First Light
It was nearly midnight, pitch black in her office. Hermione was seated on the edge of her desk, swinging her legs with anticipation: she hated the dark, but he had insisted. Severus had returned to his rooms to change his robes before they left for London. He had been curt in telling her where he was going and had swept down the corridor without a further word. She'd instructed her portrait-doorguard to let him in, so he couldn't be held up outside. Hermione wasn't entirely convinced he was coming back at all: he had not seemed anxious to help her out.
He had been gone for quite some time. She was actually getting a little worried: what if he wasn't coming back? She would have to apparate herself to London alone and track Severus down some other time. Then again, maybe he didn't want to help her at all. He had said that the concentrations she was using could be lethal: perhaps he wanted her to get hurt, to punish her for marrying Harry Potter .
He pushed the door open and stalked over to her desk, glaring at her, his wand illuminating the darkness around his stern, pale face. "Very well - I'm here."
She slid off the desk; her sapphire robes caught and pulled up to her knees, and she had to smooth them back down. She was wearing navy stockings to match, he saw in the instant her calves were exposed. Not that he'd been looking.
Oh thank God, she thought as she got down from the desk, relieved he had shown up at all. Severus' expression had changed, somehow, though she couldn't seem to place it. He was rolling his wand between his fingers as if he expected to use it at any moment. It was funny that he had changed his robes, but they were the same flowing, vampiric black, dragging on the floor behind him. "Well, here it is. Lumos," she whispered to her own wand as she gestured at the desk. On her desk was a marble mortar filled with ground pig's toe, a small phial filled with monk's hood, and the bundle he had given her. She looked at him and took a deep breath. "Here we go."
Severus nodded and poured out some of the phial into the palm of his hand. He added a pinch out of the bundle. Hermione was watching an expert in potion making at work, she realized: he wasn't even measuring the quantities. She appreciated the experience more now than she ever would have been able to while in school.
"It is the magical power of the maker that gives a potion life," he said, very softly. She felt, suddenly, like she was back in class, being given private instruction. It was, however, an experience she never would have had as a student. He had hated her then, and she was sure he did still. Only now he had to help her, in the name of their work. She could feel his passion for what he was doing radiating off of him like a light. "Your own force powers the transaction."
He added the pig's toe, its acrid, deathly scent filling the close air between the two of them. She was standing very near, though she didn't remember making it so. He was using the concentrations she had specified and not his own: either he trusted her calculations or he believed himself powerful enough to control whatever bad turn she had created for them. He closed his long fingers around the compound, the white and green blending in the quiet glow of her wand - he had insisted they make as little fuss as possible to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris.
"Diagon Alley," Severus whispered, as he released the powder into the air and scattered it over both of them. The compound became blue as it floated and fell: for an instant she was afraid it hadn't worked, as they remained in her office. Then the dark room began to shimmer and swirl like the heat over a grill; Severus' face shifted and churned; he met her eyes just before everything went dark.
She opened her eyes and released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. The darkness had exploded into brightness and cleared to reveal a bright amaranthine blue: there was no ceiling and no floor, though they were very obviously standing on something.
"This is a different realm. I recognize it from the descriptions in Magical Realms and Half-Realms. I read it second year. The only person to escape from a half-realm was Marcus Mobius, in ." Her voice raised in register to a panic as the gravity of their situation filled her; her knees gave out beneath her and she could feel the ground rushing up to meet her, even if she couldn't see it -
A powerful hand caught her lower back, keeping her from hitting the ground. A second hand pressed into her shoulders and righted her, as she laid a hand on a strong chest: Severus Snape was holding her protectively against him, releasing her the instant her eyes fluttered open. The look of concern she had seen in his pale face months ago came back, but she didn't much mind just now. He filled her with his unique, strange scent, even in that infinitely short moment. She wished she had let him hold her, and was entirely, if inexplicably, sure he would have.
"I'm fine," she said. "Really."
Severus released his hold on her, looking very much put off. Or, that would have been her thought, had he not been who he was. "This is precisely what I had feared: we are trapped in a half-realm, as you said. The combination you suggested has proven a disaster." He sounded uncharacteristically unconfident, curling his robes around himself, hiding his arms, which were crossed over his chest. He scowled at the blue all around them, turning away from her.
"You do know how to get out, don't you?"
"Don't you?" He spoke in his most dangerous voice, laced with deadly sarcasm. "You're the academic."
"So are you!" she hissed, with a heavy sigh. "It's been so long since I read anything about it ."
He looked around the space, this cerulean cage. Suddenly, he was holding his wand, and it seemed there was a spell on his lips already. More loudly than she had ever heard him, he called, "Apperiatur."
A yellow lightening bolt shot from the tip of his wand into the blue abyss. It snaked along the distance surface; golden tendrils of light; fiery energy that crackled like a campfire. It seemed to converge on a point somewhere in the distance, and shift to an unbelievably radiant cobalt. The spell came echoing back to him, spreading malevolently along the azure walls of their enclosure: it burst upon him like a wild animal, forcing Severus to take a step back. His black robes trembled violently, terrifyingly, like the wings of an enormous bat flapping in the unnaturally blue sky, and a painful breath of fear gripped her. She wasn't sure if she was more afraid of being without him or being alone: it was more a nameless terror, that quiet dread that slept beneath the windows of her isolated rooms, than a fear. She had neither words nor voice to scream, her lips parted in a silent expression of horror.
