This is written for the SS/HG Scratch That Niche festival
The prompts chosen were: 14. Snarl, 21. Found 27. Ever After
Rare Pairing: Ron/Neville
A/N: Haven't been writing much. Work is cruel. Not much time for positive thoughts.
Beta Love: None. No one has found me. Dutchgirl01 found me. The only one! A Wild DeepShadows2 had appeared. It used beta, it was very ineffective. Jojo the Penguin lured in with pathetic flailings of a bird writing unsupervised. Dragon and the Rose was captured and dragged in as well.
My Dream Come Till Morning
These scars long have yearned
for your tender caress
To bind our fortunes,
damn what the stars own
Rend my heart open,
then your love profess
A winding, weaving fate
to which we both atone
Wolven Storm (Witcher 3)
Hermione's footsteps on the damp, dew-laden leaf litter made barely a sound as her feet seemed to guide themselves along a trail that only they knew.
The Forbidden Forest.
The forest had been beckoning to her for weeks gone into months, a barely perceptible itch that had grown into a full-blown need. Her senses seemed to send out tendrils of query to everything around her, honed by a lifetime of war and something that had been awakened by her torture by Bellatrix.
Her return to Hogwarts to help with its reconstruction and to finish her last year had gone over about as well as one might have expected with her comrades-in-arms. Harry had buried himself in becoming the very best Auror he could possibly be, eschewing continued education in favour of gaining hands-on experience. Ron had swanned off to play Quidditch and bask in the fame of remaining in the public eye, leaving both her and Harry in the dust with barely so much as a backward glance.
She suspected Ron was using the perks of fame and Quidditch to cope with the ongoing grief over his brother Fred's death, but he wasn't talking about it. He had a new witch on his arm every time the weekend Prophet arrived, the photographs plastered with his boyish grin, abundance of freckles, and haphazardly groomed ginger hair.
There wasn't a week that Molly's letters had come by owl asking, if not outright pleading, for Hermione to take the initiative and bring Ronald home with a marriage— the Weasley matron's own way of coping with her grief.
Hermione, however, had no interest in such things. And she knew full well that Ron didn't either.
There was a trail of unsuspecting beards plastered all over the Daily Prophet to prove that, and she was sworn to secrecy, if not by loyalty, to Ronald but out of sensitivity to Neville, who was still getting over the fact that he did not like Luna in quite the way he'd thought.
The charade would continue until Neville was ready, but Ron, in his own way, was protecting him and their relationship the best he could. Unlike most of the so-called secrets in Hogwarts, that one was one that had somehow managed to remain a secret. Hermione wasn't telling. She had had well enough of drama. They could deal with it on their own on their own bloody time.
Far from her, please, thank you.
Hermione had informed Molly that she was not about to "lure" Ronald home and ambush some sort of proposal on him. She had her life and he had his, and Ron had the right to live his life just as he wished to without the well-intentioned meddling of friends or family.
Molly had grandbabies on the way, anyway. Just because she didn't approve of Bill and Fleur's match did not make the children less real or any less related to her. There was little Teddy, too, and while he wasn't related in the same way, the child did bring out better qualities in those around him with his antics, Molly being no exception.
Except for her—
Teddy was terrified of her.
Madly, frantically, desperately terrified of her.
Perhaps, he saw the hidden depths of what Bellatrix had inflicted upon her when no one else could, or maybe she was just that scarred, albeit in some way that only he could see.
"Scream, widdle Mudblood. You're nothing but a stupid animal. And I can prove it!"
Bellatrix's mad grin was nothing but the fervour of the insane as she forced a goblet of blood to Hermione's mouth and made her choke it down before dripping it into Hermione's jagged Mudblood wound.
Hermione's eyes closed as she remembered the look of sheer terror on Ron's face at the moment of their first kiss.
No better than a beast.
She might as well have been a bloody Acromantula.
Maybe that was why she felt the call to walk the Forbidden Forest— the place to which the beasts were banished.
She wondered if others felt the strange whispering that seemed to echo within every leaf and even in the places so dark that the sun never reached the forest floor.
Hogwarts hadn't felt quite right since she returned. Considering it had almost been levelled, she figured Hogwarts would take some time to get back to whatever passed for normal. Still, the unrest she felt echoing within its walls seemed out of place even more so than growing up during a war. The staff had tried to settle in some semblance of normalcy, but it was clear that no one was sure what normalcy was anymore, let alone how to return to it.
The school itself was no different.
She was no different.
A great part of her had been carved out of her with the war, and the aftermath was only one part of a greater whole. She hadn't been truly whole again since the war had ended— no, that wasn't right.
"I used to rail against being called a coward. I looked my death in the eye unblinkingly many times over and perhaps I shall even more before this war is finally done. I counted myself brave when tasked with the unthinkable. I have borne the contempt of my fellows and yet stayed the course.
But I have been craven in my dealings with you, Granger."
His hand seemed to fidget against his leg before it flew over to clasp her hand and curl his fingers around hers in a desperate gesture that seemed far more coming from him than any other physical intimacy from a lesser man.
"Having once been bested by my heart I knew it to be the one thing, the one weakness I could never afford again and yet live. I am only just now realizing that I have not actually been living at all. If you will have me when this war is over and done, I will never leave your side again."
"I would have no one else," she had replied into the air so cold that her breath came in faint wisps like dragon's smoke. "There can be no one else."
His fingers wrapped as his index finger curled around her chin and lifted her head up so she could look him straight in the eyes. His black eyes met hers, and emotions swirled there as his lips thinned.
