't have to see him like this. He'd finalized and sealed his letter now, though he hadn't altered much from the original draft. If he was lucky enough to find where Remus had taken her, he need only figure out a way of leaving the letter someplace it was sure to reach her. If he had the strength to walk away then, he would leave it at that. If not, he might have to stick around until he'd made sure she was all right. Hopefully that would be the end of it.

The community of Tinworth was accessible by beach from only one direction, the other being cut off by a sharp cliff face. Severus had figured out the bus route that would deliver him as close as possible to this beach; from that drop-off point, he'd have to walk via the Muggle beach until he reached the outskirts of the magical domain. It was a lengthy walk, but at least it was a scenic one.

There were no Muggles around on the beach that day except for a lone fisherman standing off in the distance down at the other end, since the weather was less than favorable. Severus pulled his collar up tighter around his neck as a light drizzle fell over him, the dampness saturating his filthy overcoat and making him reek like a wet animal. He considered casting a drying charm over himself, but felt it was hardly worth the effort. His magical reserves were in critical condition after all the long-distance Apparition he'd been doing, and he wondered if he could even pull it off if he tried. At any rate, he'd be better off avoiding even simple magic now that he was back in the U.K., since he would be even easier to trace now that he wasn't hopping around the globe. Better safe than sorry, at least until Hermione was located.

After awhile, he became aware of the powerful Muggle-repelling charms radiating off a section of beach a bit further up the coast. It was nearly cut off from the Muggle beach by large sea stacks and protruding cliff rock, which made it seem all the more secluded. Though he doubted that he'd be lucky enough to find Hermione at the first place he searched, it occurred to him that such a location would be an ideal place for a safe house. It was right on the outskirts of the magical community, cut off from the beach on the opposite side of the far cliff face (a more popular beach for wizarding kind, since it was far away from Muggle territory). Only wizards and witches who were comfortable occupying a space so close to Muggles would favor a stretch of beach like this; ...wizards and witches like Arthur and Molly Weasley...

As he neared the sea stacks, Severus realized a flaw in his plan: it was still the middle of the day. If he were to cross over into the Tinworth side without the cover of a concealing charm, he'd stand out like an inverted light house; a beacon of darkness against the pale sand. He'd just have to wait until nightfall to reconnoiter his way across the beach. If a safe house was hidden somewhere nearby, he should be able to sense the presence of its wards. Then he could figure out a more suitable hiding place.

With a long-suffering sigh, Severus glanced over the rocky terrain that would have to serve as his hideout in the meantime. He'd suffered through worse situations than this; his weariness was mostly due to the fact that his present circumstances were likely to be indicative of the kinds of situations he was bound to find himself in for many days to come. Perhaps weeks, even months... it had taken longer to find Hermione the last time, though of course there had been extenuating circumstances to complicate that search. He just hoped that this search might be at least somewhat easier on him. The last one had taken enough out of him already; he was too young to look as world-worn as he did.

Before he settled down to wait, Severus turned the corner of the furthermost sea stack to get a good look at what would lie ahead of him later that evening. As his critical eyes scanned the area, memorizing the geography of the terrain, he caught a sudden movement in the far distance. He slunk back further behind the rock as he squinted at the moving figure, identifying it as a petite person. Female. What would a lone female be doing on the beach in weather like this?

Severus' mind worked rapidly as he watched the young woman skip down the sand dunes as she made her way toward the shoreline. She was too far away for him to make out any pertinent details, but it appeared as if she were lightly dressed. She couldn't be a tourist, then; no respectable witch would visit the beach on a day like this dressed as she was, which meant she must be residing nearby, and couldn't be bothered to put on more appropriate clothing. His heart fluttered erratically as he ignored the little hope in him that insisted that this description sounded familiar.

She had turned toward him, now, and was heading in his direction. Severus pulled back and leaned his head against the rock, gulping as his eyes flashed nervously. No, no, no... stop this. It isn't her. It couldn't be her. You're insane. Look at her again. You're delusional. It's not her. Turn around... just look at her again.

