By: TheGreyLady
Chapter 18- Fallout
Sleep was a disaster that night. After three hours of waking each other, Severus had grabbed her hand and unceremoniously hauled her to the potions lab. Even though they were both ready to fall over from exhaustion, they still managed to brew a semi-decent Dreamless Sleep potion. Severus, who normally did things like measuring, cutting carefully and wearing a shirt when brewing a potion, all but threw the ingredients haphazardly into the cauldron.
Even as his dark hair fell into his eyes and his hands shook, he added the ingredients with a precision that she would normally merit to a chef-- using temperamental ingredients in amounts that were obviously measured from experience. The man that had demanded exactness above anything was tossing ingredients into the cauldron with a surety that belied his speed.
The ever-precise Severus Snape had, before the very eyes of a former student, brewed an obviously half-assed potion. "There is a time for meticulousness," he commented, anticipating her response to his methods before lying back on the bed. "Luckily, the potion was created by an insomniac, so it's very forgiving." He raised the vial to his lips and downed the noxious fluid.
He fell asleep instantly, the vial tumbling from his limp hand onto the floor. She waited a moment to make sure he hadn't poisoned himself before settling against Severus and taking her own.
She awoke the next morning to the pleasantly familiar sensation of Severus' arms wrapped around her. Banishing thoughts of the morning and all her problems away, she contented herself with relaxing into the embrace and nuzzling her cheek against his chest. He was still asleep; she didn't risk waking him with any excessive movement.
After a solid eight hours of sleep, the night before persisted to haunt her. She'd prayed that a mere night's sleep would dull the severity of the situation. No such luck… not that she was surprised.
Severus grunted loudly as she felt his arms tighten around her for a second before relaxing back into a less possessive hold. She closed her eyes and felt her mind drift off again…
… and then she was staring into the Dementor's face.
Her eyes flew open and she fought to control her breathing while she started to cry. Severus' voice was whispering reassurances into her ear; his hands stroked her back in a soothing manner. After she'd calmed herself sufficiently, she felt one of his hands slip beneath her nightshirt and tickle his nails across her back.
"You're awake," he said as his other hand began playing with her hair.
"Whatever gave you that idea?" she sniffed. "God, we're never going to be able to sleep normally again, are we?"
She tried to lever her body off of his but was halted when Severus refused to let her go. "Stay," he commanded softly. She rested her head on his chest again and smiled as she felt him stroke her hair again.
They really didn't have the opportunity to spend a lot of time alone together and she wasn't terribly enthusiastic at the prospect of losing this moment to the harsh realities of the daylight or the trauma she was going to have to deal with.
He pulled her pliant body closer to him as he commented, "We should start developing the film."
"We should do a lot of things," she admitted. "That doesn't mean I'm getting out of this bed."
"How are you faring?"
"I'm fine," she lied. "You did well last night."
"We'll see how well we did when we develop the photographs."
"So we'll get some developer and know by sundown."
He chuckled; it was a coarse and raspy sound after the vocal exertions of last night. "We need to brew the potion for the photographs. We will not know by sundown."
"How long?"
"Tomorrow for the photographs… I'm not sure how to develop the video."
She couldn't fight the laughter that bubbled out of her as she replied, "You don't have to develop the video, we just need to view it and see if everything came out."
He grunted in acknowledgment and brought one of his hands up to cover hers. She entwined their fingers and relaxed against him again. "Why do you think the patronuses were behaving so strangely?" she asked.
"I have no idea. Maybe we should peruse the text again and see if it's mentioned. From a first glance, my guess is that they weren't designed to manage in that sort of scenario."
"Someone had to have mentioned it somewhere."
"Someone also should have mentioned how Dementors were created. The first group did not yield nearly as many as were present before the battle with the Dark Lord. Somebody took it upon himself to create more of them."
She groaned, "Aristides babbled about the evils the Dementors wrought; why on earth would anyone create more of them?"