"I am a monster, Miss Granger," he said, his voice a rustle of leaves in the cold. "I am a beast who wears the shape of a man. I cannot. Will not— share. If you bind yourself to me, it will be forever."
Her hand had enclosed his and squeezed it. "I cannot imagine a world without you in it. Am I so selfish to wish it would be with me?"
The creases around his eyes seemed to heighten as his lips moved close to the shell of her ear. "Be selfish," he breathed. "As will I."
But the war had made all promises null and void.
The feel of his hand desperately clasping hers as emotions he'd been fighting pooled in his eyes and his soul—it haunted her because she knew no one could ever replace Severus Snape in her soul.
Her once-believed enemy.
Her master.
Her compatriot in the war—
Her—
They had never been intimate physically. That single touch in the Forest of Dean along with the promise of a better future had been all they had been permitted— all he had allowed until they were both free of their yokes and perhaps the greater stigma of a teacher and a former student. And that last, desperate connection had been all that had kept her from giving in to death at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.
She couldn't die there on that stone-cold floor in Malfoy's home.
She had a promise to keep.
But while he had been dying, he had bid Harry to look at him, professing that he had his mother's eyes—
And he had collapsed bequeathing the secret he had not shared with anyone: that Lily Evans had been his childhood friend.
Harry Potter's mum.
Harry had been so adamant that Snape was on the side of the light in that final battle, a 180-degree about-face from the hate he had carried for the man for upwards of seven years.
Because Severus Snape had loved his mum.
And in the end, it was that love he returned to, not to her.
And he had disappeared like so many other of the bodies that had not been found and assumed atomised like the dusty pile that Molly Weasley left of Bellatrix Lestrange, leaving her with nothing but his memory and the gaping hole in her psyche where he had once been enshrined.
But if the Forbidden Forest needed her for some yet unknown task, then she would do it, despite her pain and despite her selfish want to have the one she wanted at her side once more as he had promised.
She could do this for the forest, for Hogwarts.
The needs of the many, after all, were greater than her selfish wish.
As she approached the clearing, shimmering droplets of dew clung thickly to the old strands of Acromantula webbing as the forest floor changed from ancient oak leaf litter to the fragrant needled foliage of evergreens. Her tread stirred up the scents of spruce and pine from the fallen needles, and moss grew in the patches where dappled sunlight managed to break through the canopy.
This was the place.
This was where Harry had come to die.
A cold iron brazier lay forgotten amidst the leaf litter and brush almost covered into obscurity, and as she caught sight of it the whispers she felt as much as heard seemed to grow even louder.
She went to her knees and cleaned the debris from the brazier, pulling the twigs and vines, leaves, and other concealing organic growth off it by hand. Magic seemed inappropriate for what she heard in the whispers. This work required devotion of time and mind as well as physical effort, and the words of her master once telling her to get her head out of the books and listen to what the magic was trying to tell her came back with a vengeance.
"And where would you be without your books, Miss Granger?" Snape said with a scowl, his hands pulling his robe around himself. "What will you do when your books are nowhere in sight and Merlin himself emerges from the ground and asks you a million galleon question? Will you spew some textbook answer after waving your hand frantically or will you answer him with the magic in your bones?"
Oh, she had hated him at first.
Most definitely.
It wasn't like he hadn't given her ample reading material, for he had. Many books had graced her hands, but when it came to brewing and learning from him, she had to leave her books at the door.
She had to learn from him.
She had to learn from magic.
She had to learn from practice and method, hypothesis and theory—
And slowly, oh so slowly, hatred and frustration lead to respect and epiphany.
And those epiphanies just kept on coming.
There was more to Severus Snape than what anyone one person was privy to know, but the little bit she learned day by day or rather sneaky night detention after detention had insulated her from the future actions that painted him as nothing but a murderer, Death Eater, and unrepentant follower of Voldemort.
Each night had built them a foundation of respect, both she to him and he to her. He was more than a bastard potioneering genius, and she was more than a hand-waving know-it-all bookworm swot.
But then, he'd known that in some way, or he'd never have taken her on as a secret apprentice—
"Instead of brewing illicit potions in the girl's haunted bathroom and turning yourself in a bipedal cat, Miss Granger, why don't you focus your effort and learn from someone who can teach you what no one else in this entire bloody school can," Snape said, extended the phial of antidote in one hand, his fingers pinching the bottle as though he were holding something foul.
"H-how did you know?"
Snape's lip curled. "Did you really think you could steal from my storeroom and have me completely oblivious?"
Hermione hung her head. "Oh."
He loomed over her, as tall, dark, and foreboding as ever and as larger than life as a quivering eleven-year-old would see him on the very first day of class. "Be my apprentice and learn what your dunderheaded peers cannot possibly focus upon long enough to fathom, let alone learn. Break free from the book and become a master. Be something, Miss Granger. Or don't— and I will be sure the Headmaster knows of all your transgressions in thievery, amongst other things."
She hadn't realised then that the way he had insulted her "peers" back then had actually been a complement to her. She had been too busy being offended and self-righteously Gryffindor to read between the lines like a Slytherin would. Hell, she hadn't realised that reading between the lines "like a Slytherin" wasn't necessarily a bad trait to have.
She hadn't known Severus Snape was capable of kindness until she woke up with her face plastered into a pillow with a warm blanket over her after falling asleep studying so hard for her N.E.W.T.s—
Maybe, had she been paying attention back when she was taking far more classes than was normally possible with the use of the Time-Turner, she'd have realised that his snapping at her to be more careful had been his way of being worried about her, that his forcing her to do menial chores without magic had been a way to ensure she didn't overtax her magic use and to keep a worried eye on her condition after having almost taken out by Antonin Dolohov—
She could look back on those moments and see them differently now, painfully aware of some of the more subtle things she had missed in what he did. She had never been very good at subtlety, at least at first.
