Never Make Promises
Chapter 7
By Elizabeth Sofia
See previous chapters for disclaimers to cover my ass
Fall was wrapping itself around Hogwarts, the stalwart stone wall of the school at last unable to keep the chilly, howling winds from finding a way into its warm core. Albus Dumbledore had just closed his door behind the familiar form of Minerva McGonagall.
Time, once again, to battle the demons by himself.
The crinkly smile gone from his face, the boyish twinkle absent from his eyes, the only only thought that occupied his mind was, we can't afford lose this time.
There was too much to lose this time.
Albus aimlessly wandered around his office, touching various objects on his cluttered desk, running his hand along this bookshelf, then that one. There was nowhere left to run. He was a tired, old bishop, pinned and unable to move for fear of putting his king in check.
Harry.
And as he leaned his forehead against the cool pane of window glass, Albus felt the comatose boy's slow, rhythmic breathing force itself into his wiry, wrinkled body. And he gave himself up to it, letting Harry's life force take him over. Breath in and out and only darkness where sense and understanding should be. And, suddenly, faces and memories from the center of his mind came alive to his inner eye--images and voices long since gone from this world sharing this unending sleep always pervaded by the vilest, foulest unshakable evil.
Twisted playgrounds that kept the boy locked and unreachable.
Lilly. James. How could we lose them? They were just children...
Like smashing into a wall of broken glass, Albus Dumbledore bottomed out into his own body once again. But the chains of memory were still thickly around him. His mind clawed frantically, trying to chase Voldemort back through Harry's breathing, but he was too weak. And instead the end-of-the-year banquet of 1978 shot into his vision and left him breathless.
James and Lily, head boy and girl, cutting like a beacon of hope through the ever-growing darkness of the future. His arm around her shoulders and her eyes with a fierceness that made the entire universe seem to have its center in their irises. Remus, Peter, Sirius, James--the filial hugs they gave to him before they boarded the train. Severus Snape, the carrion crow, passing dark and brilliant eyes over the scene and murmuring in a voice too old for his years, like rapturous thunder, "May your memories sustain you." And they had shrugged it off as he turned and boarded. Albus' laughter echoing over the children's.
None of them knew. The last time they would all be together.
They had been his children.
It was over and Albus turned his face to commingle the sweat on his cheek with the condensation on the window. Panting, he sunk onto the window seat. This waking dream destroyed him every time it invaded his mind. But he craved it. Craved James Potter's laugh and Lily Evan's confiding kiss on his cheek.
He had loved them too much. Used their childish affection to fill up too many empty spaces inside himself.
And Voldemort had known. And that was why James and Lily were dead. That was why their son was dead to the whirlwind that beat itself out around his hospital bed.
Albus had always wanted a family. Children to look up to him and trust him. And when he recognized that look in James' eyes...he'd given in.
He had loved too much.
And now the world was paying.
"It's not my problem."
Sirius Black was no stranger to indifference or even coldness. After time in Azkaban, nothing should surprise him, nothing get under his skin.
Her eyes. Her voice. Her young body under his--taking all of it away from him. Making him whole again.
Pure.
He'd long since stopped censoring his emotions and his outbursts--he was too afraid that if he didn't taste them, experience them, show them to the world--someone would snatch them away from him.
And he would be left alone. But aren't you already?
He wasn't a real person to anyone in his life. Either a criminal or a pitiable innocent. But she'd spoken to him without first thinking of sparing his feelings, or entangling herself in condemnations.
She'd washed her hands clean of all of it. And it had been so long since Sirius had seen anything clean standing so proudly in front of him.
His black muzzle snuffed along the crease where the cool, stone paved floor met the wall. Padding silently through the corridors at night was the only way he could gather his thoughts. He tried to think about Harry-- exhausting every pathway and option of rescuing his godson from the force that held him suspended in an enchanted limbo. How he didn't really even know Harry, didn't know what phantom anxieties and frivolous passions were dancing with him in his continuous sleep. He tried to think about ripping into Voldemort--tearing him, making him bleed for every injustice, every crime committed--
Her eyes. Her face. Her smooth and trembling limbs.
