Echoes

Chapter 17: Aftershocks



It's amazing how much can change in one moment.


As Snape announced, "There have been further attacks," his words were simple and clear. Though hearing, their full meaning did not register with Hermione at first.

She studied his shuttered expression, trying to glean understanding and realized, as he paused and silence filled the room, that something awful had happened.

Hermione's body tensed, her legs felt weak, and her heart rose to her throat, so that her voice sounded foreign as she asked, "What.." She paused, attempting to formulate her question.

With an audible breath, Snape answered darkly, "Several of the safe-houses have been hit. Dumbledore risked contacting me, because he feared the worst."


Snape leaned forward, elbows against his spread knees, his eyes examining the patterns in the rug. He sat less than an arm's length away from Hermione, yet he kept an emotional distance as he continued, "Our security has been compromised. The Death Eaters must have gotten hold of confidential information to have attacked so many hidden locations at once. We don't know how far the leak runs, but they must not know about our location yet."

She felt somewhat dazed, and looked at him questioningly, "How can you be so sure?"

He simply stated, "We're still alive."

It was clear that people had died. Fearing the worst, Hermione cautiously asked, "Were any students attacked?"

His voice was detached as he replied, "No, but many good wizards died today. These attacks have been a terrible blow to our cause.  I cannot fathom the ramifications of the losses suffered today."  He breathed out heavily, "There's more. The Ministry was hit. Arthur Weasley is dead."

Hermione stared blankly ahead, stunned. At that moment, she was sure that she would soon wake up. She had spent the past three summers at the Burrow.  In these dangerous times, Hermione had been able to spend only a few short days with her parents each year.  The Weasleys had filled the void created by her parents' absence, becoming her surrogate family. The idea that Mr. Weasley was dead felt surreal, as if she were in a dream.

"I can't believe it," she hoarsely choked out. "Are you sure? I mean, it's certain."

He looked at her with weary sympathy, and relaxed his shoulders slightly. Rubbing his temples, he closed his eyes and replied, "There's no mistake."

In the back of her mind, Hermione knew the events had truly occurred, but her conscious thoughts wouldn't accept his words as fact. Such strong disbelief settled into her, causing her a strange sort of detachment.

She did not feel his fingers around hers, as Snape grasped her hand, guiding her to sit next to him. Tentatively, he moved his hand towards her and swept a stray piece of hair from her face. His touch broke through her numbness, bringing with its warmness a hint of reality, and the room became blurred as her eyes filled with tears.

They sat awhile in silence. Several times, Snape moved as if to say something, but in the end, doing nothing at all. As the time crept by, and a distant sickness began to overtake Hermione, she realized that the likelihood of being caught in some awful dream was fading quickly. She began to shiver, though she didn't feel cold. To own the truth, she felt very little of anything.

Hermione took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm herself, and with that breath came thoughts of Ron. He had always been there for her. She, Ron, and Harry were an inseparable trio. Yet now, when he needed her most, she was absent. With that realization, her tears became conscious and heartfelt.

"Come here," and Snape wrapped his arms around her drawing her to him, his hands curling tightly into her hair. He was near her, yet his closeness gave her little comfort.

Still, he was there for her. It felt wrong that she should have someone to lean on, but Ron did not have her. Not only was Ron alone, but poor Ginny was without her close friends to comfort her. In that instant, she was reminded of the fact that Harry was still oblivious to the situation.

Before she had time to hesitate, she blurted out, "We have to tell Harry."

Tightening his grip, Snape implored, "Hermione wait. I have neither the energy nor motivation to deal with the boy at the moment."

At first, Hermione pushed away, ready to argue. She looked at him and noticed how haggard he appeared. The lines on his face were deeper than she had ever seen them, and his eyes seemed very tired. Judging from his appearance, Snape was not being unreasonable.