Having a hidden apprenticeship with the most hated teacher in the school, however, had changed things.
Changed her.
She hadn't missed everything. In the end, she realised that there could be no Viktor or knight in shining armour for her. The balm to her war-forged soul was the Dark wizard that had once been just her teacher, then a mentor, an inspiration, a compatriot, and—
Everything that mattered.
But Hogwarts suffered. The forest suffered. She would shoulder the pain of her loneliness and her grief for the good of a future generation.
A snap of a twig had her spinning on the ground and on her feet, wand out.
"Trust no one and nothing, not even yourself, Miss Granger," Snape said as he handed the bundle of wrapped rations and bandages and the precious Dittany that would seal the wounds Ronald had suffered from being splinched. He pointed to the locket. "It will twist your fears into something made real, amplify your insecurities, and transform your allies into enemies. Share in its burden, or will drag you down."
He winced as something pained him.
"You're hurt," Hermione said, reaching for him.
He jerked his head. "I will be fine. The Dark Lord wished to remind me of my place and that Potter was not being found fast enough."
Hermione dug around her bag frantically, pulling a phial that dangled from a cord. A deep green liquid swirled within before it seemed to go transparent along with the phial and cord. "Master," she whispered, jerked her hand out to dangle it in front of him.
Snape's black eyes widened. "The potion—"
"Fresh unicorn snot is surprisingly easy to acquire when you're me," Hermione said sheepishly, her smile tinged with embarrassment. "The rest of the potion was easy."
His hand closed around the phial with wonderment, and he put the cord around his neck, his hand pressed it to his sternum, and the phial seemingly disappeared. "You brewed this while on the run and living in a tent—I suppose I should expect no less from the witch who brewed Polyjuice in a girl's lavatory."
"Do you think it will—" she trailed off.
His eyes flicked upward and then focused on her. "It will reinforce the school wards for when I am unable to do so myself. It will not last forever, but it will buy Potter time. It will buy the staff time to protect the students when it is most desperately needed."
"I wish I could have made another for you," Hermione whispered softly.
Snape's eye-wrinkles increased as he grimaced. "It will help the school. I will find my own protections."
Hermione shook her head violently, childlike in her denial of the future.
Snape's expression softened. "I will take care of myself, Miss Granger. It is no fault of yours if I fail in this, but I promise you that I will not go down without a fight."
"I'd rather you not go down at all," Hermione said, frowning. Her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said— having shared a life too long with two hormonal boys.
Snape watched her flush and his eyes laughed even while the rest of him remained stoic. "Such cheek, Apprentice."
"Blimey, Hermione," Ron exclaimed, "do you always greet a bloke with a wand to the face?"
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, letting out her breath slowly. "How did you even find me?"
Ron smiled at her with that goofy face that disarmed many a person and made others often underestimate him. He waved the Deluminator. "Always the tone of surprise."
His eyes flicked to the half-buried brazier and the clearing. "This is the place, yeah?"
Hermione nodded.
"Harry saddled you with his problems?"
"He can't come here," Hermione sighed. "He's the descendant. If this works, Death would take him because of his connection to the Cloak and use of the Stone and wand."
"Wicked unfair if you ask me," Ron said. "I mean, we were kids. It's not like we purposely used a Hallow, and the rest was war."
"Death may be angry that I can only provide the Cloak and Stone," Hermione said, "but if it helps bring a little peace back to Hogwarts, then it will be better than what is going on now."
"Hermione."
She looked up at Ron to see his expression was sombre.
"I can't stay while you do it, but I think you need to do this alone, yeah?" he said, rubbing the back of his head. "The temptation— to see Fred again? It would be too much. Harry was right to hide it from me. He always claimed he dropped it in the forest."
"I think he thought he did," Hermione said fairly. "But it always found its way back into his mokeskin pouch."
Ron snorted. "Well, I guess magic finds a way." He sighed. "You're always trying to save us from something, Hermione. Just once, I wanted to be the one that saved you. But maybe, this time, I can at least be the team player I failed at back then. Neville says I was a real berk to you, and he wasn't wrong, really. You've kept my secrets. You've saved us countless times. This time, I'm here for you, Hermione."
Hermione began, "Ron—"
Ron placed a tender kiss on her forehead as he pressed something into her hands. "Thank you, for always looking out for us. I have no idea how you did it. I can't even fathom why when we were always such pains in your arse. All of us. It's like you were ten years ahead, and we were toddlers trying to set free Bludgers."
Count on Ron to make a Quidditch reference when explaining life, Hermione thought.
Ron ruffled his hair in a nervous tic. "I know people say I don't pay attention, and maybe that was easier to let people think that, but I know you think I should settle this thing with Neville and stop letting witches think they have a shot at a future with me. I promise as soon as Neville and I get a place together, we're going to come clean. Neville says he has to talk to his parents, even if they can't understand. Not like my mum, yeah? I tell her straight to her face, and she insists I just need a good witch to settle down with."
Hermione snorted but looked at the bundle in her hands. "What—"
Ron held his hand over it. "After I leave, yeah? I love you, you know that right?"
Hermione nodded. "I know. I love you too."
Ron's grin was back, erasing years off his face with the weight of the war and his brother's death. He mounted his broom, clicked his heels, and his broom shot off into the distance.
"Show off," Hermione muttered, having never been comfortable with broom flight. She unwrapped the bundle in her hands and gasped.