He stopped, swept his black hair back from his face with all four fingers, and looked at her. There were tiny burns up and down his hands and a gash at his left temple where the spell had backfired upon him, a trickle of scarlet dripping down his cheek to his black robes like a river of burgundy wine. His fingers touched the tiny rivulet flowing from his hairline and pulled away so he could see the crimson stain there. He looked back at her. "Well, that didn't work."
She pressed the flats of her fingers to her cheek, a relieved smile overtaking the corner of her mouth. The azure space framed his black figure, the only other thing in the half-realm they were sharing. Stunned, Hermione whispered the only words that came to mind: "Severus, you're bleeding."
"Good of you to notice. Ignum reparo," he muttered at his wand, touching it to a lesion along the fleshy part of his thumb. It did nothing. "Reparo, Reparo!" he hissed, his blazing temper flaring. She had never seen him so openly . irate.
"Let me try it." She forced him to giver her his hand and she performed the same spell, this time healing the red wound. His touch made her exhale sharply, though she did her best to make it sound like frustration. It didn't even convince her. "I take it spells was not your favorite class."
"I attended Hogwarts when Professor Willoughby was still there. It was dull as tombs."
Had they been anywhere but a half-realm she would have laughed at that. His fingers were still resting on hers though each angry red burn was healed. His hands were icy cold, preternaturally long, elegant and powerful. A humid scent clung to him, the smell of the dungeons he taught and lived in. It was bitter and earthy, like clay, and a bit of magical fluids she recognized from her own collection. "I would have preferred to use an ointment of some sort, of course, but..."
"I don't think we'll find any mandrake here, Miss Granger."
"Indeed not." She turned her attention to the cut on his temple. "Potions are so much more reliable . well, usually."
"I have always felt so." He was speaking slowly again, with the precision typical of his speech. He must have calmed down a bit, she thought. "I feel sure your idea could have worked in the proper concentrations. How unfortunate the ingredients remain at Hogwarts and we here," he grumbled. He was drawing her into his fencing match again, trying to extract out of her what he wanted to know.
It was working. "I didn't mean to get stuck here with you, Severus. It was absolutely not my desire. Anyway, if you were so sure my ratio would fail, why did you use it?"
"I listened to a Muggle-born," he snapped. His words were a knife, and the wound they left stung and dripped red.
"What, exactly, makes you so far superior to me? Your mother and father were both Slytherins, and their parents before them." There was disbelief in his black eyes: his hair had once again fallen over them but she could see the glitter of surprise. "I read about it, Severus. That's what I do. Is that it? Is that what makes you so wonderful, that you're a pure-blood wizard, like Draco Malfoy? What's so wonderful about people like the Malfoys?"
"In my day, Professor Potter," he said softly, in his silkiest, deadliest voice. "In my day, Slytherin lived up to our boasts."
"I don't give a damn if Salazar Slytherin was one of the Apostles, Severus. And why do you only call me Potter when you're vexed with me? You were calling me Hermione an hour ago."
"You only vex me when you act like a Potter!"
"This is getting us nowhere," she said, quietly, looking away from him. He fell silent for a moment. She would have given anything to know what was running through his mind. "We are stuck, we don't have my powders, nothing to make any potions at all."
"We must rely on intellect, then."
She nodded, still not looking at him. Had she, she would have seen a smile creeping onto Severus Snape's face, contorting the corner of his mouth as he fought it off. She has a temper, this one. She stood up to him: she would have hit him if her conscience had let her, he was sure of it. Perhaps it was that dark auburn hair of hers - or perhaps her hair had turned auburn to match her temper. He certainly didn't remember it that shade before. Then again, she had never been allowed such stunningly blue robes before. The heat of her sheer rancor had lifted the remnants of that Muggle perfume she wore but never remembered to reapply: a spicy blend that reminded him of lotus flowers or tea blossoms. "Translatio."
He muttered the spell and flicked his wand so subtly that Hermione was amazed at the power that emanated from it: the entire space, all that brilliant blue, was suddenly a blinding yellow, the color of the sun rather than the sky. She shielded her eyes with the sapphire sleeve of her robe. She was almost forced to tears by the dazzling yellow that surrounded her, making her forget where she was and dragging a scream from her lungs, though it was minutes, she was sure, before she realized whose voice it was.
Harry, was all she could think, by habit, but it was another she meant. "Severus?" she managed at last. The glare of the spell had dissipated, though it was still a bright shade. He was lying on the floor, for lack of a better word, in a black heap. She knelt and pulled his sleeves off his face: he still breathed, thank God, though he did not seem conscious. "Aurora," she said, the wakening spell. His eyes opened, glassy, uncomprehending.
"Lily."
"Oh, professor," she whispered, just happy to hear his voice: as long as he was conscious, she had a chance at reviving him. "Come on, up you get --"
"Lily," he said again. This time she caught the word. He was looking right at her, yet through her somehow. "Lily, they told me you were dead, they said the Dark Lord ."
Lily Potter. He thought she was Lily Potter. She herself had noticed the similarity of their appearances, but she had thought it was the similarity of hair color and the position they were standing in - obviously, Severus saw more to it than that.
Were there tears in his eyes? She was sure the brightness of the sudden shift had caused them - but perhaps not. He sat up, nearly crashing into her, and his voice trembled a bit as he went on: "The Dark Lord, he said that . that you had defied him, you were not worthy of one of his Death Eaters . but you were the reason I took it . See?"
