Severus Snape had long ago become accustomed to the extraordinary demands associated with his dual roles of teacher and undercover operative. He had learned to force his body to function, despite the wracking pain from either curses or the Braxdyce Syndrome, and carry on with forcing knowledge into the minds of dunderheads each day. The stimulants he had taken for so long had aided him in this, allowing him to maintain his focus and energy while ignoring the need to rest and recover.
What he had never realized, however, was how much he'd come to depend on those stimulants, and how much he'd miss them when events taxed his endurance to the limit. To be blunt: he was completely knackered.
Anger alone sustained him through most of the long, demanding day that followed his ferocious confrontation with Hermione Granger. A deep, burning anger, it simmered, just below the surface, throughout his classes and during the meals in the Great Hall. His fellow professors, not having realized how relaxed the man had been since his return to health, regarded him with equal amounts of wariness and confusion as he reverted to the bastard they all knew and avoided. The children were not so reticent; work spread quickly that Professor Snape was in rare form and handing out detentions like sherbet lemons.
Once he'd fulfilled his early patrol duties, Severus proceeded directly to his rooms, not even stopping his long-legged stalk through the halls as he deducted points from a female student who made the mistake of giggling at the same time she was within earshot of the surly professor. He paused in his private lab only long enough to locate a vial of Dreamless Sleep, then continued through to his bedroom. Although he was nearly weaving on his feet from fatigue, he had no intention of leaving himself vulnerable to the unwanted intrusions of a meddling, irresponsible ghost.
He had considered warding his rooms against supernatural intruders, but falling back on standard spells was not appealing. He resolved to create something both elaborate and fitting, such as a phantom philter trap or a mind maze that ended with a spirit bottle. Something to challenge the little know-it-all right into making a fool of herself, and then trapping her safely away from her busybody ways. Tonight, however, his body demanded sleep, and the potion would ensure he would be beyond her interference.
The following day was torturous for his students, many of whom soon realized Professor Snape was indiscriminate in his venom but preoccupied enough not to notice anyone not within his immediate vicinity. The Hufflepuffs were swift to post lookouts, but Slytherin house lost nearly a hundred points before they learned the same lesson.
Perusing the Miranda Goshawk series was futile; the textbooks only brushed over ghost and spirit manifestations, and the library carried a paltry selection on the subject. Dumbledore's notes on magical polarity, long buried on Severus' desk, had a great deal more information, however. Severus spent most of an evening poring over the research, noting references to barrier wards and trapping spells with satisfaction. The students working off their detentions had no idea what he was working on, but continued their labors in fear of drawing his attention. Severus checked their progress occasionally, but kept them all hard at it until nearly curfew time. Only when he growled at them to get out of his sight, the detainees scampered for their common rooms, giddy with relief.
Severus took the documents and a bottle of Old Ogdens to his rooms and spread the hodge-podge of information over his bed; reading as he sat propped up against the carved headboard. His wand was kept close at hand as he waited for his trespassing spirit to appear. Hermione had not shown herself for two days, now, a personal record. He was certain her Gryffindor tendencies would soon, any moment in fact, send her rushing back to the scene of the crime, desperately making another attempt to justify her actions.
It was a rude awakening in the deep hours of the night when Severus woke with a jerk, banging his head against the headboard and putting a severe crick in his neck.
The weekly staff meeting the next afternoon found him still rubbing fitfully at the long muscles at the back of his skull, attempting to massage away the bothersome ache as he stood impatiently just across from the door to the staff room. He'd long since learned that arriving late was frowned upon, as was taking the furthest chair when one was on time. Arriving early, on the other hand, and standing by the door let the others choose the cozy inner circle of chairs and left him the isolated armchair near the fireplace – just as he preferred.
The rest of the teachers seemed to be in no hurry as they straggled in, chatting with each other as if they actually enjoyed getting together to listen to each other grumble about the school and the students. If any were expecting a chorus from him, however, they were disappointed; Severus glared at the witches as they settled into their chairs, vaguely wishing for a silencing hex. Meeting attendance was compulsory, and only death, fire, or other mayhem got you out before Dumbledore was jolly well good and ready to let you escape. It was very similar to detention, except for the fact that a well-administered detention actually showed a tangible result.