He was quiet for a moment as he rolled her onto her back. Hovering over her, he said, "You honestly have no idea, do you?"
She cocked her head in question as he touched a kiss to her lips and heaved himself off of her and rose from the bed to begin searching the drawers. As he pulled on his shirt, she asked, "Do you?"
He paused and stared at her for a moment with a strange expression on his face before donning his shoes. He left the room without another word.
Harry was still asleep/unconscious. She would have been more concerned if she'd had any concept as to how surviving the killing curse affected individuals. With nothing to do, she found herself more bored and anxious than she'd believed possible.
She'd realized the folly of her question only moments after she'd asked it. Of course Severus knew what could drive a man to acts of inexplicable evil -- he'd been driven to that point in his youth. He'd been powerless and vulnerable… two words that she hated to ascribe to him. Harry had told her about what he'd seen from the Occlumens sessions.
Severus knew what could make a man conjure the foulest of creatures. She wondered for a moment if she'd have followed in his footsteps if she'd been as lonesome as he must have been.
With Harry asleep, Ron gone and Severus busy, she had nothing to do but reflect on the events of the night before. Cornelius Fudge was a traitor to the nation he was supposed to protect. He'd revived an army that was better off vanquished. Why?
There was no answer. She may never know. Maybe it was a political move, maybe Fudge was seeking to expand his power in the Wizarding world, maybe he was even more of an evil, stark-raving lunatic than anyone had imagined. It didn't make sense.
Then again, looking at Harry and the way he'd been raised, it was sometimes difficult to understand why he and Voldemort had wound up leading such different lives. Looking at Severus now, she found it hard to believe that he'd ever had the desire to join the Death Eaters. She'd never ask, though. She'd already sworn to herself that she would never ask him why.
Maybe she should leave the Wizarding world and start studying psychology.
She was physically and emotionally spent. Part of her wanted to curl up in a corner and sleep until the end of the world and an equally large part dreaded the nightmares the dream world was sure to provide. She simply couldn't win. She knew what had happened but part of her remained unwilling to accept it.
That chanting she'd heard when the Dementor was preparing to kiss her was haunting her. It had been the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. The fact that it had been coming from something so… ugly… did nothing to comfort her. The fear that had overwhelmed her had been lost the moment that angelic choir began to sing.
No one who had seen the face of a Dementor had ever lived to tell about it. Oddly enough, it wasn't its face that continued to haunt her-- it was the lingering, lilting voices that it had forced her to hear. She'd felt so carefree, so unconfused… she knew that she'd do nearly anything to feel that way again.
She'd lost that feeling. It was something that she would have to come to terms with. In that moment, she knew that she would never be the same… but then again, wasn't that what Dementors were known for?
After checking Harry for fever, she curled up in bed again. She hoped Ron was okay. There wasn't a way for the Weasleys to contact her. It was probably safer that way. She briefly wondered if she could sneak to 12 Grimmauld Place and check on him but discarded it just as quickly. Too much had happened to throw it away… and her presence wouldn't change Ron's condition.
She woke later, unaware that she had fallen asleep. It was late afternoon, she hated that she'd wasted so much of the day. On the bright side, she'd just eliminated several hours' worth of boredom and reflection and she hadn't had a nightmare.
Sometimes you have to take your victories where you can.
With no change in Harry's condition, she decided to see if Severus needed or wanted any sort of help. Rapping lightly on the laboratory door, she stood back as it opened without any physical assistance. The sight of an unmanned cauldron simmering told her that he didn't need her help but the man himself was nowhere in sight.
Hesitantly, she stepped into the lab. It was an excellent facility. If she weren't so utterly sick of this house, she'd like to have a work-area similar to this one.
"Did you need something?" Severus' voice called across the room. She whirled around to see him hunched over on a stool, reading the parchments she knew to be the translation of Aristides' diary.