He pulled up the left sleeve of his robe to reveal a pale white arm, and on that arm, at the inside of his elbow, was a black image, one that she recognized - the Dark Mark. It resembled a Muggle tattoo - perhaps that was how Voldemort applied it - but was deeper, more permanent. In fact, it rather resembled a birthmark, but the strangest one she had ever seen.
"I did it for you, and I ... I never thought I'd see you again." So that was why he was babbling so. "Lord Voldemort is kind . but he is too late. I . told everything to Dumbledore . but for you . I could be persuaded . Lily ."
Severus gripped Hermione's forearms, knocking her violently backwards and out of confused shock into terror. His hands were strong, holding her. She couldn't break loose, and he was hurting her . His fingertips were digging into her flesh as he said the dead woman's name over and over again, looking down at his lap as he held her there.
"He promised you to me, do you know that? But when he killed you, I never thought I'd see you again . I left him. I had nothing to stay for. Lily . you died for that boy, James Potter's son . Why? Why for his . Oh, Lily, I died for you, and I would again ."
Severus stopped then. His insane babbling, more words than she could ever remember hearing from him, floated around in her mind, pieces of a puzzle too overpowering to put together. He was silent, his black hair completely covering his face. She didn't want to believe he was crying, not Severus, not Professor Snape, the dark teacher who had terrified her as a child, who had been so wise, so . strong. She didn't want to believe it, so she sat, his fingers still holding her arms, hurting so much she wanted to cry, too, and tried to ignore the sobs that racked his body.
At last he seemed to stop, because he let go of her and covered his face with his hands. She wanted to touch him, to hold him - like a crying child - but he was too far-gone. Whatever spell it had been he had used had backfired upon him. Not physically, like the first one, but mentally, and he believed she was Lily Potter and was willing to turn back to the Dark if it meant . It was too much to take in. Hermione needed to numb her mind, to fill it so full with work that there was no more room for any other thought. And it just so happened that there was much work to be done.
Hermione stood up, leaving him where he was. She drew out her wand and wished, not for the last time, that he were able to handle this. His wand was sure to be more powerful, once he was using the right spell. As it was, hers felt so much lighter than she remembered, too springy, too . feminine. She considered, just for an instant, getting his, but knew that would be disastrous. One can't use another wizard's wand, and his was probably fried anyway. Her arms and wrists hurt from where Severus had clasped them; they would be bruised up and down tomorrow, if ever she lived that long.
She missed the parents she had barely spoken to in years; she missed the husband she had left less than a year ago; she missed the best friend she allowed too much freedom; and she missed the man sitting beside her. He hadn't moved at all: that alone was terrifying.
She looked around her: the half-realm was now a color she would have called neon in the Muggle world. It hurt her eyes to open them, but she gazed around the wall-less cage they were in, forcing herself to look. There seemed to be no beginning nor end, no top nor bottom, save the solidity supporting them. Well, that raised an interesting question: what were they standing on? She got down on her knees, now completely ignoring Severus, and put her hand on it. There was no temperature difference at all, like solid air.
Solid air. Was that possible? Not in Muggle sciences, no, but this was a wizarding realm, andit was possible - possible - that there was a spell to solidify air. No - this was nothing like that, she realized: stasis. It was a stasis charm, nothing more. They had been caught by an imperfect potion in a realm wrapped up in a stasis spell. She saw it all with perfect clarity, like the first time she had cast a spell, all those years ago at her home in Surrey. So much sense .
So she needed to undo the stasis charm. Easy enough. Or, it would have been, had she had a few of her books with her. She hadn't performed spells in a long time, choosing to rely on her talent with potions when she did her magic, which wasn't very often. She wished she could have asked Severus, but he was still curled up into himself, his hands over his face. She wished he could have done anything at all, even just talked to her. She wanted desperately to hear his voice again, sounding like himself.
"Lily," he muttered. Severus was rocking now, only slightly, and had the rest of the world contained more than him she would not have noticed. She turned her mind away from him and back to her work.
Logic, she knew, was her only chance. It was also, by some lucky coincidence, what she was best at. She summoned Severus' voice in her head - the real Severus, not the shivering heap that was here. Start by elimination, she could hear him say. Eliminate the spells he had used that had not work, perhaps decide why they hadn't.
Apperiatur, the opening spell, had been first to fail, because there was nothing to open, but it had left him burnt and cut . opened. Translatio, the change of location spell, had failed because this was the only location there was to go to. And now Severus had been translated to a place where Lily was still alive.
Whatever spell she cast to get them out of there could not be cast on the half-realm itself, because that would only backfire upon her. So . the spell she used needed to be on herself, and Severus, in order to part the sea of yellow they were swimming in.
That was it. Animatus, the stimulation charm.
Severus' eyes fluttered open. He could see that he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey was standing beside his bed, but she wasn't working on him: Hermione Granger was seated in a chair, her robes pulled up to her upper arms. There were bruises up to her elbows, sickly green and yellow bruises with purple centers that very much resembled fingerprints. Her face was turned away from him so he could see her only in profile, her hair curling in auburn waves over her bright blue robes. He let himself watch her for several seconds, a large part of him wishing to be able to watch her like this forever.
She turned to look at him, then, as Madame Pomfrey continued to heal her bruises. "Severus?" she whispered, disbelieving. She pulled away from the healing touch to lean beside him, stumbling a bit as she did so. She looked as if she were struggling for words, but settled on saying his name again. Her hand found his and slid up his cold skin to rest inside his elbow, where the Mark was. Her skin was rough from overexposure to chemicals, and harsh on that bit of skin he rarely allowed into public. He should have refused to allow her near it, so dirty as it was, but just then he forgot entirely the Dark Mark that set him apart from her. Now he let her touch him, thankful, just thankful for human contact.
