The market lies before them. The roses turn to papayas, apples and tropical fruits. And Hermione releases Snape's hand only to cry out in pain as the shards of met dig deep into her fingers. As soon as she relaxes, her palms do not hurt a single bit despite bleeding red.
"That's all?" she asks.
"It will be more painful when you awaken."
"I meant the memories. You broke them from the pendant?"
Snape holds the piece up, the core still intact despite the cracks. "I thought it might work with both of our powers together. But there's still one more way to try."
He takes long strides towards the marketplace. She stays put.
"Where am I going to awaken this time?" she calls out, remembering how months before she'd nearly drowned from her sleepwalking.
"A safe place."
"And with whom." The question directed at Snape. He looks straight to her, stiff and unwilling to move, unwilling to show how frightened she is.
"With me. Surely there's no way for you to become an Auror if you don't make it back alive."
"What about you Snape?" She approaches, hands wrapped upon herself like she's trying to keep herself together. The red wetness staining her brown jacket. Now her eyes have matched those red stains both in colour and feel.
"I have no interest in becoming an Auror-"
He knows what she means, but it would be more painful for him to die on her after confessing his feelings. He rubs his thumb over the cut, picking off the pieces and tosses them to the ground. Then he conjures the wound shut with a bandage.
"You could say I'm rather experienced at dying. Probably the one talent I hope you never master before me."
He smirks, but it doesn't give a smile to her face. She digs her face into his shirt, fists digging into the back. And she sobs. Quietly but the sound and her shaking fists reverberate through his back.
He thinks it's best to hug her back, at least to get her off him. As soon as his hands meet around her back, he decides it would have been better to peel her away earlier. Her hair smells exactly as her home, that comforting smell that he hopes he will remember in the Afterlife. He brings it up to his cheek and closes his eyes as he inhales the smell. He does not want to leave.
He had considered what would happen if he ignores the Boss and does not return the memories. Now he knows the man was a sham, much like the rest of his enterprise and Snape feels immense anger for wasting his time following his empty threats. He trails down Hermione's shoulders, setting her aside. He considers apologizing for hugging her but she does not appear to need an apology. Thankfully he does not regret his decision either.
"How did the Gala pass?"
"You mean, did Robards Jr. completely overreact over his roses?"
He laughs. "Did I not bet on it?"
"And you were right, as usual."
"There's no need to be a pet, Hermione. I won't be giving you any House Points for spreading the honey over the figs. Speaking of figs, I doubt there is a way back unless we cross through the Market. The memories have obviously weaved themselves into a rather intricate world."
Her sight drops forwards. Of course, they've both been in a strange illusion before, but they both did not know what would happen in the end.
Snape decides it would be best to hold her hand. She can walk through by herself, she had done it many times alone in her sleep. He, however, feels like it will be the last time he ever does. Her hand is rather strong and now also clammy and cool. He laces her fingers through hers and they head towards the walked path.
As they do, Hermione hears a peeling sound behind her.
"Don't look back, whatever happens," he warns her.
Behind her, it sounds like the threads of the world, like whisps of ribbon and lacing out of a boot. She imagines their colour blue like the threads of memories inside the locket and the sight is probably beautiful.
Now they approach the market stands. The bedlams beckoning her with their fruits. She refuses and their faces turn as sour as the rotten fruits inside their palms.
"Beware little Hermione, beware," they utter.
Their hands tightly intertwined, she looks away from their eyes into the distance, heeding Snape's warning. She knows what will come next, the rows of houses, on and on in their sandy orange tones like the lost city of Vesuvius. All covered in volcanic dust. She inhales the heat and dust and it stings her throat. On they walk until she remembers who lives just two blocks down.
No it is just a dream. The red-haired girl is not there. She cannot be, for she is just an illusion. But Hermione knows she cannot leave her. She tugs on Snape's palm.
"We need to get Lily." He gives her a look that confirms her fears, but she isn't ready to accept refusal. The closer they walk towards the bend, the more her hands clam and her chest twists and her stomach turns. Her neck tenses at the very realization of what could happen. It won't happen again. Not again. Not this time.
Now the bend is approaching. He grabs Snape's hand, dragging him towards the road.
"We can't, you can't-"
"Snape please, please. I know this is insane, I know it! But I need to go and get her. I need to and-" she releases his hand. "And if you don't come with me I will go alone. But please come."
Her plea, her tears, the tears of the woman before him whom he loves so much pierce into his very heart and he cannot refuse the request. He opens his mouth to tell her she is imagining it, but nothing comes. And though he'd never had a child of his own, he is willing to believe the pain is real. The pain of losing one's daughter. Knowing she will never return back home. Knowing she is dead. But also knowing that as insane as it seems, she truly believes Lily is that same girl.
He follows her, hand releasing from her own. And she runs ahead. In that rush, like she wanted to make it this time. And he follows swiftly. Two figures through the crumbling sand.
There on the hilltop, the little cottage appears.