The sound of cautiously swishing robes rapidly approaching from behind him caused Sirius to scuffle into the shadow of a rusting suit of armor, tucking his clumsy tail underneath him.
"Granger! Are you here?"
Draco Malfoy.
Every muscle in his canine body taut with quivering rage, Sirius forced back a growl. He hated Slytherins. All of them. Hated them for their cunning, for their cowardess, for their never-ending quest to win. Hated them for their patience and calculated control. Hated the familiar way in which this particular brat addressed the luminous girl who came into view at the sound of her name, her path bringing her to a patch of candlelight that made her into a goddess-child.
"You asked me to be here, Draco, and here I am. Merlin knows I have no idea why, though."
Draco stepped forward and handed her a shimmering onyx envelope. With some trepidation Hermione reached out her hand to accept what he offered, but stopped just short of touching the letter. Draco took her hand in his free one and clamped her fingers down on the smooth, pulsing paper.
"Believe me Granger, you're going to want this."
Drop it, Hermione, Sirius mentally urged.
Apparently unable to speak, Hermione's eyes absorbed the ever changing sheen of the envelope she held. Then they narrowed and she raised her head to meet Draco's knowing and solemn stare.
"Why?"
"Why, what? Why Now? It would look a tad odd if you got yours at Breakfast with the rest of us."
"No. Not that. That makes perfect sense. What I meant was, why me?"
At this, Draco looked down at the toe of his perfectly polished shoe jutting out from under the hem of his robe. He looked unsure of himself, and as if he was going to give her an honest answer, but then the coldness rushed back into his sallow features and he smirked back up at her, "So many questions, Mudblood. That won't last long."
Inside, Hermione quivered with fear and shot nerves, but she matched Draco's affected poise ounce for ounce. "Are you just scared that you don't have the answers, Draco?"
Draco gave her a slightly seductive smile. This was a game he was familiar with--sparring. He couldn't deal with honest questions, but stinging barbs intended to fluster him only put him in his element. "Hermione, if you think the scariest thing that can happen is not knowing the answers, you've got another thing coming."
Then Draco gave a small bow, turned, and swirled off in a way that only Slytherins could hope to perfect.
Alone, confused, and suddenly cold, Hermione couldn't imagine anything nearly as frightening as being as in-the-dark as she was at that very moment. She took a few shaky steps forward, passing the suit of armor behind which Sirius hid, ready to pounce on young Malfoy if he dared make another appearance.
What could that rat have wanted with Hermione?
Letting out a deep breath, Sirius made ready to transfigure back into human form. Startled by the sound, Hermione jumped slightly, glanced around her in a panic, and took off running down the hall. In a flash, Sirius Black was once again a large, dark man, pumping his arms as he sprinted to catch up with Hermione.
She sharply rounded a corner, and he turned after her to see the heavy castle door close behind her black school robes. He was about to throw it open again, knowing he could easily catch up with her out in the open Hogwart's grounds, when a firm, icy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Black."
The coldness in the touch and voice alerted Sirius to their owner without even having to turn around. He growled out, "Snape! Let go of me, god dammit! Hermione Granger just ran out of the castle--"
A complete opposite to Black's edgy, anxious, raised voice, Severus replied in a tone that bespoke complete control, "I'm well aware of the situation. I would suggest--"
"Don't give me your Slytherin-sweet-as-strychnine routine, Snape."
Severus Snape cocked an eyebrow, either impressed or amused by the unexpected burst of critical creativity on Black's part. His face broke into a candidly evil smile, "Harry needs you, Sirius."
If Sirius Black had been one iota less grateful to Dumbledore, or one more certain of his abilities to defeat his old school-rival, Severus Snape would have certainly been dead on the floor of the front corridor. As it was, Sirius simply spat out some choice profanities as he wrenched himself away from Snape's politely solid hold on his shoulder.
Prudently allowing himself only a few extra seconds to gloat over his banishment of Black, Severus Snape couldn't help smirking for a moment before his countenance was clouded over by anxiety. He hastily opened the front door and slipped into the night.
More than one life hung in the balance.
How far? How far can I get before anyone notices that I'm gone?
Hermione's lungs felt ready to collapse. Each and every breath felt as if she was scraping her throat raw. Finally she saw the gate.