"Did Translatio work?" he asked. Doesn't he remember? she wondered.
"No," she said, considering how much to tell him. "It didn't. It backfired on you and you sort of . lost it. You were talking about Lily Potter." The words came spilling out before she could do anything about it, glad that Madame Pomfrey had left.
"Did I ." He didn't need to finish.
"It seemed that you . turned to Voldemort because he promised her to you, and then turned away when he . ah . broke his promise," she whispered, very quietly. "Is that it?"
"Basically, yes," he said dryly. He turned his face away to stare at the wall. The hospital wing always smelled the same way: powerful antiseptic, heavy mandrake, and sundry potions, several of which he had developed over the years. The sheets smelled the same as all the other bed sheets in Hogwarts, as they were all washed by the house-elves in the same tubs. It was a soapy smell, obsessively clean, and softened with a particular charm designed to leave no scent. For a moment, he could almost pretend he was in his own bed, not listening to Hermione Granger relate the most intimate details of his life. But staring at a blank wall let him concentrate on the sensation of her touch.
"Severus . you said that you died for her and you would do it again. You wouldn't ."
He could hear where she was taking that. He looked back at her, something like a smile, but too sad to be such, pulling at his lip. "No, I would never . couldn't ."
"I'm glad to hear that," she said, with feeling. She was glad he would never turn back to the Dark Lord, but he had meant more than that. Her fingers were still lying against his skin, warm and gentle.
"Hermione, did I . do that?" he asked, looking at her arms. She shook her sleeves down over the bruises and nodded. "Then I am truly sorry." And he was. Not because he minded inflicting pain - no, that was natural - but because he minded who he had done it to. What power did this girl have over him, to make Severus Snape apologize three times in one term? Why should it bother him so?
Oh.
"Translatio did not work. I figured it out, though I really could have used your help." Her words sent a shiver through him that he tried to hide. She was only talking to ignore his apology, but he was sure she had heard him. "If casting a spell on the half-realm hurt you, then casting a spell on you hurt the half-realm. I had to use Animatus, and Mobilicorpus to get you anywhere." She smiled, as if that gave her pleasure.
"Simple logic," he said. "You always were my best student."
"Severus, I want you to know," she said, again ignoring his admission. "I won't tell anyone. I'll keep your secrets, because I don't think you really meant for me to know at all."
Madame Pomfrey came back in and told Hermione it was time to go. She nodded at him, a silent promise, and left him lying there.
The next time he would open his eyes, it would be Albus Dumbledore waiting there for him. Albus gave him several moments to gather his wits - and Severus knew he would need them, from the look on Albus' face.
"Professor Granger has told everything to Minerva, including you mistaking her for Lily Potter." Albus was clearly not pleased with this. "I am glad you are awake, Severus, because now you will be able to apologize to her. Again."
"She did . what?" Severus may have been a reticent man, but he was rarely lost for words. "And I am to -"
"You called Hermione Granger Lily. You left bruises up and down her arms. And she is in Minerva McGonagall's office, crying."
Severus sat up. He had noticed Hermione's resemblance to Lily the first night she'd been back, and for a long time it had kept him from being able to look at her, lest he be reminded of all he had lost - in so many senses. But he had talked to her, even begun to consider her a friend, or at least a valued acquaintance, and had convinced himself he no longer saw Lily in her. Apparently, he had been mistaken.
"Do you know the damage her divorce form Harry Potter has caused her? She is terrified of the dark and of being alone, and yet cannot bear to keep any company. Ordinarily I would insist that this be her story to tell, but she is not close enough to anyone to give such confidence." Yet again, Severus was struck by Dumbledore's omniscience. It was frightening sometimes how much the man knew about everything around him. "Divorce is almost unheard of among wizards, Severus. Snape is a family even older than Malfoy and Dumbledore: you of all people should know its scarcity."
Malfoy. He had been compared to the Malfoys once before recently: Hermione had demanded what was so wonderful about being like them. A thousand explanations, each of them irrelevant to what Dumbledore was saying, flooded into his mind, of the benefits of growing up around magic: yet wasn't she herself the perfect contradiction to all that?
"There is no-one who knows her pain among our people, no-one I can recommend to her. So, I sent you to her."
Severus did not speak his shock, but it must have been clear on his face.
"Yes, I arranged a few things. It is not out my power to do, Severus." Dumbledore was looking over the rims of his glasses at him, speaking slowly as if to a child. "You know what it is to live in the shadow of a Potter. In fact, you rather remind me of Mr. Weasley."
"Which one?" Severus asked, dryly.
"Mr. Ronald Weasley," Albus clarified without skipping a beat. "He has been privileged to be Harry's second all his life, and eventually got his girl. It is everything you ever wanted, Severus. You cannot believe I paid you no attention your days here. "
Severus began to wish that Albus would just leave. It was too much, too much for him right then. He closed his eyes against the thought of him calling her Lily, against believing that she could be to him what Lily never was .
But she was not Lily. She was Hermione; intelligent, mysterious, handsome Hermione.
Seeing Severus descend into himself, Albus stood up to leave. "I was serious about that apology, Sevrus." He patted his arm, a strangely affection gesture, and left Severus to his thoughts.
Which were manifold.