&&&&&
Severus instantly noticed the spectral figure of Professor Binns as he drifted across the threshold of the room, and tapped one finger against his sleeve as the ghost slowly and methodically made his way to his customary chair. Quite possibly the only teacher who had never missed a staff meeting, the gray, boring man had become a gray, boring ghost, and his laborious ramblings during the meetings were nearly as excruciating as his classes.
The stooped, translucent figure passed the gossiping witches without notice, but when he drew even with Severus, he stopped. Severus raised one eyebrow and stared back as the ghost turned and laboriously looked Severus up and down. It was entirely possible the old spook had gone senile, he thought.
"You, sir, are an ass," Binns declared in a somber monotone.
Without another word, the history teacher resumed his progress towards his chosen spot and sat, oblivious to the reaction his words had caused. The three crones were nearly asphyxiating themselves in an attempt to stifle their giggles, while Severus scowled at all of them equally, with little effect.
By dinnertime, the encounter with Binns was fairly well forgotten. Severus, toying with his silverware as he waited for his meal to be served, consigned the incident to the pile of proof that insanity was an unexplored facet of ghost behavior. There was a desperate need for psychoanalysts in the spirit world; it was a pity more Muggle psychologists didn't become ghosts.
Sometime between his soup and main course, he noticed that someone was staring at him. His survival instinct had long ago recognized that prickly feeling between the shoulder blades, and it had saved his life on more than one occasion. Glancing surreptitiously around the Great Hall, Severus was unable to actually locate anyone, but he hadn't lived this long without being able to recognize when someone in a crowd had his person under surveillance.
The Gryffindors were oblivious, as were the Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuffs occasionally shot furtive glances his way, but it was more the sheep checking the position of the sheepdog than anyone actually regarding him with malice. That would have come from the Slytherins, but he was familiar with the older students and their current angst issues; most were under control and the house points he'd deducted earlier weren't worth the rancor he detected from that unknown observer.
Not until dinner was nearly over, the volume of student chatter rising as they finished their pudding, did Severus chance to look up into the darker recesses of the enchanted ceiling and notice the wispy forms that were not clouds. Against the starry panels, he could make out the forms of the Bloody Baron, the Gray Lady, the Fat Friar, and Nearly Headless Nick. Nick wasn't trailed by his sniveling girlfriend, for once, but the four seemed to be in earnest discussion.
As if he'd shouted out their names, the four House ghosts turned as one and looked at him. Their regard was neutral, if somewhat unnerving, but Nick was the one who suddenly made a face and then bit the pad of his thumb, waggling his fingers in Snape's general direction.
Severus blinked. He'd rather forgotten the meaning of that medieval insult, but the sentiment behind it was perfectly clear. The Hogwarts' ghosts were not pleased.
&&&&&
However much it galled him, after nearly a week of shortened sleep Severus was forced to relinquish his schemes for humiliating and punishing Hermione Granger. He'd fallen asleep each night with his wand clutched in his hand, only to wake with a pounding headache and vague memories of dreams he'd rather forget. The enticing thought of just retribution was reluctantly pushed aside as he turned his focus on the potions demanded by the Dark Lord. A phalanx of detention draftees pounded, chopped, stirred and brewed under his close supervision every night, most without a clue what they were really accomplishing, as he drove himself and his unwilling assistants hard to complete the preliminary solutions in time. Less than ten days remained before the final battle, and he could no longer afford the distraction.
His own thoughts, however, were less easy to order about than the sullen students who reported to the dungeon. Ten years – had it really been ten years? – of conversations and cooperation had been wiped away with Hermione's perfidy, and Severus found himself dwelling on those years far more than he found comfortable. The quiet evenings were the hardest, after the curfew bells had rung, and he was left alone with only himself for company. He also found his thoughts wandering when he could least afford it, and Severus dreaded the thought of being summoned by the Dark Lord before the prescribed date he'd already been given. A lapse of attention in the company of Death Eaters was a sure way to invite swift and painful punishment.