It was the two halves of the Elder Wand—
Ron must have scoured the cliff banks for a very long time to find the pieces, hoping beyond hope that they landed somewhere that didn't get washed away downstream. He must have been searching since she had written saying she was going to trek out into the forest and try to put right what was bothering Hogwarts and its magic—
A good week, at least.
She smiled. Ron had said he would always regret the jealous fit that had driven him from the Forest of Dean, but he'd never done anything that had cemented that he meant it until that moment. They were just words.
He'd finally grown up.
Hermione finished cleaning off the brazier after a few minutes, and she pulled out Harry's moleskin pouch and placed it on the ground.
"This is for you, Hermione," Harry had said. "It has to go to you, now, because I can't do what needs to be done. I'm not as brave when it comes to letting go. But my father's legacy is here." He placed his hand over his heart. "I know that, now. I don't trust myself to let the rest go. If you say Hogwarts needs this, then I believe you. I owe it to Hogwarts to help it mend when I couldn't be there to rebuild it myself. I owe it to you to be strong in this."
She put coals in the brazier and cracked her neck before blowing on them to ignite them, the magic within blazing to life with the sound of the ignition word whispered under her breath.
Hermione picked up the moleskin pouch and opened it, the inherent magic recognising her as its new owner before she emptied the contents out onto the ground: the Marauder's Map, the mirror-shard from Aberforth's two-way mirror, the fake locket, the shrunken invisibility cloak, and the Resurrection Stone.
She closed her eyes and took in a cleansing breath and began.
"Oh, Odin,
Watcher with one eye.
Grant me your wisdom,
That I may call upon Death.
For his Hallows have
Slept in the lands of Miðgarðr
Too long.
Allow me to return,
What should never have been taken.
From the lands of Hel.
Let them return.
That peace may return.
Let balance return,
That spirits need not tremble.
That magic need not skulk.
Let the Old Ways teach the new.
Great Odin,
Keeper of the Old Ways
Of wisdom.
Of battle.
Of sorcery.
Of frenzy.
Of poetry.
Of healing,
Of knowledge.
Of war.
I give you the sweat and tears of my lifetime,
For I have seen death and life.
I have fought, and I have frenzied.
I have learned the runes of olde.
Give me the knowledge to return
What must be returned.
Great Odin,
Hear my prayer."
Hermione placed a bundle of herbs on the coals and bowed her head and waited.
She waited until her legs felt numb.
She winced from the pain as she tried to adjust her weight and ease the numbness, pondering if numbness was a better option over the pain of unkinking herself.
The fire on the brazier flickered and turned blue, and a strange icy almost-Dementor chill filled the clearing.
Crackling footsteps sounded off around her as if coming from every direction. She attempted to stifle her instinctive need to duck and cover— too much war had made her trigger-happy with the urge to dodge first and ask for forgiveness later.
But when her eyes fell upon what was in front of her, her blood ran cold as she recognised the form. At first, all she saw the darkened muzzle, and as its lips pulled back from elongated canines, saliva ran in ropes from fang tip to jaw and then down its jaw to the ground. The flash of ivory heralded an eerie green glow that seemed to fill the creature's mouth.
The great head, which resembled that of a lion, shared a body with a goat with glowing red eyes. A rigid row of spines trailed down the back leading to a tail that was most definitely that of a serpent of some sort. The lion's head snarled, and flames leaked out from its mouth.
Chimaera.
She remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes on a real Chimaera, and she had been quite fortunate to have been with Professor Snape at the time.
His arm darted out, crossing in front of her body without preamble. Surprised by his action, she jumped, his forearm pressing back against her to hold her in place.
"Don't move." His warning coming barely above a whisper. Holding her breath in response to his words, she scanned the scene before her for the threat he perceived that she had not.
A snout pushed into view, a low rumble rattling her bones as it vibrated the air.
"Is that?" Her eyes widened.
"It appears that we've stumbled into a Chimaera lair."
The memory of the event had frozen in her memory as the most terrifying of the Forbidden Forest's denizens she had ever had the misfortune to meet personally— yet another pet project of one well-meaning Rubeus Hagrid that was trying to breed into the perfect "beastie" for the horrid Tri-Wizarding Tournament.
Yet, this beast was no creation of Hagrid's.
This was a real honest-to-Merlin Chimaera.
"Why have you summoned me, Child of the Living World?" the beast's voice rumbled. "Very few have the bravery to dare attempt such a thing. Even fewer know the ways in which to gain my attention. Tell me, what could the living possibly wish of Death?"
Hermione closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath. "I wish to return to you your Hallows, for the balance of magic remains unstable while they exist in the mortal world."
The beast seemed frozen in place save for its eyes that widened in surprise. "You— a mortal— would return the Hallows to Death?"
Hermione flinched. "I would, if I knew but how. Forgive me, but can I just give them to you?"
The beast seemed so utterly still, but suddenly the trees began to sway and the ground itself seemed to shake.
Hermione braced herself, but then it dawned on her that Death was laughing at her.
"Oh, Witchling, how I have forgotten how long it has been since the living were far braver and foolish enough to parlay with me often enough to remember the rules—" The beast walked ever closer, its frozen breath seeming to hang in the air before it crystalised and dropped to the ground. "If you truly wish to do this thing, you would need only place your hand into my mouth so that I might taste your sincerity."
Shades of the Norse tales of Tyr losing his hand to Fenrir filled her mind, but she thought of Hogwarts and the balance of magic— two things that were far greater than herself or her hand should she lose it. Swallowing hard as the great beast opened his mouth, she placed her hand inside.