It was nearly midnight, pitch black in her office. Hermione was seated on the edge of her desk, swinging her legs with anticipation: she hated the dark, but he had insisted. Severus had returned to his rooms to change his robes before they left for London. He had been curt in telling her where he was going and had swept down the corridor without a further word. She'd instructed her portrait-doorguard to let him in, so he couldn't be held up outside. Hermione wasn't entirely convinced he was coming back at all: he had not seemed anxious to help her out.
He had been gone for quite some time. She was actually getting a little worried: what if he wasn't coming back? She would have to apparate herself to London alone and track Severus down some other time. Then again, maybe he didn't want to help her at all. He had said that the concentrations she was using could be lethal: perhaps he wanted her to get hurt, to punish her for marrying Harry Potter .
He pushed the door open and stalked over to her desk, glaring at her, his wand illuminating the darkness around his stern, pale face. "Very well - I'm here."
She slid off the desk; her sapphire robes caught and pulled up to her knees, and she had to smooth them back down. She was wearing navy stockings to match, he saw in the instant her calves were exposed. Not that he'd been looking.
Oh thank God, she thought as she got down from the desk, relieved he had shown up at all. Severus' expression had changed, somehow, though she couldn't seem to place it. He was rolling his wand between his fingers as if he expected to use it at any moment. It was funny that he had changed his robes, but they were the same flowing, vampiric black, dragging on the floor behind him. "Well, here it is. Lumos," she whispered to her own wand as she gestured at the desk. On her desk was a marble mortar filled with ground pig's toe, a small phial filled with monk's hood, and the bundle he had given her. She looked at him and took a deep breath. "Here we go."
Severus nodded and poured out some of the phial into the palm of his hand. He added a pinch out of the bundle. Hermione was watching an expert in potion making at work, she realized: he wasn't even measuring the quantities. She appreciated the experience more now than she ever would have been able to while in school.
"It is the magical power of the maker that gives a potion life," he said, very softly. She felt, suddenly, like she was back in class, being given private instruction. It was, however, an experience she never would have had as a student. He had hated her then, and she was sure he did still. Only now he had to help her, in the name of their work. She could feel his passion for what he was doing radiating off of him like a light. "Your own force powers the transaction."
He added the pig's toe, its acrid, deathly scent filling the close air between the two of them. She was standing very near, though she didn't remember making it so. He was using the concentrations she had specified and not his own: either he trusted her calculations or he believed himself powerful enough to control whatever bad turn she had created for them. He closed his long fingers around the compound, the white and green blending in the quiet glow of her wand - he had insisted they make as little fuss as possible to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris.
"Diagon Alley," Severus whispered, as he released the powder into the air and scattered it over both of them. The compound became blue as it floated and fell: for an instant she was afraid it hadn't worked, as they remained in her office. Then the dark room began to shimmer and swirl like the heat over a grill; Severus' face shifted and churned; he met her eyes just before everything went dark.
She opened her eyes and released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. The darkness had exploded into brightness and cleared to reveal a bright amaranthine blue: there was no ceiling and no floor, though they were very obviously standing on something.
"This is a different realm. I recognize it from the descriptions in Magical Realms and Half-Realms. I read it second year. The only person to escape from a half-realm was Marcus Mobius, in ." Her voice raised in register to a panic as the gravity of their situation filled her; her knees gave out beneath her and she could feel the ground rushing up to meet her, even if she couldn't see it -
A powerful hand caught her lower back, keeping her from hitting the ground. A second hand pressed into her shoulders and righted her, as she laid a hand on a strong chest: Severus Snape was holding her protectively against him, releasing her the instant her eyes fluttered open. The look of concern she had seen in his pale face months ago came back, but she didn't much mind just now. He filled her with his unique, strange scent, even in that infinitely short moment. She wished she had let him hold her, and was entirely, if inexplicably, sure he would have.
"I'm fine," she said. "Really."
Severus released his hold on her, looking very much put off. Or, that would have been her thought, had he not been who he was. "This is precisely what I had feared: we are trapped in a half-realm, as you said. The combination you suggested has proven a disaster." He sounded uncharacteristically unconfident, curling his robes around himself, hiding his arms, which were crossed over his chest. He scowled at the blue all around them, turning away from her.
"You do know how to get out, don't you?"
"Don't you?" He spoke in his most dangerous voice, laced with deadly sarcasm. "You're the academic."
"So are you!" she hissed, with a heavy sigh. "It's been so long since I read anything about it ."
He looked around the space, this cerulean cage. Suddenly, he was holding his wand, and it seemed there was a spell on his lips already. More loudly than she had ever heard him, he called, "Apperiatur."
A yellow lightening bolt shot from the tip of his wand into the blue abyss. It snaked along the distance surface; golden tendrils of light; fiery energy that crackled like a campfire. It seemed to converge on a point somewhere in the distance, and shift to an unbelievably radiant cobalt. The spell came echoing back to him, spreading malevolently along the azure walls of their enclosure: it burst upon him like a wild animal, forcing Severus to take a step back. His black robes trembled violently, terrifyingly, like the wings of an enormous bat flapping in the unnaturally blue sky, and a painful breath of fear gripped her. She wasn't sure if she was more afraid of being without him or being alone: it was more a nameless terror, that quiet dread that slept beneath the windows of her isolated rooms, than a fear. She had neither words nor voice to scream, her lips parted in a silent expression of horror.