Although, he mused, being Summoned would have gotten him out of the Order of the Phoenix meeting he was currently enduring. Even a Hogwarts staff meeting was more appealing. He hadn't been in the mood for another trip to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place this Friday afternoon. The Headmaster had insisted, and like a good little spy Severus had tagged along, which was why he was sitting at the battered kitchen table without a stiff drink in his hand listening to Potter and the others pretend to be modest.
It was a mutual admiration society consisting of Harry Potter, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, and Remus Lupin, each doing their best to deny the credit for their brilliant idea. Severus didn't consider it brilliant, and said so in a loud, biting voice.
"You want to HEAL the Dark Lord? Are you mad?!?"
"It makes perfect sense, Severus," Shacklebolt replied reasonably. "We've been mucking about with these spells for months now. Every incantation crafted for phantoms or other creatures at the 'cold' end of the spectrum has hit a brick wall. The spell's target has either got to be non-corporeal spirit, a Dark creature, or a demon from another plane of existence. We thought we were on to something with that last one, but it was no good."
"Harry was the one who finally came up with the solution," Remus said, smiling fondly at the young man who was both student and surrogate son. "It was brilliant, really."
"It wasn't brilliant, Remus, it was just me going spare out of frustration," Harry denied, shaking his head earnestly. "It was really Snape's healing potion that made think of it."
Severus wondered if anyone would notice him being discreetly sick in the potted plant near his chair. "You cannot possibly be serious. You want to hit the most powerful wizard in known history with the Sanguis Inficere -- a Dark Arts spell designed to bring someone back from the brink of death?"
"If it works as planned, the spell will drag Voldemort back to the other end of the magical spectrum," Shacklebolt stated, confidence in his deep voice.
"At the very least," Tonks added, "changing his polar-tee that far will put the mockers on 'im throwing any spells about."
"Po-lar-ity," Harry corrected quietly.
"The spell you're all so glibly discussing is a ritual which requires a significant donation of life-energy," Severus pointed out sharply. "It will kill anyone who's not completely healthy, and that person will be weak and helpless for months afterwards!"
"Now, now, it's not usually fatal for a willing sacrifice," Arthur Weasley objected. "Our Charlie has already volunteered. He claims that working with dragons for all these years has made him stronger than a bug-bear." He traded a worried look with his wife, but Molly pressed her lips together in a brave, tremulous smile.
"Once Voldemort has been infused with Charlie's life force he will be physically healthier, this is true." Dumbledore looked at everyone up and down the table, but his conviction shone through his aged eyes. "It will make him completely mortal, however. And that is when we need to strike."
'We' my arse, Severus thought, observing Harry Potter closely. The young man's eyes were dark green and his gaze was on the scarred wooden trestle table before him, but the weight of all their hopes was on his young shoulders. Not so young, Severus corrected himself, remembering that the boy was twenty-seven just like Ron Weasley. Just like Hermione.
Dragging his attention back to the subject at hand, he made another attempt to derail the madness that had taken hold of the Order. "How, exactly, do you plan to do this effectively? As I recall, the spell usually requires the donor to be in close proximity to the recipient. I somehow doubt the Dark Lord will hold still while we trot Mr. Weasley out and begin chanting nonsense over him!"
Dumbledore was unfazed by his Potion Master's temper. "There are other ways, Severus. The most reliable will require your cooperation, however."
A dark glare did not stop the Headmaster, who reached for one of the pieces of parchment scattered across the table. Without a quill, he stroked his finger across the blank surface, leaving behind a rune.
"Sowelo," Dumbledore said, rather unnecessarily. The rune was part of the introductory curriculum for Ancient Runes, and one of the first sets taught in the class.
"A sigal," Severus guessed immediately.
The older wizard nodded. "Crafted in silver, by a Muggle jeweler who thinks he's creating a piece of jewelry. A tiny pin you will attach to Voldemort's hem upon your next summoning. It's light enough that he should not notice the weight, and being cast by a Muggle will keep any magical signature from attracting his notice."