She felt a chill so deep that it seemed to burn, but she resisted pulling away.
Suddenly, his mouth was disturbingly close to her face, having let go of her hand. His icy breath washed over her.
"I believe you," the beast said in a growl. "Please place them in my mouth."
Her hand still dripping from the beast's cold-defying slaver, she picked up the shrunken cloak, the Resurrection Stone, and the two pieces of the Elder Wand and placed them inside the beast's mouth.
The green glow seemed to expand and encompass the items, and within a few seconds they were gone.
"Most would ask for a boon before giving up something so powerful," Death mused. "What would you ask of me?"
Hermione closed her eyes as a shiver went down her spine. What she wanted was already in the past and gone. What she wanted was selfish.
"I would ask that the balance of magic be restored so that Hogwarts and the ancient magicks be as free as they were before the Sundering when your Hallows were first taken."
Death's eyes narrowed. "But that is not your true wish, is it?"
"What I would wish for is too selfish, and the world does not deserve to suffer because I still long for what was taken from me," Hermione said softly.
Death's lion-head moved back and forth in a human neck-cracking gesture.
"Humour Death and tell me what you would wish for if the ancient balance of magic were not at stake," Death said, his snake tail swishing back and forth.
Hermione stared into the flickering flames in the brazier. "The war took so many good people, but I miss Severus the most. We never had a chance, and I will always miss him until the day I die."
"You would wish him back to life?"
Hermione looked skyward, a tear trailing down her cheek. "I would wish him happy, whether with me, someone who truly cares for him, or in the Afterlife. He deserves to be happy."
Death's snake tail hissed and struck empty air.
"Your wish is granted, mortal," the lion head said. "Magic shall be restored as it once was."
Hermione let out her breath slowly. "Thank you."
The chimaera sniffed, jerking his head. "For the favour you have done me, however, deserves a bit more than a saved world. That is something you have already done multiple times now. I will give you an opportunity to prove yourself worthy of the wish you truly desire."
Hermione frowned. "What?"
The goat head turned to the forest and bleated. "In this forest are those that should have died but were caught in the magic of chaos unleashed by Dark Magic clashing with this were turned into one of many of the dangerous beasts that fill this forest. I would summon them, and it would be your task to find the one that means the most to you. If you lead them out of the forest at your side, they will be permitted to return to human form and to life as it were. But, you can only bring out one, and mixed within these beasts are those that would gladly set the world to war once more. While they will be docile here while you make your choice, what happens outside the forest depends on who you have freed."
Death's lion head wrinkled its nose. "Or you can walk away, and leave those that would be dead in the limbo of their prison of chaotic magick."
Hermione's eyes widened. "There is no way to tell which one is which?"
The chimaera's lips pulled back from his teeth as a puff of frozen vapour swirled from his nostrils. "I'm sure there would be differences. How well do you think you know someone?"
Hermione swallowed hard, a part of her screaming that they hadn't exactly gotten to know each other very well as a couple, and Snape had always been a very private individual.
"Having second thoughts? Perhaps you did not know this person as well as you had believed. Some might argue that how well do we ever really know a person, but you are making a decision that could release a great evil down upon the world you have already saved. Could you shoulder such a burden?"
"So there are other innocents trapped here?" Hermione asked. "Fred could be here too? Or Remus? Nymphadora?"
"Death is, by its very nature, singularly indiscriminate," the chimaera explained gently. "Chaos magick all the more so— perhaps even more so, but just because they are here does not mean they were not meant to die."
"But not all of them were—"
Death's gaze was sombre as an oddly intent glow formed in his eyes. "So here, in one moment, I give you the power to choose to alter the fate of one being who could be good or evil or none of the above. Death holds no prejudice. Will you?"
Hermione trembled. What if Fred was here? What if Remus or Tonks were here? Could she condemn little Teddy to grow up without even one of his parents if she knew it was them? Could she even live with the burden of guilt she would undoubtedly feel if she left this place with Severus and not one of them— or even worse, the next Dark Lord?
But then, a strange calm fell upon her as she remembered Severus' last words to her.
"Be selfish," he breathed. "As will I."
Everything she had done had always been for that nebulous greater good.
Everything from Obliviating her parents and sending them to Australia, keeping Harry and Ron alive, saving the bloody world, saving Hogwarts, saving magic— it had all been for the world that judged her lesser.
Mudblood.
Even Harry and Ron had thought her unfriendable until she had LIED to save their skins.
No, this was Death's gift to her— a chance to bring Severus back from a death he hadn't deserved. He of all people had a lifetime of service— a lifetime of scorn. While others had lived their lives and found happiness in it, Severus had not.
Fred had his family, his twin, his shoppe— he had died for what he believed in.
Remus and Tonks had died together defending the world for their son. To bring back one and not the other would be torturous, not a blessing. Teddy was growing up a happy, healthy child. To say otherwise would be a lie.
Severus had died with everyone believing him to be a traitor— and only Harry's proclamation and subsequent about-face had changed that. And that only because in the end, Severus' own memories had revealed the truth.
The truth was that his entire life had been about experiencing cruelty and needless suffering and making a disastrous error of judgment that had cost him what little he had. Living for him had become nothing more than an endless cycle of fighting to put things to rights while he still drew breath.
Families were healing.
Her parents had survived.
No, she would not be guilted this time into sacrificing what she truly desired for the betterment of others.
This was Death's gift of opportunity for her.
This is what she had earned.
"Be selfish," he breathed. "As will I."
It was time she followed through with her promise. It had been a promise. And she always kept her promises.
It didn't matter if—
If his heart had actually remained with Harry's mum.
