CLXVI

Hermione had thought she knew cold when she'd been forced to watch Harry play Quidditch in a winter storm. She was wrong, or more precisely she lacked perspective.

Already she'd tried to move and nothing happened. Straining, she reached out with her magic and found nothing. She could not shout and no sound caressed her ear. Hermione couldn't even determine if she was breathing, although she had to assume she was.

There was a complete lack of pain. If she were drowning, there would be struggle; burning in the lungs, a dimming of all awareness.

I think, therefore I am.

CLXVII

There was no way for Hermione to know how much time passed. Had it worked? Was the corruption turned back? Is this the hell to which she'd sent it?

If this is all there is, She thought glumly, then the afterlife isn't very good, is it?

The space where the Goddess had occupied was silent. Hermione tried not to feel abandoned. She'd known there was a price to pay.

She fretted about her parents, her friends, and poor Severus. What must he think? She'd vanished.

Bitter humour stirred within her. Not dead. Think I'd like to go for a walk...

CLXVIII

Hermione was mulling over regrets, using her imagination to manufacture what ifs and what should have beens.

For instance, she regretted holding back on Marietta. That missed opportunity to hex the bitch into the next ice age was chafing at her patience. It was Marietta's machinations that landed Hermione here, where-ever here is.

She extended her senses, and this time the emptiness — the sterile vacuum had presence. Fear sharpened her thoughts, and she tried to call out. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

In the distance, a rhythmic clip-clop echoed, wet and approaching.

"Help!" She wanted nothing more than to be heard.

Light, distorted and painful to her dark-adjusted eyes made her heart buoyant with anticipation.

She knew instinctively that she had to move towards it. That she would be passed over if she did not rise .

There would be no assistance from the Goddess, yet Hermione quashed that pain. She could give it proper consideration later.

Instead, she thought of smoke, of bubbles lifting upwards toward the light.

All at once her face burst through the surface of that dark, placid ocean into the cold, harsh air.

Warm water lapped about her ears as she choked out a burbly, "HELP!"

CLXIX

The figure of a man on horseback wavered into view, and Hermione's cries for help died on her lips. His colouring was strange; everything about him was in shades of black. He rode bareback, comfortably slouched over the steed's withers as it picked its way towards her.

He came to a stop at her side and looked down, a corner of his mouth quirking up in wry amusement. "This is an unexpected surprise. What are you doing down there, Hermione Snape?"

Never having been a tall person, Hermione was made to feel particularly small as she tread water near the horse's obsidian hooves, each as big as a Hogwarts Library round table.

Ah. I see. Lord Donn.

She'd only come to her faith tonight, so it took courage to answer a being who she'd just now comprehended was an actual God. She asked,"I was hoping that you could tell me?"

The God laughed in answer, a rich musical sound. Hermione felt very odd as something shifted into place, something she'd lost.

Hermione's senses abruptly flooded with ocean water. Immediately, she sank below the surface, choking for air.

A hand grabbed her wrist and hauled Hermione out of the darkness.

CLXX

Severus' marriage bond was quiet, almost inert.

He'd searched the small earthen tomb twenty times, each with intensifying dread. "Witches don't disappear into stone!"

His fingers caught on the fine veil that had covered his wife.

The spellwork upon this shroud was pure white magick, a masterwork of ancient craft that was capable of countering death curses. Even more wondrous, the blessing woven into it would force a reluctant soul to cross over - taking away the choice of becoming a ghost. Where did Edgecombe obtain it?

Growling, Severus stepped out of the tomb and howled to the night sky, "Hermione!"

CLXXI

Unbeknownst to Severus, as he cried out in grief, the earth herself answered. The temperature dropped to record lows throughout the isle. The stars dimmed, as though the Universe itself stepped back to give him room.

In their homes, those who remembered the old ways locked their doors and shut their windows. Iron horseshoes took the place of the crucifix over the mantle. Only fools would wish to invite the attention of the strange forces that were roaming about this ill-favored Beltane night.

Unseen, God and man unified shot up into the sky, a divine Eagle blazing with vengeful fire so bright that it could have been mistaken for a false dawn.

Below, trees trembled and the shoots of new grass and emerging spring leaves hissed in reaction as the sky above gathered massive amounts of power.

The Eagle's cry echoed off of the mountains. "Gone!" It could be heard even by the ghosts within Hogwarts, "Where is my wife?" Its voice pierced the darkest of shadows, the remotest corners of the British Isle. "Where did Hermione go?"

When no answer came back, the Eagle turned its path towards Hogsmeade. "Father! Justice! I call on you! Make the witch pay!"

CLXXII

Molly Weasley sensed that Magic herself was uneasy. The night whispered of danger instead of romance. Something was very wrong.

The crowd cried out as the firebird approached, pulling wands and shielding their eyes.

Molly resorted to prayer. "Mother! Goddess! Help us!"

From deep within, a presence warmed her heart. The Goddess spoke into Molly's mind, "Quickly! Do everything I say. I will lend you strength."

Moments as long as lifetimes later, The Mother enfolded the weeping wizard in her arms, heedless of the dangerous magic pouring off of him in waves.

"Poor wounded boy," Mother crooned. "There is hope."

AN:

Written for the grangersnape100 LJ Challenge, Spring Fever.

Thanks to Qdrew for her beta expertise.