The small design was innocuous on paper, but cast in precious metal it was a beacon for power; within the aura of a wizard it would draw down the power of the Sanguis Inficere like iron to a magnet. No matter how far away Charlie Weasley was from Voldemort, his spell would home in on the dark wizard like lightening to a tall tree.
"I stand by my earlier statement – you're all mad. You're willing to risk – everything – on the one chance that I'll be able to attach this to his person without his noticing?" Severus felt his jaw muscles knot with tension as he used his finely honed sarcasm to add weight to his objections. "Why don't I pin a note on his back as well, one that says 'Ask me about my halitosis...?'"
Someone down the table snickered – Tonks, most likely, but the rest of the company shifted nervously under his accusing glare.
"It won't be just one chance," Harry muttered, and immediately flinched as an anonymous foot kicked him sharply in the shins.
Severus immediately transferred his sharp glance to the Harry. "What do you mean by that? And don't tell me 'nothing,'" he snapped immediately as the younger man opened his mouth. "What – exactly – does he mean, Albus?"
The old wizard assumed a blank expression as he met Severus' dark eyes. Severus did not relent, and after a long moment Dumbledore sighed ever so slightly.
"We have another operative within the Death Eaters' ranks," he admitted heavily. "He has only recently been admitted to the circle, but he's well placed for our purposes. Voldemort has already told him to ready himself, and while he's been given no specific instructions I have every confidence he'll be summoned on Mabon night."
"With two of you, the odds of successfully planting a sigil will be much greater," Remus volunteered, but Severus scarcely heard the man. He was staring at the Headmaster in absolute horror.
"Albus – No. Please tell me it's not Draco."
A muffled sigh of regret came from Molly's direction, but all of Severus' attention was on the pity radiating from Albus Dumbledore.
"When were you going to inform me?!" he demanded, resentment rising, flooding through him. "Were you going to wait until I was Summoned, and then casually mention I'd be seeing my godson amongst the Death Eaters? Were you even going to tell me at all?"
"Now, Severus, calm yourself." Arthur Weasley made a feeble attempt to reach out towards the man, patting him gently on the shoulder, but Severus shook off the touch as though it were diseased.
"How dare you involve him in this! After all I've done to keep him out of your clutches, old man!"
Dumbledore raised one hand to forestall Severus' ranting. Respect and the habit of years were all that allowed him to keep back the torrent of objections, and although it disgusted him Severus allowed the older wizard to speak.
"Draco came to me, Severus. Through Arthur and Molly, he let me know of his desire to help our cause. I was skeptical, at first, but the young man has been sincere in his dealings with the Weasleys, especially young Ginny."
"No. Absolutely not. I forbid it!"
"Severus…"
"Draco is not to be involved in this!"
Over the babble of voices that rose up, some defending Draco, some expressing doubts on his trustworthiness, Harry Potter's voice was the only one that reached to Severus' ears.
"Professor, this isn't your decision. It's up to Draco. He swears he's doing this for reasons of his own, and they're none of my business. Personally, I think he's proving something to Ginny. But no matter why he's doing it, it's his choice."
"Just as this is your choice, Potter?" Severus retorted with a sneer. "Are you sure it's your decision to try a showdown with the Dark Lord?"
Harry's green eyes met his, and Severus was shaken to see, to feel, the absolute determination at the core of Harry Potter's mind. The Boy Who Lived was ready to meet his destiny, and to give it an unmitigated kick in the arse.
"It's my choice, Professor. It's Draco's choice, and Tonks', and Kingsley's. All of us. Even yours. We all decided to put our lives on the line when we joined the Order."
When the Potions Master made no reply Harry let out a huff of laughter. "Look at it this way, Professor. You could be right about Gryffindors and their foolish bravery. And if we all die, you can stand around and say 'I told you so.'"