Reluctantly, Hermione agreed to wait. Whenever Harry was told, he would undoubtedly insist on going back to be with Ginny. Truthfully, she wasn't ready to argue with him either. Still, Hermione felt sick at the thought of waiting. She wasn't certain why telling him was so important. Arthur Weasley would still be dead in the morning, but it felt wrong to leave Harry in the dark.

Every person she thought of brought an ache to her heart, and sent her to the edge of losing control.

Out of desperation, Hermione asked, "How could this have happened?"

Shifting her thoughts and the conversation from the family, Hermione was able to cap her emotions. She could distance herself somewhat by searching for answers to the tragedy. There was still a pervasive uneasiness, and her eyes still were wet with tears, but focusing on the problem, rather than feeling the results, kept her from breaking down. In the end, conjectures were made, but nothing was solved. Not that any answer would have been truly comforting.

In this way, the night wore on, until they had mulled over what little information they had so many times that nothing made sense. Snape's face grew paler and weary. Though she felt more restless than tire, she followed Snape to bed, not wishing to be alone.

As she lay staring at the shadows from the low fire dancing on the ceiling, Hermione tried to succumb to sleep. Though she had moved away from Snape's embrace, she could feel the heat permeating from his body, reminding her that she was not alone and easing her restlessness. In this silence, with only the crackling of the fire and the slow breathing next to her, unwanted thoughts began to invade her head.

Now that her mind could wander, it did so freely examining each word that was said and mulling over what ifs and regrets.

Severus had been reticent and distant, but the attacks had noticeably affected him. Severus was skilled at hiding his thoughts, but this time, worry had shown on his face and in his words, and Hermione wondered how much he was keeping from her. The Weasley's were not his favorite of families, so it was not only Mr. Weasley's death that would have caused Severus to react as he had.  She worried at what he was keeping from her, and what repercussions the attacks would spur.

These thoughts gave way to other, sadder one's, which until now, Hermione had been ignoring. There were thousands of emotions running through her from disbelief to grief, but most strongly the feelings of helplessness and isolation. There was nothing she could do to change things, and now, she couldn't even be there for her friend.

She knew she needed a distraction to keep her from dwelling on things she could not change. Hermione pulled air harshly into her lungs and jolted up, trying to drive away the awful feelings and thoughts that had consumed her.

An arm came around her, and a concerned voice whispered, "Hush."

A small whimper escaped her pursed lips, and she moved to leave the bed, as she felt her emotions bubbling to the surface, ready to escape. She did not want Severus to view her as weak or to be present when she broke down.

Gently, he pulled her back towards him.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I don't mean to get upset." She turned to her side, kept down by the weight of his arm. "I shouldn't be here. I'll go back to my room."

"Stay," he implored. "Once I'm awake, sleep is impossible, so stay with me." His words were without malous, but their meaning sent a pang of guilt through her. He seemed to sense her feelings, because he added, "You realize that I'm not unfamiliar with sleepless nights caused by too much reality."

Hermione felt the lump in her throat increase, as she took comfort in being near someone who understood.

Hermione slid herself up against him so that her head rested in the nook of his arm against his chest. His other arm came around her so that their bodies fit together like a jig-saw puzzle.

When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper that startled her. "We're so isolated from the rest of the world. I want to believe that everything will stay the same, that nothing horrible could happen while we're gone. But terrible things are happening regardless if we're there to witness them or not." Hermione could feel his heartbeat quicken with her statement.

From this thought came others, and words began spilling from Hermione's mouth, so randomly that they didn't always make sense to her, but he listened without interrupting. If Hermione had been completely rational, the idea that Snape would listen, truly listen without making harsh judgments would have seemed absurd. Talking helped to calm her down, as a release of built up tension and emotions.

As her thoughts became more organized, her tempo slowed, until there fell an awkward silence. When she spoke again, her words were much more controlled and thoughtful.

"I can't imagine what Mrs. Weasley must be going through right now. She and Mr. Weasley have been together for so many years. Whenever I think of one of them, I consider the pair."