He'd be free, alive.
He could find his happiness.
"I'm ready to choose," Hermione said, squaring her jaw.
"Then by all means, mortal," Death's heads rumbled. "Do." The beast let out an unearthly howl, and shadows moved within the inky darkness of the canopy's shade. Many beasts of all shapes and sizes walked into the clearing, standing, growling, swatting at each other— but waiting.
Waiting for her to make her final choice.
She walked up to them, waiting, searching for some kind sign, some indicator of personality or some feel of recognition.
The first was a monstrous white goat with a beard that grazed the very ground, but his front legs were covered in strange, writhing tentacles that seemed like roaming fingers getting into everything. She looked into its crystalline eyes and saw a familiar twinkling blue.
Hermione jerked her head. No.
She moved on to the next, an inky black panther with dapples. At first, she wondered if it could be the one she sought, but the eyes—they were a smoky grey and eerily familiar.
The same eyes that had looked at her as he cast the curse at her at the Ministry of Magic. No. Definitely not this one.
She moved on. The next was a strange-looking bird with a feathered face that looked almost like a beard. It looked utterly depressed, but every so often its head would twitch— an odd tic of some sort. No. Not this one either.
The next was a stately-looking beast that seemed like a peculiar cross between a cassowary and a tiger— as strangely dignified as such a cross could ever be. It carried itself proudly. No, not this one either.
The next was a giant bat that looked like it had walked out of the old Muggle monster movies. It had more fang than seemed necessary, and it had a scaly reptilian tail. She felt her senses swirling to attempt to decipher the creature and who it might be. It let out a belch suddenly and looked proud of itself. Umm, no. Not that one either.
The next was a weird combination of what looked like a magenta-hued sloth mated with an orangutan, and it kept making silly fart noises with its mouth. No there too.
She paused at the next beast. It rose up on its rear legs— a giant grizzly bear in all ways save for one. It had rows of multiple bright blue eyes. It regarded her sternly. There was a familiar feel to it, but in the end it wasn't the right feel for her. That one, too, didn't meet the requirements.
Hermione paused a bit beside a creature that looked much like an overgrown cat save for the bulbous head with eye stalks coming off it. It was definitely strange— but when she ran her hand down the arching feline back, the energy was all wrong. She shook her head and moved on.
At one point, as the "interviews" went on, she realised that what she was looking for wasn't something one could properly see.
"Think out of the books as well as out of the box, Miss Granger. Use what you have been given, not what others say you have."
Hermione closed her eyes, the senses she had been cultivating in school were only one part of a greater "gift" she had been given from her torture at Bellatrix's sadistic hands.
Bellatrix had believed her nothing more than a beast.
Hermione felt something stir inside her.
There was nothing wrong with being a beast.
She reached out her hands and felt each creature as she went by, searching for a certain feel and a certain scent or energy. One by one she filed through them, minute by minute until they became hours.
But while some felt familiar, none of them felt as he had.
She may not have known the intimate details of Snape's life, but she had been his apprentice for upwards of six years. She knew him better than she gave herself credit for— and she had learned to read his small tells, worked side by side with him to recognise his herbs and mineral scent, his impatient energy, his distinctive mannerisms.
But, perhaps most importantly, she remembered how her magic had reacted to his first and only touch he had allowed—
Hours later, or perhaps days (she honestly couldn't tell) she stood in front of Death. The great beast's snarling muzzle loomed over her, slime-like saliva dripping from ivory fangs even as his frozen breath tickled her face in a very contradictory way.
Her senses swirled around her— heightened and sharp.
"You have made your decision?"
Hermione nodded. "I have."
"Which amongst this lot will you take with you to freedom and life?"
"None of them."
"So you refuse to choose."
"No, the one I would choose is not here."
Hermione could feel the chimaera's gaze rake over her.
"Of all those here, the one you desire is not amongst them? Perhaps, you did not look hard enough."
"On the contrary, I fear I almost looked too hard for what wasn't there to begin with."
The beast's muzzle was close, a snarl of deadly teeth almost touching her. Its chilled breath tingled across her skin. "You are sure that none of them are the one you seek?"
"I am—" Hermione couldn't help the tear that fell in the thought that she had failed. None of those here were him, and while she could be wrong, the weight of her being right was almost just as terrible. If he wasn't here, then he was well and truly dead— and out of reach, forever.
"So be it. I hope you will be able to live with your choices," the chimaera said. Miss Granger.
Hermione gasped. Her hands flew up, placed on the great beast's leonine muzzle, her fingers laid across both fang and skin. "Severus?"
The shocks of energy as her hands touched the chimaera's skin were like jolts of lightning as the familiar scent filled her nostrils and the familiar, a painful ecstasy in the feel of his skin against hers. She shuddered and wept, clinging to the monstrous beast as her sorrow found only one exit. Her stroked his muzzle as one would a cheek, whimpering and then sobbing as her tears basted his skin.
"Please forgive me my deception, Hermione," the beast rumbled, his voice changing as his tongue gently laved against her cheek. "I had to know. I had to know if you could find me amidst a sea of other more suitable options."
"You let me think you were dead!" Hermione sobbed.
"My dear one, I was never truly alive to begin with," he whispered. "Until you. Far better to be dead than live knowing you had moved on."
"But I didn't!" Hermione said, her face pale and wan with distress. "You were the only one I wanted. The only one I promised myself to!"
"Mortals often change their minds— that is the gift of living," the chimaera said sadly. "I was to give you this choice even before— but I dreaded what you would pick. I did not lie when I said I was a beast, Hermione— that to bond with me was forever. I would be by your side forever, but you must want the same. And there would be— certain lifestyle changes. To walk beside Death is to choose a path less travelled— and many would judge you without knowing you."