&&&&&
Severus was still mulling over Harry's words when he returned to Hogwarts, slipping in one of the back entrances near the greenhouse where no late night wanderers would see him. Even though school had only been in session for two weeks, Severus could not take the chance that some eager overachiever would not be out wandering the halls, determined to be the first to be caught out after curfew.
He was vaguely disappointed to reach his rooms without encountering anyone or anything more provoking than a few mice, scurrying along the dungeon corridors in advance of the light glowing from his wand. Rather than consider that disappointment, Severus focused on the cheek of Harry Potter and their conversation after the Order meeting. A chuff of breath escaped his chest – it could not quite be called a chuckle – at the younger wizard's foolish and stalwart bravado.
The sound was followed by another convulsion in his chest. Had it emerged, it might have been a sob as he clamped down on the despair that threatened to swamp his suddenly fragile control over his emotions. The idea of facing Draco across the circle of Death Eaters left a hollow feeling within him that he'd not been forced to endure for longer than he cared to remember. Into that hollow vortex swirled all the horrors that he could imagine – watching his godson writhe under the punishments that faced the new recruits as they were bent to their master's will, or worse, Draco's composure deserting him at a crucial moment, leading to both of them being exposed as traitors to the Dark Lord.
Sheer force of will, along with a generous measure of fire whiskey, finally brought his wandering thoughts to heel. Another few fingers of whiskey later, and Severus felt nearly calm as he readied himself for the evening. The evening meal had long since been served in the Great Hall, so a quick Floo call though to the kitchen secured a plate of sandwiches from the house elves. A third tumbler went well with the food, and his usual poise had been restored by the time he finished.
As he read over his sheaf of notes, the familiar discipline restored the calm and focus in his mind. An hour after returning to Hogwarts, Severus Snape was once more the self-possessed wizard working on a difficult but not insurmountable series of problems.
He was still mulling over the conflict between what the Dark Lord had mandated, reading over some of his research, as he absently made his way to the bath to answer a call of nature. As he entered the bath and approached the toilet, fumbling one-handed at his buttons, a torrent of water exploded from the bowl.
His only consolation was the fact that he had not had a chance to avail himself of the facilities. The geyser that had been his commode a few moments earlier drenched him instantly and sent sheets of water over the walls of his bathroom. His parchments were hopelessly drenched, the ink running in black rivulets down his hand.
Sheer reflex had his wand out and a hex flying from his mouth before he had thought it through; the porcelain exploded in an arc of jagged shrapnel that fortunately went on a trajectory that did not include Snape. The water died down to a fountain that bubbled from the amputated pipes, spreading a deepening pool across the tile floor.
Drops of water streamed from Severus' hair and down his long nose. "If I'd wanted a bidet, I'd have bloody well installed one!" he shouted at the wreckage. It gurgled threateningly, and a girl's voice rose in the bubbling water, calling him something unintelligible.
All of the anger that had been simmering under the surface for the last week, all of the frustration and emotional turmoil he'd subsumed earlier suddenly boiled over, just has his toilet had.
"BARON! SHOW YOURSELF!!"
The bellow was visceral and immensely satisfying to Severus and he let loose once more as he haphazardly applied a drying charm.
"BARON!!"
He stormed through his rooms to the outer hall entrance, intent on flinging open the door with all the drama his brought to his classroom. Unfortunately, his wool trousers had taken the drying charm rather too well, and by the time he reached the door an impressive static charge had build up. The discharge as he reached for the metal doorknob snapped painfully on his fingertip, and only added to his displeasure as he threw open the door and bellowed out into the dark hallway.
"BARON!!"
"What is it, Snape?"
The voice came from behind, and Severus whirled to see his house ghost already standing inside his rooms, leaving him holding his own door open foolishly. It made a resounding crash as he slammed it shut.
"I demand you do something!"
An expression of vague interest crossed the Bloody Baron's blood hound features, but his attention slid away from his Head of House and wandered along the furnishings of the rooms as if he were considering a sub-let flat of dubious quality. An unformed hum arose from his chest as he thoughtfully sucked at a tooth.