"I was going to ask you the same," she replied. "Have you found anything new?"
"'Aberrations of man…'" he read off, "'the sins of humanity… twisted creations of our warped psyches…'" he put the parchment down and rubbed his hand across his eyes. "No, it's still the same."
"You'd think he'd have tried to find a way to destroy the Dementors instead of…"
"Whining about how badly he felt for helping to create them?" he finished. "He oversaw their removal to England. That was the solution he came to." He did not smile as the words passed his lips; it wasn't a joke.
She stood awkwardly by one of the workstations, wanting to be comforted but afraid to ask. Apparently he heard her unspoken plea and rose to embrace her.
As she buried her face in his chest, she heard the words tumble from her lips, "Why did you join… You-Know-Who?"
The seconds the words came from her mouth, she cursed herself for being every kind of fool. She didn't want to know. She knew that she didn't want to know but the question had been asked and hung between them like a wall-- and she couldn't take it back. For the life of her, she couldn't take it back.
She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Why had she asked… why had she asked?
She didn't know anything. She didn't know why Fudge was recreating the Dementors, she didn't know if Ron was all right and she didn't know if America was going to exonerate them.
Dammit, she deserved to know something… anything. But as she felt Severus' shoulders slump ever so slightly, she wished, more than anything, that she had chosen something else to question.
"I suppose you should know," he said after a long pause. He pulled away from her. "I know you wouldn't ask me this sort of question unless you'd carefully debated whether or not you wanted the answer…"
Oh God, I haven't. I don't want to know. Don't tell me. Please, don't tell me.
"The Dark Lord offered me the one thing that I wanted more than anything."
"You wanted to belong," she finished for him quickly. "You wanted a group to belong to."
"You don't understand," he muttered as he turned away from her and toward the wall.
"Understand what? That you wanted to feel accepted?"
"Do I look like a victim?" he snapped, wheeling back at her. "Do I look like a joiner? Do I look like the sort of person who would betray their moral fabric for the sake of having friendship?" he asked incredulously. She tried to turn away but strong hands grasped her shoulders and spun her back to face him. "Do I?!" he aggressively questioned again.
"Then what?" she asked, cursing herself again for encouraging the conversation. The tears were already falling; she knew they wouldn't be stopping soon.
He sighed, "I was an antisocial, maladjusted child," he said as if listing it off from a progress report. "I was raised in the Dark Arts; I didn't know anything else. I did not have morals, Hermione. I was an evil, hateful little shit that wanted nothing more than to advance," he finished before continuing in his regular tone. "No one expected any more of me…" he turned to sit upon the stool again before continuing, "The Dark Lord offered me test subjects."
"Test subjects?" she felt her heart drop.
"Muggles and Muggle-borns, a group I despised in the first place. I tested potions and curses on them to see their reactions. It was like experimenting on rats." He took note of her cringe but kept speaking. "In the rare event that they survived the experiments, they were executed by other Death Eaters."
Please shut up… please shut up… I don't want to know…
She paused, knowing that she didn't want to know the rest of the story but simultaneously heard herself asking in a voice pitched slightly higher than her normal tone, "Why did you change?"
He shook his head. "I'm not proud of it, Hermione."
"Just tell me," she said. I want to know but I don't want to know.
"I became ill," he said. "The medi-wizards still aren't sure exactly what happened but suffice to say, a fever of 106 is nothing to scoff at. I remember little of what happened. I suffered from… severe hallucinations." She sat silently, waiting for him to continue. "A side effect of your body essentially cooking your brain. The people I'd killed… I saw them all. Initially, they stared at me… just stared at me as though I were an animal…"
Because you were an animal…
"Then they started speaking, telling me about the lives they wouldn't live because of what I'd done… about the people I'd taken them from. I wanted to die. I wanted to die more than anything. I could not imagine… living… after all the things I'd done.