She took a deep breath and continued softly, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

With her words, Snape's grasp on her arm tightened. He hid his face in her hair, coughing out a half laugh against her neck, before murmuring, "I was having similar thoughts."

Hermione shut her eyes at his words. Severus was so much more than she would have ever imagined from her experience with him in the classroom. Overtime, he had shown glimpses of himself, but tonight Hermione felt she had finally seen the true goodness within him. She wished she would have come to this realization under different circumstances, but it was there nonetheless, and Hermione now felt closer to him than she had ever felt to anyone.


Propping himself up with one elbow, Snape paused for a moment, contemplating his words before continuing, "Our chances of returning home alive are slim. The Portestas Potion has several weeks before it will be ready, and the way things appear, we do not have a few weeks."


He looked into her eyes and touched her face. "I'm resigned to the fact that I will probably lose you."

Emotions flooded into Hermione at his statement, and she swallowed them down, so that she would not lose her composure again. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "You're a steadfast pessimist," and a weak smile formed on her face.

Snape lowered his hand to the pillow, and replied, "I'm a realist."


He moved away from her, sitting up against the headboard. He crossed his arms, distancing himself in more ways than one. With an impatient air, he began, "It's obvious that the Dark Lord's search for his enemies has intensified." Waving his hand in frustration, he sneered, "However foolish the concept, to most people, Harry is the last great hope. With him dead, our side will crumble. There will be no resistance." He spat out his words in anger. "I doubt very much that even with all the protections surrounding us, we will have time enough to finish our work."


"Furthermore," he paused, lowering his voice, "if we do survive, there are other ways to lose you than through death."

His dreary outlook was something that Hermione did not want to consider. She sighed, "If it is to happen, there's little either of us can do about it." Shaking her head to focus her thoughts, Hermione continued, "Besides, call it my Gryffindor optimism, but I still have hope."

"Hmm. More likely your youthful inexperience," he mumbled.

Hermione huffed in exasperation, "Is it really that bleak?"

"Perhaps not," he sighed.  "I've been considering further precautions since Black managed to breach our security.  A few nasty surprises added to the wards on the entry way and to our rooms would make things more difficult for any attackers."  He paused, contemplating his next words.  "If we are able to return to Hogwarts and continue life as usual, I would be unwilling to give you up." He pulled his fingers through his lank hair, adding, "I just don't know what I would do with you."

"That sounds familiar," she chided.

"Back at school, the circumstances would be very much the same as they ever were, regardless of our feelings."


Moving back towards her, he kissed her neck, pressing his nose against her and continued, "Hermione, I don't ever want to be without you. You mean more to me than a convenience." He paused, breathing warmth onto her neck. "I love you." His words vibrated against her skin, sending their meaning throughout her body.


"I love you," she responded, prompting him to seek her mouth in a deep kiss.

The need to feel him, to know that she was not alone, took hold. Hermione's emotions became focused onto that kiss, feeling and tasting his mouth. At length, he rose slightly, trailing soft pecks from her lips, down her neck to the exposed skin just above her collar bone. When he returned to her mouth, his hands were under her clothes, gently caressing her skin. She moved without thought to undress. As their kiss deepened, they began touching, softly caressing each other. Slower, gentler than ever before, they moved and touched and felt and shared--reaching out, soothing, comforting, making love.

***~~~***~~~

Eventually, the night passed, though for Hermione, it was restless and difficult. Morning came, and she awoke not for the first time, red-eyed, exhausted, and alone. Snape was nowhere to be seen, though Hermione supposed he had escaped to his lab. Much like her, he used work as a distraction.

She did not remember Severus leaving. She had slept, just not soundly. It seemed every time she lost conscious control, terrible visions flooded in, jolting her awake. As a result, she was not well rested, and though very early, she knew that lying awake with nothing to do but think would be torture in itself.