He stopped, swept his black hair back from his face with all four fingers, and looked at her. There were tiny burns up and down his hands and a gash at his left temple where the spell had backfired upon him, a trickle of scarlet dripping down his cheek to his black robes like a river of burgundy wine. His fingers touched the tiny rivulet flowing from his hairline and pulled away so he could see the crimson stain there. He looked back at her. "Well, that didn't work."
She pressed the flats of her fingers to her cheek, a relieved smile overtaking the corner of her mouth. The azure space framed his black figure, the only other thing in the half-realm they were sharing. Stunned, Hermione whispered the only words that came to mind: "Severus, you're bleeding."
"Good of you to notice. Ignum reparo," he muttered at his wand, touching it to a lesion along the fleshy part of his thumb. It did nothing. "Reparo, Reparo!" he hissed, his blazing temper flaring. She had never seen him so openly . irate.
"Let me try it." She forced him to giver her his hand and she performed the same spell, this time healing the red wound. His touch made her exhale sharply, though she did her best to make it sound like frustration. It didn't even convince her. "I take it spells was not your favorite class."
"I attended Hogwarts when Professor Willoughby was still there. It was dull as tombs."
Had they been anywhere but a half-realm she would have laughed at that. His fingers were still resting on hers though each angry red burn was healed. His hands were icy cold, preternaturally long, elegant and powerful. A humid scent clung to him, the smell of the dungeons he taught and lived in. It was bitter and earthy, like clay, and a bit of magical fluids she recognized from her own collection. "I would have preferred to use an ointment of some sort, of course, but..."
"I don't think we'll find any mandrake here, Miss Granger."
"Indeed not." She turned her attention to the cut on his temple. "Potions are so much more reliable . well, usually."
"I have always felt so." He was speaking slowly again, with the precision typical of his speech. He must have calmed down a bit, she thought. "I feel sure your idea could have worked in the proper concentrations. How unfortunate the ingredients remain at Hogwarts and we here," he grumbled. He was drawing her into his fencing match again, trying to extract out of her what he wanted to know.
It was working. "I didn't mean to get stuck here with you, Severus. It was absolutely not my desire. Anyway, if you were so sure my ratio would fail, why did you use it?"
"I listened to a Muggle-born," he snapped. His words were a knife, and the wound they left stung and dripped red.
"What, exactly, makes you so far superior to me? Your mother and father were both Slytherins, and their parents before them." There was disbelief in his black eyes: his hair had once again fallen over them but she could see the glitter of surprise. "I read about it, Severus. That's what I do. Is that it? Is that what makes you so wonderful, that you're a pure-blood wizard, like Draco Malfoy? What's so wonderful about people like the Malfoys?"
"In my day, Professor Potter," he said softly, in his silkiest, deadliest voice. "In my day, Slytherin lived up to our boasts."
"I don't give a damn if Salazar Slytherin was one of the Apostles, Severus. And why do you only call me Potter when you're vexed with me? You were calling me Hermione an hour ago."
"You only vex me when you act like a Potter!"
"This is getting us nowhere," she said, quietly, looking away from him. He fell silent for a moment. She would have given anything to know what was running through his mind. "We are stuck, we don't have my powders, nothing to make any potions at all."
"We must rely on intellect, then."
She nodded, still not looking at him. Had she, she would have seen a smile creeping onto Severus Snape's face, contorting the corner of his mouth as he fought it off. She has a temper, this one. She stood up to him: she would have hit him if her conscience had let her, he was sure of it. Perhaps it was that dark auburn hair of hers - or perhaps her hair had turned auburn to match her temper. He certainly didn't remember it that shade before. Then again, she had never been allowed such stunningly blue robes before. The heat of her sheer rancor had lifted the remnants of that Muggle perfume she wore but never remembered to reapply: a spicy blend that reminded him of lotus flowers or tea blossoms. "Translatio."
He muttered the spell and flicked his wand so subtly that Hermione was amazed at the power that emanated from it: the entire space, all that brilliant blue, was suddenly a blinding yellow, the color of the sun rather than the sky. She shielded her eyes with the sapphire sleeve of her robe. She was almost forced to tears by the dazzling yellow that surrounded her, making her forget where she was and dragging a scream from her lungs, though it was minutes, she was sure, before she realized whose voice it was.
Harry, was all she could think, by habit, but it was another she meant. "Severus?" she managed at last. The glare of the spell had dissipated, though it was still a bright shade. He was lying on the floor, for lack of a better word, in a black heap. She knelt and pulled his sleeves off his face: he still breathed, thank God, though he did not seem conscious. "Aurora," she said, the wakening spell. His eyes opened, glassy, uncomprehending.
"Lily."
"Oh, professor," she whispered, just happy to hear his voice: as long as he was conscious, she had a chance at reviving him. "Come on, up you get --"
"Lily," he said again. This time she caught the word. He was looking right at her, yet through her somehow. "Lily, they told me you were dead, they said the Dark Lord ."
Lily Potter. He thought she was Lily Potter. She herself had noticed the similarity of their appearances, but she had thought it was the similarity of hair color and the position they were standing in - obviously, Severus saw more to it than that.
Were there tears in his eyes? She was sure the brightness of the sudden shift had caused them - but perhaps not. He sat up, nearly crashing into her, and his voice trembled a bit as he went on: "The Dark Lord, he said that . that you had defied him, you were not worthy of one of his Death Eaters . but you were the reason I took it . See?"
