A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters
This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Assignment # 6 Healer Studies - Task #8: Vanishing Sickness: Write about something impermanent.
Word Count: 931
Their eyes met as the battle raged around them. Within seconds she was in his arms, looking up at him with her amber eyes.
"We can't," he whispered, moving as if to separate himself from her.
"We can, we have to, there might not be another chance," she replied, pressing her lips against his. He could smell her, the shampoo in her hair, the slight scent on her skin, everything. He returned the kiss without even thinking about it. She was right. This could be the last night of their lives. He knew every war had its causalities. The only winner in a war was always Death, filling his kingdom with more and more souls. If he died tonight, if she died tonight, this moment would be the last in their memories. Their lips touching, their hands around each other. Finally, she pulled away, her eyes meeting his again.
"I should go. I need to help and I know you have a role to play in this, sir," she whispered. He could see the tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. He wasn't allowed to show emotion, but he wanted to cry also. He didn't want tonight to end as he thought it would. He didn't wish to lose her now that he'd just found her. Slowly, he reached out and grabbed her hand.
"No," he whispered. "I am not doing that, not tonight, not ever. I am done playing parts, being the man everyone wants me to be," he stated, ignoring the fact his heart was pounding, that for the first time in a long time, he felt something akin to fear.
"But the elder wand, we both know it won't work for him. It will only work for you, sir. You're its true master, set up by Dumbledore himself."
He nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. That was true. The wand, the wand that his lord was obsessed with, the one that he believed could end the war.
"If I go to him, he'll kill me to win the wand's alliance."
"Most likely," she agreed. He can see her running numbers in her head, see her trying to predict a way out of this disaster that the war had created. Her eyes lit up as she seemed to hit on an idea. She grabbed her bag, muttering a summoning spell beneath her breath. A small vial zoomed into her hand. He recognized it in an instant.
"Draught of the Living Death?"
"You'll appear dead, but not be dead. I have the counter, one never knows what one might need in times like these," she laughed, a bitter laugh of someone who had seen too much death, too much destruction.
"You want me to fake my death before he has a chance to kill me."
"Exactly, here," she said, shoving the vial into his hand. "Go! I'll come for you later, once things have been won," she promised, giving him one last kiss before running off into the fray. He blinked back the beginnings of tears as he watched her leave. Slowly, as if in a trance he headed to the Shrieking Shack. He knew that's where his lord was, waiting for him.
"It's because I'm not the wand's true master, isn't it? There's only way to remedy that, isn't there Severus?"
"Yes, my Lord," Severus stated, kneeling before Lord Voldemort. He could see the snake moving in the background, could hear it through the dust and debris. "Allow me to give you the sword properly," Severus added, holding up the vial. "Let my sacrifice for you allow you this win, the sword is yours," he stated, downing the potion. He could only hope Hermione had brewed it correctly, that his lord would believe the ruse. He heard Harry Potter screaming as the world went black around him.
"Severus? Sir? Please, come on! Wake up, sir!"
Severus heard her voice, it was screaming, begging. It wanted something, but what? He felt as if nothing was real. There was nothing but darkness, nothing but the feeling of floating. He was sure he was dreaming her, but why? Why was he dreaming about Miss Granger? Hermione, her name was Hermione, that's right and she'd kissed him in the Great Hall. He remembered her lips, so soft against his.
"Wake up you bloody dungeon bat!"
Her voice again. Was this a nightmare, a way to torture him before he finally found his way to Hell. He belonged there, didn't he? He'd killed people, betrayed people, he wasn't deserving of anything good in his life. He wondered what Death had in store for his eternal torment? Maybe seeing all those he'd lost?
"I'm sorry! I swear I did this right! I know I did this right! Come on, sir, please, please wake up!"
She was begging. He wanted her to stop, he didn't deserve her tears. He could feel them on his face, little drops of salty water sliding down his sallow skin. He found he wanted to hold her, to wipe away those tears. But no, he couldn't, could he? There was nothing here, nothing holding him in this purgatory. He wasn't in Hell yet.
"Please, I love you."
Love. That word, suddenly his heart started pounding in his chest, his eyes flew open and he pulled Hermione into a tight embrace, followed by her kissing him. He was alive. She was alive. They'd survived the war. He looked at her, she simply nodded before throwing herself back on top of him, holding him tighter than he'd ever been held before.