Salvation.
She tried to latch, but her hand passed completely through it, rendering it useless. Climbing over it also proved impossible, as did walking directly through it. Of course it's enchanted...why didn't you think of that before, smartass?
What she really wanted to do was give in to hysterics. To stomp her feet and break her Mother's good china as she had when she'd been informed that her presence was required at the infamous double-date. But, lacking the necessary energy, she simply turned her back on the gate and slumped against it, relenting to her obvious fate with a heart, "Well, fuck me hard."
From the misty darkness in front of her, she hear a low chuckle, "Was that directed at someone in particular, Miss Granger?"
Professor Snape. In spite of the extraordinary current situation, the only thing she could think to say to him was, "I'm sorry I haven't gotten around to thanking you for the book yet--it was...quite thoughtful. Everyone else seemed to quite forget I had a birthday this year."
Severus made a motion to wave off her apology with a 'never mind', but he was struck with the lack of self-pity in her voice. "Your parents?"
"I'm not quite sure they even remember they have a daughter," a long pause, "but I suppose that's partly my fault...I've been letting myself drift away from them for seven years."
Her first inclination was to look at the ground when she told him this. He was her professor, after all, and neglecting your parents wasn't usually an admission you were proud to claim ownership of. But, for some reason, she looked right at him.
As if reading her mind, Snape took a step forward, asking, "What brought on this sudden confession, if I may be so bold?"
Hermione shrugged and held out the envelope, "When you find out you're going to be a Death Eater, you don't really have the heart to worry about embarrassment, I suppose."
"I suppose," Severus echoed, carefully watching Hermione's face as he took the envelope from her, "So, you know what this is then."
"Oh, I have a pretty fair idea. You can open it if you want."
Snape's careful fingers moved to unglue the seal, but as soon as he touched the skull holding the envelope closed, he dropped it with a cry and clutched his hand as if he'd been burned. Hermione rushed forward to help him, but he warded her away, "No! No, I'm fine. Just a shock. It must be coded so that you have to open it."
"Is that normal?"
Severus was amazed by the girl who stood in front of him. What kind of creature was she? Not a child, that was for certain. She'd held off on opening the envelope, and now she'd stopped running away and had the presence of mind to ask an investigative question. And in the course of an hour she could be broken for eternity...
"I don't know, Miss Granger. I never opened anyone else's summons."
Hermione stared at the envelope that now illuminated a small patch of the ground where it lay between them. Doesn't there always seem to be something between us? A table, a book, Harry...
Why did the distance between them suddenly matter to her?
"Professor? Draco said there would be others..."
Snape's head jerked up and he rushed towards her, taking her by the shoulders and probing her eyes with his own, "Who? Who, Miss Granger? Did he say?"
Hermione's brown eyes didn't know how to react to the sudden rush of emotions he had assaulted her with. "I--I don't...I got the feeling they were all other Slytherins..."
Before she could stammer out any more half-answers, Severus Snape dropped his hands listlessly to his sides. "Yes...of course. What other house? What other head of house..."
He turned from her and gazed at the moon, shining as if all was right with the world. Tentatively, Hermione stepped to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing the slightest bit--just as she remember her father doing as she left for her first trip on the Hogwarts Express. "Sir?"
"Virgo? You are a Virgo, are you not, Miss Granger?" Confused, but knowing her professor probably had a good reason for his question, Hermione nodded. Then, realizing he couldn't see her gave a soft, "Yes, sir. I am."
"Virgoans...the Zodiac's purists."
"You mean...like the virgin?"
He sighed, his tense shoulder relaxing as he slipped, once again, into the role of teacher. "Yes, and no. The original symbol of Virgo was the Sphinx--Virgoans are the questioners, the analysts--logical, practical, methodical. Born to seek complete realization of the soul. Theorists, perfectionists with a masterful sense of duty. Always the need to serve, be useful--they shrivel when they're swept aside. Innate refinement, nervous sensitivity, thrifty with love...does this strike a chord, Miss Granger? Do you see yourself?"
Unnerved by the accuracy of his description, Hermione remained silent. It was just a silly category--one's sign. But wasn't that her? She searched her mind frantically, trying to recall other virgos that she knew--trying to prove the stars wrong.