He pulled up the left sleeve of his robe to reveal a pale white arm, and on that arm, at the inside of his elbow, was a black image, one that she recognized - the Dark Mark. It resembled a Muggle tattoo - perhaps that was how Voldemort applied it - but was deeper, more permanent. In fact, it rather resembled a birthmark, but the strangest one she had ever seen.
"I did it for you, and I ... I never thought I'd see you again." So that was why he was babbling so. "Lord Voldemort is kind . but he is too late. I . told everything to Dumbledore . but for you . I could be persuaded . Lily ."
Severus gripped Hermione's forearms, knocking her violently backwards and out of confused shock into terror. His hands were strong, holding her. She couldn't break loose, and he was hurting her . His fingertips were digging into her flesh as he said the dead woman's name over and over again, looking down at his lap as he held her there.
"He promised you to me, do you know that? But when he killed you, I never thought I'd see you again . I left him. I had nothing to stay for. Lily . you died for that boy, James Potter's son . Why? Why for his . Oh, Lily, I died for you, and I would again ."
Severus stopped then. His insane babbling, more words than she could ever remember hearing from him, floated around in her mind, pieces of a puzzle too overpowering to put together. He was silent, his black hair completely covering his face. She didn't want to believe he was crying, not Severus, not Professor Snape, the dark teacher who had terrified her as a child, who had been so wise, so . strong. She didn't want to believe it, so she sat, his fingers still holding her arms, hurting so much she wanted to cry, too, and tried to ignore the sobs that racked his body.
At last he seemed to stop, because he let go of her and covered his face with his hands. She wanted to touch him, to hold him - like a crying child - but he was too far-gone. Whatever spell it had been he had used had backfired upon him. Not physically, like the first one, but mentally, and he believed she was Lily Potter and was willing to turn back to the Dark if it meant . It was too much to take in. Hermione needed to numb her mind, to fill it so full with work that there was no more room for any other thought. And it just so happened that there was much work to be done.
Hermione stood up, leaving him where he was. She drew out her wand and wished, not for the last time, that he were able to handle this. His wand was sure to be more powerful, once he was using the right spell. As it was, hers felt so much lighter than she remembered, too springy, too . feminine. She considered, just for an instant, getting his, but knew that would be disastrous. One can't use another wizard's wand, and his was probably fried anyway. Her arms and wrists hurt from where Severus had clasped them; they would be bruised up and down tomorrow, if ever she lived that long.
She missed the parents she had barely spoken to in years; she missed the husband she had left less than a year ago; she missed the best friend she allowed too much freedom; and she missed the man sitting beside her. He hadn't moved at all: that alone was terrifying.
She looked around her: the half-realm was now a color she would have called neon in the Muggle world. It hurt her eyes to open them, but she gazed around the wall-less cage they were in, forcing herself to look. There seemed to be no beginning nor end, no top nor bottom, save the solidity supporting them. Well, that raised an interesting question: what were they standing on? She got down on her knees, now completely ignoring Severus, and put her hand on it. There was no temperature difference at all, like solid air.
Solid air. Was that possible? Not in Muggle sciences, no, but this was a wizarding realm, andit was possible - possible - that there was a spell to solidify air. No - this was nothing like that, she realized: stasis. It was a stasis charm, nothing more. They had been caught by an imperfect potion in a realm wrapped up in a stasis spell. She saw it all with perfect clarity, like the first time she had cast a spell, all those years ago at her home in Surrey. So much sense .
So she needed to undo the stasis charm. Easy enough. Or, it would have been, had she had a few of her books with her. She hadn't performed spells in a long time, choosing to rely on her talent with potions when she did her magic, which wasn't very often. She wished she could have asked Severus, but he was still curled up into himself, his hands over his face. She wished he could have done anything at all, even just talked to her. She wanted desperately to hear his voice again, sounding like himself.
"Lily," he muttered. Severus was rocking now, only slightly, and had the rest of the world contained more than him she would not have noticed. She turned her mind away from him and back to her work.
Logic, she knew, was her only chance. It was also, by some lucky coincidence, what she was best at. She summoned Severus' voice in her head - the real Severus, not the shivering heap that was here. Start by elimination, she could hear him say. Eliminate the spells he had used that had not work, perhaps decide why they hadn't.
Apperiatur, the opening spell, had been first to fail, because there was nothing to open, but it had left him burnt and cut . opened. Translatio, the change of location spell, had failed because this was the only location there was to go to. And now Severus had been translated to a place where Lily was still alive.
Whatever spell she cast to get them out of there could not be cast on the half-realm itself, because that would only backfire upon her. So . the spell she used needed to be on herself, and Severus, in order to part the sea of yellow they were swimming in.
That was it. Animatus, the stimulation charm.
Severus' eyes fluttered open. He could see that he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey was standing beside his bed, but she wasn't working on him: Hermione Granger was seated in a chair, her robes pulled up to her upper arms. There were bruises up to her elbows, sickly green and yellow bruises with purple centers that very much resembled fingerprints. Her face was turned away from him so he could see her only in profile, her hair curling in auburn waves over her bright blue robes. He let himself watch her for several seconds, a large part of him wishing to be able to watch her like this forever.
She turned to look at him, then, as Madame Pomfrey continued to heal her bruises. "Severus?" she whispered, disbelieving. She pulled away from the healing touch to lean beside him, stumbling a bit as she did so. She looked as if she were struggling for words, but settled on saying his name again. Her hand found his and slid up his cold skin to rest inside his elbow, where the Mark was. Her skin was rough from overexposure to chemicals, and harsh on that bit of skin he rarely allowed into public. He should have refused to allow her near it, so dirty as it was, but just then he forgot entirely the Dark Mark that set him apart from her. Now he let her touch him, thankful, just thankful for human contact.