"Did you not hear me?" Severus demanded. "I insist you do something about those…"
"Of course I heard you," the Baron interrupted. "Can hardly help hearing you, most of the time. You really are appallingly loud."
"I beg your pardon?" Severus bit out at this non sequitur.
"We can all hear you, m'boy. From the deepest dungeon to the highest tower, you have a particularly piercing summons. We just all ignore you. Wouldn't do to have us all answering just those who have the gift."
"I give a damn about who hears me and who doesn't. I want to know what you're going to do about that chit exploding my toilet. She's a menace, and she should have been drowned at birth."
"Myrtle's already dead," the Baron pointed out sensibly. "She's a bit brassed off at you, right this moment. I can't say that I blame her."
"Just because she's Granger's little friend…" he began, only to be interrupted.
"Granger? What has this to do with Granger?" The Bloody Baron waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "I haven't spoken to Miss Granger in several evenings. No, Myrtle's bathroom has been filled with the younger girls, all bleating about you mistreating them. The older students are complaining to their Heads of House. The Slytherins aren't speaking to you, so they're coming to me, stupid little gits."
He pinned the Potions Master with a belligerent expression. "In my day, we wouldn't have gone to the heads. We would have ambushed you after class one night and stuffed you in the broom locker down at the Quidditch pitch."
"Myrtle exploded my toilet because I've made a few Hufflepuffs snivel?" Severus could not believe his ears. "If all the asinine, idiotic excuses. I always make the Hufflepuff cry. It's what I live for."
"We had thought you'd found another reason for living," the Baron retorted lightly. "You must have buggered that up, though. As I said, I haven't spoken to Miss Granger for some time. You must have finally run her off."
Severus glowered at the ghostly buccaneer. "That is none of your business."
"It is precisely my business, Snape. If you have grievance against one of my fellows, you should have come to me."
"Her offense does not concern you."
"Ah, but it does. Do you think she's the first spirit to share dreams with one of you Live Ones? Granted, the novices usually choose someone who has a legitimate claim to living, not some shriveled, bitter old man…" The Baron sighed, giving Severus a jaundiced once-over. "But you've got the Gift, so perhaps that explains it."
"Gift of what?" Severus demanded. The Baron did not answer, but touched his temple knowingly. "Legilimency?"
"Legilimency!" the Baron scoffed. "Live Ones – you always have to slap a name on something, outline it, define it. In my day, it was a wild talent, just like your pyro-thingummy.
"You have a talent for it, Snape, and nothing more. Any of you that have the Gift are easier for we spirits to hear. It was originally used for speaking to those beyond the veil, until you all got uppity and started using as you do now."
Startled and confused, Severus leaned against the back of the chair he'd sat in while sharing brandy with his godson. "Wait. Earlier. You said this has happened before. A ghost, entering a dreaming wizard's mind."
The Baron shrugged. "Happens all the time. All right, considering we don't get new spirits in these parts but once a century… about half the newcomers, I'd say. The self-centered ones, like Myrtle, they're too wrapped up within their own misery to impose themselves. The curious ones, however, like Miss Granger, can be a bit of a handful."
With a rueful chuckle, the Baron shook his head. "Miss Hermione could no more resist your calls than any of us could, in the beginning. The Gray Lady and I would have stopped her, had she done harm, or tried to possess one of the young ladies in the school – that's happened a time or two."
"Why…" Severus loathed his own voice when it stammered, and he quickly tamped down on the emotions that had swamped him earlier and were threatening to return in full force. "Why is this allowed to happen? Surely the Ministry has ways to control your kind?"
His question was a bit harsher than planned, and the Baron's demeanor grew colder. Literally, that is; the room temperature dropped a few degrees, until Severus' breath wafted white in the candlelight.
"You have no idea what it means to lose the corporeal world! Never to touch again. Never to taste. To exist only as a shadow, a reflection of what you once were… It's a trial, and it goes on for eternity.