"Nothing new there," Hermione said, sniffling and wiping her tears away.
"And you stand before me now, your own master," Death said. "And you have freed me and returned my Hallows. Would you still choose to bind yourself to me? When all the world is open to you. You may choose freedom over chains. I would not blame you for such a choice."
"I do not wish for a life without you," Hermione said.
He scoffed. "You'd be the only one."
"Good, I hate competition. It gives me hives." Hermione's expression changed as she remembered something, doubt gnawing at her stomach. "Before you died, you didn't even look at me. Not even once. You chose Harry. His mother."
"If I had looked at you, love," the chimaera said. "The only memories I'd have been able to conjure to inspire him would have been of you and me— and that would not have inspired Harry Potter to do anything, let alone walk to his fated death." He nuzzled her, a brush of warmth against her face. "He needed to see what he did to be brave— to save a world. It is not the world's time to die just yet. Had the Dark Lord succeeded, many deaths before their time would have followed."
The beast turned his lion head to the side, staring into the woods. "To join me in my life means leaving this one behind, Hermione. Your life. The trappings of humanity— your duty to a smaller world ends."
Hermione's voice was but a whisper. "But you will be there?"
"Always."
Hermione placed a kiss upon his forehead. "I choose you, Severus. The world can take care of itself, now."
The beast's terrifying shape fell away as the familiar pale form of Severus Snape stood before her, arms open. "Then let me take care of you, Hermione, and we can take care of each other at last."
Hermione rushed into his embrace, tears squeezing from her closed lids as she rubbed her face into his line of buttons and smeared his familiar scent over herself.
His finger curled under her chin as he tilted her head up, his black eyes filled with the depths of emotion that had once been hidden under layers of Occlumency. "Allow me to adore you," he rumbled, his voice like the purring growl of his beastly form.
"Yes," she replied, placing her hands against his cheeks and pulling him closer.
His mouth covered hers in a passionate kiss as years seemed to both reveal themselves and melt away from his countenance leaving a younger, less haggard, war-weary countenance. Magick frolicked around them as the most ancient of it zinged in celebration as the final piece of emptiness left gaping in the soul of Death filled with Hermione's warmth. His hands cupped her face, and a ripple of His magic flowed through her, seeming to both rend the flesh from her bones, reshape them, and then return them.
A great she-beast burst through, emerging through Hermione's shell of a body with a roar, the face of a wrathful lioness contrasting against the wisened countenance of a sienna curled nanny goat. Her serpentine tail lashed, hissing with open maw as venom dripped.
Hermione's human body fell backward into the leaf litter as the blue flames of the brazier flickered and went out.
The male chimaera nuzzled his mate as their serpentine tails corkscrewed together. The female beast lowered her head to sniff the body she had left behind, one paw gently placed upon her chest. With a rush of magic, the ground swallowed the corpse leaving no sign of its having ever been there.
Hermione stood, her form returning to her memory of what it had been as a human as Severus took her into his arms.
"Are you ready to go home?" he asked.
She turned her head up and smiled at him. "I'm ready."
He placed a kiss upon her lips. "I will never leave your side again, my Lady Wife."
She cupped his cheek with her hand, the hint of chimaeric claws having taken the place of her nails. "I look forward to a lifetime with you, Lord Husband."
In a rush of heat, the chimaeric pair romped through the Forbidden Forest, chasing each other with abandon until the dawn's first rays returned to scatter its light through the forest canopy.
But Death and his Lady were no where to be seen as if by magic. Only a strange eruption of red and green poppies carpeted the forest and the Hogwarts green as the Whomping Willow burst into green, silver, red, and gold flowers.
And no matter what season or spell was cast in their direction, the flowers remained in perfect bloom during the day and withered and dried at night, a testament to the eternal cycle.
"You should come with me," Ron said as he gathered the potted plant with flowers in it. "It's the least you could do, mate. It's her birthday."
Harry shook his head adamantly. "I can't go there, Ron. I can't. Death will be waiting for me."
Ronald shook his head as Neville came in with a squirmy looking plant with flowers that seemed to stare at passers-by.
"You ready, love?" Neville said, picking up the picnic hamper on one arm.
"Yeah, let's go," Ron said with a smile. He turned to Harry. "You know, people used to say we were going to die every day of the week, and it never phased us. The Hallows are gone, mate. What grudge do you think Death would have on you to stalk you like a hit wizard?"
"I sent her to her death," Harry whispered, staring down at the table where his tea lay untouched. Kiddie scribbles lay all over the table where his children had left them before going to the Burrow for the day with Ginevra.
"She was ready for whatever came, mate," Ron said. "She may not have walked in that forest intending to die, but when do you know Hermione not to be prepared for anything? She had a will and everything— back from when we first started fighting the war— just to make sure her books got to Madam Pince in case something happened. When she took those items and planned to give them back to Death, she knew what could happen. She wouldn't want you living your life in fear like everything is some vision in a Foe-glass, yeah? You're not Mad-eye seeing Death Eaters in every shadow. She saved the world right along side of you, and she saved it again for our sake. The least you can bloody do is get off your sodding arse and pay your respects like a decent person and the friend you claim you were. Stop wallowing in guilt, man. Live your life. She didn't save the world and our bleeding arses so many times so you could do the actual opposite of living."
Neville nudged Ron in the shoulder, and Ron sighed, shaking his head. The pair wandered out the door, linked arms and disappeared with a crack.