Sliding from the bed, she moved quickly to the bathroom. The morning air chilled her exposed skin, and she longed for a warm bath, both for her body and soul.

Once inside the bathroom, Hermione ran the water hot and waited for the tub to fill. She turned towards the sink, absently picking up a toothbrush and glanced into the mirror.

The constant sound of the running water caused her mind to drift, her reflection forming a hazy background within her thoughts. Hermione had always believed that she had control over her destiny, that she was a product of her choices. Really though, whatever choice she made or effort she put forth could easily be for naught, destroyed in a moment's time. From these thoughts sprang an image of the Weasley family looking somberly down at Mr. Weasley's grave. Hermione shook her head to clear it. Her reflection, now back in focus, contorted into a grimace, and she began brushing her teeth as a distraction. The image faded, but an achy emptiness lingered.

This morning, reality had finally set in. Last night, she was in shock. Though she knew the events to be true, they did not feel it. But now she had slept and woken, and Mr. Weasley was still gone.

Becoming upset would do her no good.

Unfortunately, the general silence and inactivity within the cottage left for a lot of time to dwell on things. At Hogwarts, the whole castle--the pictures and even walls themselves--was alive with noise and activity.

Climbing into the tub, the warmth that surrounded her was soothing. Splashing some water onto her face, she felt more awake as the moisture evaporated into the cool air.

Hermione knew that she needed to speak with Harry. She also knew that time wouldn't make their talk any easier. With this knowledge, Hermione washed and dressed quickly, dreading leaving, but too restless to stay.

Several times on her way to Harry's room, Hermione had the impulse to flee. The walls along the hallway felt cramped, as if they were closing in on her. The ceiling, which Hermione had never given much thought to before, was now all too much on her mind. Everything was confining and closed, and she felt the need to escape, if only for a little while.

By the time she had reached Harry's door, Hermione was resolved to take their conversation elsewhere.

Harry looked groggy and confused, as he cracked open his door, but his expression quickly turned to one of worry as he looked into her grave face.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply.

Hermione began hesitantly, "Can we go for a walk? I need to get away for a bit." She motioned towards the stairway, before crossing her arms and shifting her weight uncomfortably.

Whatever came to Harry's mind at her sudden appearance, he kept to himself as he simply nodded, before replying, "I'll get dressed," and he retreated back into his room.

Hermione went to her room and hurriedly threw on her winter wear. The extra preparation for leaving felt somewhat liberating. At least she was moving, doing something, so that her thoughts couldn't fester. Hermione knew that wandering away from the cabin was a risk, but she needed the escape. She'd spent the past few weeks trapped within the walls of the cabin. While her mind had been focused on work, she hardly noticed, but now that things were falling apart, she couldn't stand being cooped up a moment longer. If Severus found out that she was leaving the safety of the cabin, he would be furious. Hermione hoped that his work would keep him occupied for awhile.

The moment she and Harry stepped out into the cool air, and the wind and sun hit her face, Hermione was reminded of how alive she truly was.

She had worked, slept and ate as she always had, following the clock back home. There was no reason to change her habits. The sun only shown for a few hours each day, and she rarely ventured outside. Though at Hogwarts, the sun had yet to rise, here, a half-world away, the dim light of day sat just above the horizon.

She and Harry trudged through the snow and wilderness, until they came to the edge of a frozen lake. The sun trickled through the pine needles, reflecting off the white snow and ice that covered the small lake. Hermione leaned up against one of the thin trees and absently began picking at its bark.

Looking out past the frozen water, and seeing forest for miles beyond and mountains pushing up against the horizon, Hermione gasped at the raw, untouched beauty of the wilderness. Though it was lovely, the scenery also gave her a strong sense of isolation.

Her thoughts were lost to the task at hand as Harry caught her attention as he fidgeted and cleared his throat next to her.

"I have bad news," she began, resting her head against the tree trunk.