"Then they attacked… they ripped away my skin, pulled me to pieces, froze me, screamed more loudly than I thought possible… they turned me into the subject I'd so easily turned them into…"
You deserved it. Oh God, you deserved it…
"When I awoke in St. Mungo's, my entire body hurt. The medi-witch told me that I was lucky to have survived. She started asking me questions-- basic information, things that were common knowledge to me. I had run the fever so long that I'd risked brain damage.
"I did not learn until later that I'd asked for Albus and told him everything. I was… convinced…" he took a deep breath and continued quickly, as though he were telling an embarrassing story, "That something had interfered with my life's course. There are potions that can diminish a fever, Hermione, I taught several of them to you; I didn't respond to any of them.
"I believed that I needed to see what I'd seen. I thought… I believed that I was chosen to deliver a message from the heavens. In that moment, I knew with no doubts that I was a messenger sent from a god I did not even believe in.
"I believed that something had sent me to change the world," he scoffed.
"Of course, Albus knew that I was utterly delirious," his tone clearly conveyed that he shared this sentiment. "He knew that I would never have revealed myself as a Death Eater if I were coherent. So, he stayed quiet as I attempted to continue my life… when I began my work again, I'd realized that everything I'd seen while I was ill was merely a byproduct of the fever and that I had not been contacted by any god…
"... But I couldn't continue the testing. The Muggles… they ceased to be nonentities. I believe that after whatever I had told him, he knew that I would be stymied by the things that he knew I'd seen. So he waited until I came to him and repeated everything I knew and begged for forgiveness again."
"You did the right thing," she said, even as she backed away.
"The right thing to do, Hermione, was to be killed by the master I'd pledged my life to, just as Regulus Black was. The right thing to do would have been to become a martyr for the very cause I'd fought against." He looked up at her and shook his head. "But I wasn't interested in being right, Hermione; I was interested in being alive.
"You know where the door is," he said, turning from her and picking up the parchment again.
Unable to even think of anything to say, she began the long march to the door. Tears kept leaking from her eyes onto her cheeks as she reached the exit and turned back to him. "I would have believed nearly anything else, Severus," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.
His eyes slid shut while a pained expression took over his face. "You deserve the truth," he replied quietly. "You deserve to know what I am."
She turned back to the door and opened it. Stepping through it, she closed it with a finality she'd prayed she would never have to come to. Overwhelmed, she stumbled to her room and threw herself upon the bed and wept with a ferocity she hadn't thought possible.
She checked on Harry again and saw no change in his condition. When she returned to her bedroom, a vial of the Dreamless Sleep potion waited for her. The few things Severus owned had been removed. Was he rejecting her for having the audacity to question his past?
Or had he already realized what she didn't have the courage to say? That she may not be able to continue loving him now that she knew.
For a moment, she wished that she had never restored him. If she hadn't, she wouldn't be standing here as a depressed, emotionally scarred, broken-hearted felon. She walked to the kitchen, intent on finding something to eat that didn't turn her stomach. The door slid open and she passed through only to be shocked into stopping.
Nicholas Flamel looked up from the table. He was eating a sandwich.
"You're back," she said dumbly.
The old man nodded, "I had to do a bit of reflection," he sighed. "After I destroyed the stone, I assumed that I would die quickly. The Elixir of Life stops your body from aging, so now I've got to live out the rest of my life. I never thought I would live to bury Albus."
"I never really thought that he could die," she responded. "He seemed so powerful."
"He was powerful," he admitted before halving his sandwich for her. "Severus has told me of your plan. I've already taken the liberty of contacting a friend in the Bureau by the name of Deacon White. He's already arranged for your arrival. Eat," he commanded, gesturing to the food.
She ignored him and asked, "Is there anything we should know before we go?" He remained silent for a moment before gesturing to her sandwich again. She sighed as she took a bite, smiling a bit at the parental nagging.