"Did Translatio work?" he asked. Doesn't he remember? she wondered.
"No," she said, considering how much to tell him. "It didn't. It backfired on you and you sort of . lost it. You were talking about Lily Potter." The words came spilling out before she could do anything about it, glad that Madame Pomfrey had left.
"Did I ." He didn't need to finish.
"It seemed that you . turned to Voldemort because he promised her to you, and then turned away when he . ah . broke his promise," she whispered, very quietly. "Is that it?"
"Basically, yes," he said dryly. He turned his face away to stare at the wall. The hospital wing always smelled the same way: powerful antiseptic, heavy mandrake, and sundry potions, several of which he had developed over the years. The sheets smelled the same as all the other bed sheets in Hogwarts, as they were all washed by the house-elves in the same tubs. It was a soapy smell, obsessively clean, and softened with a particular charm designed to leave no scent. For a moment, he could almost pretend he was in his own bed, not listening to Hermione Granger relate the most intimate details of his life. But staring at a blank wall let him concentrate on the sensation of her touch.
"Severus . you said that you died for her and you would do it again. You wouldn't ."
He could hear where she was taking that. He looked back at her, something like a smile, but too sad to be such, pulling at his lip. "No, I would never . couldn't ."
"I'm glad to hear that," she said, with feeling. She was glad he would never turn back to the Dark Lord, but he had meant more than that. Her fingers were still lying against his skin, warm and gentle.
"Hermione, did I . do that?" he asked, looking at her arms. She shook her sleeves down over the bruises and nodded. "Then I am truly sorry." And he was. Not because he minded inflicting pain - no, that was natural - but because he minded who he had done it to. What power did this girl have over him, to make Severus Snape apologize three times in one term? Why should it bother him so?
Oh.
"Translatio did not work. I figured it out, though I really could have used your help." Her words sent a shiver through him that he tried to hide. She was only talking to ignore his apology, but he was sure she had heard him. "If casting a spell on the half-realm hurt you, then casting a spell on you hurt the half-realm. I had to use Animatus, and Mobilicorpus to get you anywhere." She smiled, as if that gave her pleasure.
"Simple logic," he said. "You always were my best student."
"Severus, I want you to know," she said, again ignoring his admission. "I won't tell anyone. I'll keep your secrets, because I don't think you really meant for me to know at all."
Madame Pomfrey came back in and told Hermione it was time to go. She nodded at him, a silent promise, and left him lying there.
The next time he would open his eyes, it would be Albus Dumbledore waiting there for him. Albus gave him several moments to gather his wits - and Severus knew he would need them, from the look on Albus' face.
"Professor Granger has told everything to Minerva, including you mistaking her for Lily Potter." Albus was clearly not pleased with this. "I am glad you are awake, Severus, because now you will be able to apologize to her. Again."
"She did . what?" Severus may have been a reticent man, but he was rarely lost for words. "And I am to -"
"You called Hermione Granger Lily. You left bruises up and down her arms. And she is in Minerva McGonagall's office, crying."
Severus sat up. He had noticed Hermione's resemblance to Lily the first night she'd been back, and for a long time it had kept him from being able to look at her, lest he be reminded of all he had lost - in so many senses. But he had talked to her, even begun to consider her a friend, or at least a valued acquaintance, and had convinced himself he no longer saw Lily in her. Apparently, he had been mistaken.
"Do you know the damage her divorce form Harry Potter has caused her? She is terrified of the dark and of being alone, and yet cannot bear to keep any company. Ordinarily I would insist that this be her story to tell, but she is not close enough to anyone to give such confidence." Yet again, Severus was struck by Dumbledore's omniscience. It was frightening sometimes how much the man knew about everything around him. "Divorce is almost unheard of among wizards, Severus. Snape is a family even older than Malfoy and Dumbledore: you of all people should know its scarcity."
Malfoy. He had been compared to the Malfoys once before recently: Hermione had demanded what was so wonderful about being like them. A thousand explanations, each of them irrelevant to what Dumbledore was saying, flooded into his mind, of the benefits of growing up around magic: yet wasn't she herself the perfect contradiction to all that?
"There is no-one who knows her pain among our people, no-one I can recommend to her. So, I sent you to her."
Severus did not speak his shock, but it must have been clear on his face.
"Yes, I arranged a few things. It is not out my power to do, Severus." Dumbledore was looking over the rims of his glasses at him, speaking slowly as if to a child. "You know what it is to live in the shadow of a Potter. In fact, you rather remind me of Mr. Weasley."
"Which one?" Severus asked, dryly.
"Mr. Ronald Weasley," Albus clarified without skipping a beat. "He has been privileged to be Harry's second all his life, and eventually got his girl. It is everything you ever wanted, Severus. You cannot believe I paid you no attention your days here. "
Severus began to wish that Albus would just leave. It was too much, too much for him right then. He closed his eyes against the thought of him calling her Lily, against believing that she could be to him what Lily never was .
But she was not Lily. She was Hermione; intelligent, mysterious, handsome Hermione.
Seeing Severus descend into himself, Albus stood up to leave. "I was serious about that apology, Sevrus." He patted his arm, a strangely affection gesture, and left Severus to his thoughts.
Which were manifold.