But even if they are wrong--he knows who you are...
"Do you believe we live our lives by the stars, Miss Granger? That the position of the celestial bodies when we're born keep us trapped inside our own small boxes for eternity? That there is no escaping the person you were born to be?"
"I don't really know sir."
"Nor I, Miss Granger."
The stars seemed to shine brighter, as if they knew they were being watched. A small man an a smaller girl on the desolate planet of here-and-now, both a great deal more frightened of the darkness inside themselves than of the evil that now sat in their midst. Hermione removed her hand, only to wish she hadn't because she suddenly felt very alone. To break her isolation she asked, "And you are...?"
"Hmmm?"
"What sign are you, Sir?" Chastising herself, she blushed, hoping he was unfamiliar with the infamous muggle pick-up line.
He turned to her, frame outlined by the pale moonlight, blessing her with a rare, sad smile. "What else? Scorpio."
At this it was Hermione's turn to smile, although hers had a seriously sinister edge to it, "Ah...the sign of sex and death?"
And then it happened--a real laugh from Severus Snape.
Oddly, Hermione felt like a hero in that moment when he threw back his head and slightly squinted his dark eyes.
"Indeed. I hope they put that on my grave."
Severus looked down at Hermione, not missing the proud flush that touched her cheeks. He had not had a conversation that lasted this long in...years, really. Well, unless one counted Poppy's unending inquiries into his physical health. Then Hermione's eyes darted to the ground, coming to rest on the envelope. Softly, in a ragged whisper, "Dark...what exactly does it mean for magic to be dark?"
Instead of granting her an answer, Snape turned away from her, walked past the envelope, still glowing ominously on the ground, and spoke in a voice so fatherly that it made Hermione homesick for the first time in her life, "You should open your letter now, Hermione." Barely registering that he'd used her first name, Hermione walked over to the envelope and, rather than lifting it to her, knelt next to it. Professor Snape stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his back to her, obviously waiting for her to open the letter and read it aloud. No longer able to delay the inevitable, Hermione tore open the seal as if she could destroy the message it contained.
And then the light shot into her body.
Fresh and deep and aching. Splintering her bones and peeling away the sinew of each muscle like husks from corn. Images, faces and yearnings sparked in front of her eyes, obscuring the envelope, Professor Snape, Hogwarts in the distance.
There was only the pain and the simple, unending need for it to stop, for it to keep going, for it to do both at once.
Let it be, girl, let it be.
He knew it was coming. He didn't tell her. You can't shield her from the darkness anymore, Severus.
A cry barely recognizable as human shocked him into turning to face her.
Her hands groped feebly at the empty air in front of her, then flew to her throat where she ripped at her robes, and after to tangle in her hair. Her eyes went hazy and out of focus, seeing treacherous epiphanies of some world not so very far from his own. Her mouth opened and she tried to scream, but the sound choked in her throat. A pilgrim saint in ecstasy.
The pure Virgo pinned inside the darkness looping through her supple young body. so many dreams, so many fears. So much more to feed upon. He was frightened to touch her. He was a recovering addict confronted with the sight of a new user on a fantastic trip. He wanted to steal the pain from her and take it into his own body--and only partly to relieve her anguish. As it was, his concern overwhelmed his control and he ran to where she knelt, wrapping both of his arms tightly around her, unconsciously burying his face in her hair more deeply than was truly necessary. Almost as if being fed words from some distant god of mercy, Severus began to murmur small, solid phrases of comfort to the spasming and trembling girl.
When she awoke to the world, she was too weak to do anything but collapse back into his firm hold. Severus made their contact as impersonal as possible, but he figured that the intensity of the situation made it acceptable to put off sorting out their close proximity at some later time. Sweat coating her shimmering skin, Hermione flashed open her eyes long enough to roll them back to Snape and choke out, "Professor, I'll do it. End it. I will. I promise I'll end it all."
Promises. Severus hated them all. Perhaps the ones that were kept even more than the ones that were broken.
But if she was willing to pledge herself, then he would too. "This ends. Right here. It's over."
The dark night gave no recognition to his words, but the simultaneous chill that cut through both of their bodies convinced him that he'd not spoken in vain.