After a pathetically long delay, he turned around and looked at her again. She was moving rapidly, her stride determined. Had she spotted him? Was she coming for him? As much as every ounce of his reason wanted to insist otherwise, he couldn't deny that it looked sort of like her. Sort of a lot like her...

Oh gods, what if it's really her? He didn't know what to do. It was too soon; he couldn't see her now... not like this. He wasn't ready. He never expected this. This was completely absurd.

Forcing himself to look again, his third glance confirmed his wildest dream and his greatest terror: it was Hermione. She was wearing the jacket she'd worn when she'd danced for him; he'd know it anywhere. It was much too large on her small frame, and the bright patches on the sleeves stood out against the dismal backdrop in all their tacky glory. What was she doing out there all by herself? Where was Remus? —the rest of the Order? What the fuck were those half-wits thinking, letting her walk so far alone and barely dressed? Where was she going? ...Had she seen him?

Ducking behind the rock again, Severus swore under his breath as he struggled to come up with a plan. This was it. There was no going back now. If he turned and fled in the other direction, she'd surely spot him if she was reckless enough to traverse the boundary marker. His best chance was to slink as far back in the shadows as he could, and hope she didn't notice him. As he attempted to do just that, he scowled as he realized that there wasn't nearly enough coverage to prevent her from spotting him. He'd look like a complete fool if he tried. Perhaps it doesn't matter; perhaps she already knows I'm here...

But how? Recalling the psychic dreams that he was now certain Hermione had sent to him— whether knowingly or not— he wondered how strong the link was at her end. Maybe if he tried to scare her off by sending warning impressions her way, she'd turn back around.

Focusing on the old connection, Severus put everything he had into sending fearful emotions her way. Go back... turn around... don't go any further... it's not safe...

After waiting several moments, Severus peeked around the corner again to see if his plan worked. He noticed her hesitate slightly, her determined steps faltering a little before she pushed past her uncertainty. She was getting so close now...

Panicking, Severus tried again, practically shouting at her with his mind as he tried to discourage her progress. It was no use. Before he had a chance to take a steadying breath, he heard the approach of her footsteps as she traipsed over the rocks, tentatively heading straight for him. He could tell by her careful movements that she must not have seen him there, since she seemed too unsure of herself now. Apparently she was just out for a stroll, after all...

Sliding back further into the shadows, Severus prepared for the inevitable, his heart racing painfully fast. If he revealed himself now, he'd surely frighten her; she might even scream, and if Lupin was anywhere nearby his ears would catch the sound. It was too risky. He had to keep her quiet.

As soon as she moved within range, he reached out and grabbed her, silencing her as quick as he could by pressing his hand over her mouth. She struggled as he pulled her against him, and he hated himself for having to scare her like that. He hated himself even more when his body thrilled at the feel of her against him, so close again. He had to think straight. Keep a clear head. This was going to be hard enough as it was.

"Don't scream," he told her, surprising himself with the harsh sound of his nervous voice. She was so tense, so completely vulnerable now. She knew that she was trapped. He could smell lavender in her hair.

Swallowing his anxiety as he allowed his grip around her to slacken, he carefully began to remove his hand from her mouth, hoping she wouldn't take the opportunity to call for help.

"Please, don't scream," he begged, his voice thankfully returning to somewhat normal levels. When she didn't make any noise, he gently bid her to turn around, terrified of what he'd see in her eyes when she recognized him. It wasn't supposed to be this way...

As she looked up at him with an expression of complete disbelief, his heart sank as he took in the sight of her pretty face, wondering when it had become so precious; so dear to him. Her... her... her! It was really her! ...Was this the last time he'd see her like this?

Unable to tear his eyes away, Severus continued to stare besottedly at his heart's desire, completely transfixed. Her crushing beauty was both balm and bane to his bedraggled heart, soothing its needy arrhythmia while simultaneously contriving to tear it apart. Her presence was real; whole and immaculate. He simply beheld the truth of it, her distracting proximity momentarily allowing him to forget the letter that was burning a hole in his pocket.

...


A/N: I know, I know... we're at the same place we ended up last chapter (but, oh! how I do love these parallel storytelling structures...) — at least it was posted quickly?