"Amnesty is a complex thing to attain. You will have to convince a panel of judges and countless agents of your innocence and of Fudge's crimes. You already have high credibility from the war against Voldemort but that will not be enough. You will be in for a difficult time but the Bureau is very thorough and very fair. The only thing you need know is that you can remain here for as long as you like. Finish your food."
She rolled her eyes and quickly finished the sandwich. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been. Flamel stood by the window, looking out pensively. As she rose to leave, Flamel's voice stopped her.
"He's on the terrace," he said dismissively, staring into the raining night. Quietly excusing herself, she walked to the door. "People change, Hermione," Flamel called. "Even if Severus doesn't want to admit it, something happened to him while he was sick… and it changed him. He is not the person that he was. He isn't the same person he was when he arrived here."
She nodded and left. She paused as she reached the door that would lead her to Severus. Even as she shook her head at what a fool she was for considering it, she walked through the doors and saw him leaning against the railing, content to be soaked by the tidal waves of raindrops.
He looked like a man who was used to standing in the rain.
He knew that she was there but remained silent and still. She finally spoke, "You've given me a lot to think about."
"I know," he said as he continued to stare into the vacant sea.
"Why don't you hate me?" she asked, moving away from the awning and stepping into the torrent of rain. "I'm a Muggle-born… so why don't you hate me?"
He answered simply, "Because I don't." He didn't look at her. Why couldn't he look at her?
Rain dripped into her eyes as she said, "That isn't good enough." Look at me… please, just look at me…she begged him to hear her unspoken plea. Tears welled up in her eyes again and she tried to blink them away. She'd already cried too much today.
He continued to stare away. "It's the only answer I can give you."
"Tell me anything…' she sobbed as she felt her rationality slip away. "Tell me anything that will make us make sense." She was pleading for a lie; she wasn't stupid enough to not realize it… but something had to be left unbroken… and she'd come to the wrong man for it.
"I can't," he conceded, still staring into the night. "We don't make any sort of sense."
"That isn't good enough," her voice cracked.
His head sunk a little. "That is what I am."
She turned to leave but as soon as she reached the door, she found herself turning back to him. "Give me a reason to stay," she begged. "Just give me a reason… and I'll stay."
He stood still and did not speak for a long time. With each second that passed, her heart broke a little more. The hot tears streaming down her face were a startling contrast with the cold rain they mingled with.
"I can't," he finally replied. He was shaking, his hands convulsing against the railing even as he clutched it.
She focused on the door once again. "I would have loved you forever," she shamelessly confessed, weeping. Her legs were shaking, she had to prop herself up against the wall.
"You're foolish to have given your love away so easily," he replied unapologetically, twisting for a moment to look at her as she turned to leave.
She saw the veiled tears in his eyes… and she knew for certain that each individual irrational unshed droplet would scar her forever.
Harry had woken the next morning. He'd been disoriented and wept as he murmured about seeing his mother. Holding him had been her only option. She couldn't relate… she felt so detached. Utterly exhausted, everything was blurring together in her mind.
The night before, she'd refused to take the Dreamless Sleep draught. She wanted to punish herself for her foolishness… and the potion reminded her of Severus.
The few times she'd dared to look in a mirror, she could only see the black circles marring her eyes. She'd broken the mirror in her bedroom; seven years of 'regular' bad luck would be a respite compared to the luck she'd been having lately.
She couldn't cry anymore. She just wanted to curl up and die.
Severus called her and Harry into the living room. She and Harry stared at the hardwood floors until Severus arrived. Flamel sat in as well, stating that he felt like he owed them any sort of assistance that he could offer since he had been gone for longer than anticipated.
"A few of the photographs came through," Severus said brusquely as he displayed the 'good' photos for her and Harry.
A shot of her with Severus collapsed on the floor were revealed, as well three of the damning photographs of the room itself. Even in these pictures, the pool itself was blurry and the quality was poor. There hadn't been enough light in the room.