Thankfully, Hermione was spared an immediate response from Harry, who seemed to expect the worst. She tried to remain calm, though as her words poured out, they sounded shaky and choppy. Harry stood, silently watching the horizon.

Hermione studied Harry's expression, wondering what thoughts were going through his mind. His breathing had increased, creating rapid puffs of fog in the winter air.

Finally, and without looking at her, he choked out, "I should have known something terrible had happened.  My scar had been hurting all day.  I thought it was just a wicked hangover."  Shaking his head he muttered, "It doesn't seem real."

Though the night had given her strength, Hermione still felt the surrealism of it all. "No," she paused, "It doesn't for me either. Life's just moving on, and there's nothing we can do to change things." She shook her head, and closed her eyes against the tears. "It probably won't feel real for a while. At least not until we see the family."

"When do we leave?" Harry asked as more of a challenge than a question. His eyes were quickly turning red and glistening from tears, as he stared straight ahead, clenching his hands into tight fists at his side.

Hermione sat down in the snow, resting her forehead on her knees as she brought them up to her chest. "Harry, you know we can't go back now. Not for a few weeks at least."

Turning towards her, he glared down, his hand gesturing wildly as he spat, "Why? Why shouldn't I go?" He scoffed, "This plan that Snape has us working on is a joke."

Hermione looked up at him, arguing, "That's not true. We've accomplished a great deal. With a bit more time..."

"With more time," he interrupted, "Voldemort's forces will grow stronger, and more people will die, just like Mr. Weasley and my parents." His last words were shouted, so that he heaved large breaths from anguish and frustration.

"Harry please," Hermione pleaded. "If you go back now that's what will happen to you and Ron and Ginny. I know it doesn't seem like it, but right now, the best thing you can do is stay away. We need to have a plan that will work. If we can perfect the formula, we can avenge Mr. Weasley's death and the deaths of everyone else. Going back to Ginny will only get you both killed."

Harry sat down next to her, noticeably affected by her pleas. Picking up a handful of snow, he muttered, "You don't know what it's like."

Hermione peered into his eyes and unmovingly replied, "I understand more than you think, Harry."

Harry threw the clump of snow onto the ice and mumbled, "How could you? The nearest thing to a relationship you've had was with Victor Krum, and that was years ago."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond.

Suddenly, realization flickered in Harry's eyes, and his voice became almost fearful as he asked, "Was Sirius right about you and Snape?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh slightly at his horror. "It's a long story. I've spent a great deal more time with him than you realize."

Harry stared at her, dumbstruck for a moment. A pained smile came to his face. Wiping a few tears away, he shook his head in disbelief. "This is too much. How? No, wait." He held up his hand. "I don't want to know."

Hermione could feel her throat tighten in reaction, and she too began crying, releasing a culmination of bottled emotions.

They sat in the snow together, not really feeling the cold. The silence that followed her admission left time for Hermione to contemplate all that had happened and all that was to come.

Hermione stayed with Harry for several hours explaining her time with Snape in the Dark Land and listening and sharing feelings, fears, and concerns.


After some choked laughter and false starts, Harry blurted out, "Please don't tell me how caring and sensitive he really is."

Hermione watched Harry closely. He didn't appear nearly as angry with her as she had guessed he would be. She suspected that Mr. Weasley's death made their relationship trivial in comparison. She responded cautiously, "Severus is not what anyone would describe as sensitive, but he is caring."

"You're lying. This is some great scheme of yours to keep my mind off things."

She reached over, squeezing his arm affectionately. "You know I wouldn't lie to you about this." He looked at her incredulously as she continued, "Harry, if we didn't suit each other, I wouldn't be with him."


They stayed outside watching the sun sink into the horizon, each one lost in thought. Eventually, the cold began to seep through their clothes. Though exhausted, Hermione felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her.

"Shouldn't we be getting on with it then?" Harry finally asked.

Hermione nodded with the knowledge that things would probably get worse before they got better, but with the hope that they would survive.