Harry pulled out the small beaded bag from his robes, his fingers moving across the beads reverently. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, bowing his head.
"So, I'm teaching now, yeah?" Ron said to the gravestone. He pulled a small glass cup out and uncovered it to allow a fire that seemed to dance without fuel swirl around in the enchanted glass. He placed the fire in the brazier. "Gubraithian fire, can you believe it? Found it in the classroom storeroom. Apparently Dumbledore had been practicing back in the day and left an entire cabinet full of fire— glad Seamus never got his grubby mits on it back in the day. Can you imagine?"
Neville chuckled from nearby as he swept the destrus out from around the clearing to make it more clear it was a memorial. The area had been, thanks to Ron and Neville's hard work, made into a memorial park. When Hermione hadn't returned or contacted him in over a week, Ron had come looking, finding only some of her things strewn about and the brazier cold.
Magic was back to how it had been— the feel of Hogwarts and the even the forest felt healthier— but Hermione was no where to be found.
"Neville is teaching Herbololy. No surprise there, yeah? Me, I'm teaching flight instruction. I know you didn't like brooms much, but I'm trying to make it so people like you, you know people who aren't comfortable with brooms, feel a bit more okay about it. I mean— I don't expect everyone to be Quidditch stars, but they should at least feel more comfy on a broom in case they have to speed through a burning room at top speed and not fall into Fiendfyre, yeah?" Ron chuckled.
Ron's expression turned sombre. "I know you saved magic, Hermione. You did something that saved this place— again. I just hope you're happy where you are. Maybe give ol' Death a good ear chewing. Say hello to Fred and Remus, Tonks— you know. I miss em. I miss our talks— well I miss that you never let me get away with anything. Kept me honest. I suppose you did most of the talkin'. But everyone is okay, Hermione. We're doing good. Mum even started baking again. Harry's still— guilty, ya know? He's been running a tight ship over at the Aurory, but I think he blames himself for a lot of things. He's changed a lot of policies, made a lot of good things happen, but I think he forgets to breathe once and a while."
Ron placed a stone on the memorial. "Happy birthday, 'Mione." He placed the flowers on the memorial when a sound startled him. He looked up to see a pair of glowing eyes staring at him in the gloom.
He squinted.
A lion cub was peering at him— wait no.
A lion cub with a goat head sharing real estate and a serpent tail—
A chimaera cub.
The beastie had a riotous mane of black curls that reminded him of how Hermione looked in the morning in the tent, but the colour was wrong. Where Hermione's hair had been brown, the cub had a mane of oily blacker than black hair.
The cub yawned at him, tail lashing.
"Hey, Neville, look at this!" Ron called.
Neville walked over. "What?"
Ron pointed.
Neville gave him "the look."
Ron frowned as he realised the cub had disappeared into the woods. "It was a chimaera cub right there!"
"Those are super rare, even for Hogwarts," Neville said, his face scrunched.
Ron frowned and sighed. "I guess it ran away."
"Come on, Ron," Neville said. "Let's get back to Hogwarts."
"Right," Ron replied. He gave one last look to the memorial stone. "Be happy, Hermione."
The pair took the path back to Hogwarts, disappearing into the forest.
Hermione laughed as her errant wayward cub pounced her and put a mouthful of flowers onto her chest. "Aw, love, what did you bring me?"
She fingered a small parchment tag that was wrapped around them:
Happy Birthday, Hermione
She smiled fondly as she snuggled her cub. He let out a miniature roar-bleat and curled up against her as he fell instantly asleep— mischief managed.
Severus placed a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him with a smile. "Hello, love."
"Is our spawn into mischief again?"
"When isn't he?" Hermione mused, accepting her husband's tender kiss with a satisfied humm.
"Perhaps, when he was in the womb."
"I'm pretty sure he was up to something in the womb," Hermione speculated. "As is his sister."
Severus' eyes widened as his hand went to her abdomen. "Truly?"
Hermione gave him "the look" that was one part "obviously"and two parts "would I lie to you?"
Severus lifted her up and twirled her around, crushing her against him, their wayward cub bouncing onto the chair and not even bothering to wake up or change positions. He gave her a passionate kiss and stared into her eyes. "I had gone so long thinking that being Death would never allow me such a miracle as progeny or a mate."
Hermione touched his cheek. "Now you have both."
A smile spread across his face. "Indeed, and I am glad of it."
He placed a bundle in her hands.
"What's this?"
"A rock."
She stared at him.
"Open it and find out, you stubborn woman."
Hermione picked at the ribbon and unravelled the binding . She gasped as a gorgeous blue and green cloak spilt out. A clasp made to look like two chimaeras chasing each other adorned the throat. She touched the clasp and the cloak seemed to vanish in her hands. She patted around to find the clasp again and the cloak was visible again. "For me?" she asked, staring up at him.
"No, for the cub," Severus said with a heavy sigh.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. "Thank you so much!"
Severus murmured into her neck. "So you can visit the Living World without being seen." He brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Happy once-birthday, Hermione."
Hermione's lips quivered as she threw the cloak on and spun. She pressed up against him and lay her head against his chest. "I love you so much!"
Severus wove his hand into her hair. "You've redeemed humanity in my eyes, my love. Believe me that no one could possibly love you more than I."
Hermione eyed the cub sleeping on the settee.
"Cubs still attached to the teat are not fair comparison, my wife," Severus growled, his mouth latching onto her neck.
Hermione squealed as Severus dragged her to somewhere more private so he could demonstrate the vast span of his devotion.
Not that Hermione ever complained.
Ever.
And they lived chimaerically ever after.
Fin.