"The video didn't come out. No sound, either," Harry muttered shortly. Apparently surviving the Killing Curse made you somewhat emotionally unstable; he'd be laughing one moment and utterly inconsolable the next but he'd been progressively balancing out through the day. Harry, thankfully, remained blissfully in the dark as to the altercation she'd had with Severus.
Not that there was anything he would have been able to do about it.
"Do you think these are good enough to be used as evidence?" Harry continued.
"They could be," the older man replied. "We won't know until we try."
"We should go with what we have," she said after a long silence. There was nothing left to lose. If they were handed over to the Dementors, then so be it; she didn't care anymore.
Anything would be better than this.
She couldn't live in this house with him. She just couldn't. Harry nodded in assenting, his concerned stare falling upon her before turning onto Severus.
"It sounds like you're prepared," Flamel said as reached into his pocket to reveal a small tin can. "Deacon sent this," he explained. "It's a portkey. It will take you directly to the American Bureau of Magic. He'll know when you leave and will meet you there."
"Nicholas," Harry said slowly as he took the portkey, "will you check on Ron? He's at the…"
"Order's Headquarters, I know," Flamel finished. As Hermione crossed to join Harry, Flamel pulled her aside. "There's something you need to remember, Hermione," he whispered. "You were almost kissed by a Dementor; a little chocolate is not going to make it all better."
He gestured for her to move to Harry as he then took Severus aside and shared a few hushed words with him. As she reached Harry, she mentally filed Flamel's words away, she'd think about it later. She watched as Severus nodded shortly and strode over to her.
Severus placed his hand on the portkey and the three vanished.
When they stood on solid ground again, they were greeted with the sight of a huge monolithic building. The huge metal and stone structure towered above them. People entered and exited as though it were a normal building. Was this an illusion? How were they supposed to find Mr. White?
"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Snape," a voice called from behind. She spun around to see a striking blonde man who couldn't have been over the age of thirty trotting over to them. "I am Deacon White. Do you have everything that you need?"
"Yes," Harry replied quickly before adding, "You're… Flamel's friend?" Even though she wanted to slap Harry for asking, she, too, had assumed that Deacon White would be a much older man.
The blonde man smiled and chuckled, "Nicholas has been a friend of my wife's family for generations, starting with her great-great-great-etc.-etc. grandfather before he emigrated from Ireland," he finished quickly. "Are you ready?"
She turned and gave Harry a fierce hug. She tried to let go but her arms wouldn't obey her mind. Tears welled up in her eyes. This was it. This was the moment she'd both dreaded and hoped for ever since she'd formulated this plan.
"It's going to be fine, Hermione," Harry said, holding her just as tight. "We're the good guys, remember?"
She wrenched her arms from around her friend. Severus turned to the Boy-Who-Lived and extended his hand. Hermione had to consciously keep her jaw from dropping. The mountain had come to Muhammad and Severus Snape had made a friendly gesture to the famous Harry Potter.
Harry took the offered hand and pulled Severus into a manly hug, keeping their hands clasped and holding Severus with his free arm. Hermione didn't think she had ever seen Severus look so startled and White-- even though he probably didn't understand the significance of the moment-- was biting back laughter at the stupefied and disgusted expression on Severus' face.
After standing quietly for a second and regaining his bearings, he growled, "I am not your girlfriend, Potter!" Harry immediately backed away and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders before erupting into laughter.
Biting his lip, White asked again, "Are you ready?"
She felt Severus' eyes fall upon her. It took every ounce of her willpower to not meet his gaze as he said, "Yes, we're ready."
White led them straight into the building. Hermione, more terrified than she wished to show, willed herself to take each step. Severus looked as calm and graceful as he usually did but through her perceptive vision, she could see it.
His hands were shaking.
Author's Notes- Only one thing before you all start taking hits out on me again… the story ain't over yet… keep that in mind. Chapter 19 will be out pretty/very soon.