"Spirits have been freed from the lusts of the body, Snape, but never the yearnings of their hearts. We have all succumbed to the lure of a human's dreams, at one time or another. Mostly we discourage it amongst ourselves, and almost always we stop on our own, as it is as false as leprechaun gold and lasts even less time. Yes, The Ministry has some means of control, and used it accordingly on Myrtle. Had Hermione done you any harm at all, we would have intervened.
"Miss Granger did you no harm, though. Did she?" The Baron pinned Severus with a sharp glare, and he was forced to honesty. Graciousness was not required, however, and was completely absent in his answer.
"No. She only invaded my privacy and intruded where she was not wanted."
"Wasn't wanted, eh?" The Baron snorted. "Don't fool yourself, Snape. We can all hear you at night, grizzling like a babby with a new tooth. You called her, right enough. And she answered."
"I did not call her!" Severus ground out, incensed.
"Not consciously, no. But you've been a Professor in this castle for twenty-odd years, now, and you've had nightmares nearly all that time."
"And what exactly are you implying?"
"Your head leaks, boy!" the Baron roared. "Anyone with the Gift does, when they dream. Not clearly or loudly, thanks be for small favors, or you'd have driven us all out of the castle by now."
Severus was silent, considering the information he'd just learned. He struggled not to apply this new knowledge to Hermione's actions, but his own innate logic forced him to accept the truth. The Baron, a true Slytherin, let him wallow in his own remorse for several long minutes.
"The girl was following her heart, and a good heart it is, too. She has done nothing to injure you, and a great deal that deserves your thanks instead of your condemnation."
He glowered at his house ghost from under lowered eyelids. Self-castigation was one thing, but Severus neither needed nor welcomed any contribution from the Baron.
"I will apologize," he retorted stiffly. "I understand my error," he added, all but spitting the words out in flat tones.
"No, I don't think you do," the Baron replied quietly. "Have you never wondered why the girl stayed in the first place?"
Severus frowned, but the ghost continued speaking in a deathly serious voice. "I wasn't about the castle, the day Hermione Granger died. But I was informed that you had tried to save her. I saw your grief, afterwards, just as those boys did. And every spirit in the castle could hear your Gift calling, like a howl in the wilderness.
"It wasn't much of a surprise when Miss Hermione came back, my boy. Even if the girl didn't care for you at all, she would have come back. She's like that, after all. She likes to be helpful. Useful. Needed," the Baron added. "She stayed because of you, Severus Snape. You think of that, the next time you take it in your head to shout at her."
Severus barely noticed when the Baron strode off, walking through his stone wall like a curtain of mist. Neither did he notice that the temperature in the room had recovered from the chill of the ghost's earlier snit. All his thoughts, all of his emotions, were focused solely on the young woman who had spent ten years in his dungeons. She had become a fixture in his life, somehow. The notion that he was somehow responsible for her staying on this plane of existence, when she so patently deserved another, was so painful that even the movement of his breathing caused agony to cascade through his body.
Surely the Baron was mistaken. There was no reason that Hermione Granger would have remained on this earthly coil when another, better place awaited her. His feelings, no matter how obvious to those who could hear, would never have influenced a student to whom he'd never been kind.
Unable to keep a consistent argument in his head to refute the Baron's words, Severus drifted into his wingback chair and let his thoughts spin round without attempting to form them into a coherent whole. Mostly they consisted of memories of Hermione, the hours spent together in his lab, the small arguments and comfortable silences they'd shared in a decade of each other's forced company.
When his left arm flared in pain, summoning him to the Dark Lord's circle, it was nearly a relief.
&&&&&
In theory, time was meaningless to a ghost; they were eternal and unchanging. Death had removed Hermione Granger from the relentless cycles of nature and placed her outside the dangerous rapids of life that buffeted mere mortals. She had died, and being dead, she was scarcely aware of the changing seasons while year turned to year.
The last six days, however, had been a torturous hell she had thought reserved for those souls who had passed through the curtain she had neglected to enter. Gossip in the halls, from the students and the portraits and the other ghosts, brought her information she wasn't at all sure she wanted to know. She knew that Severus Snape had been in what might generously be called a snit; even Slytherin had not been exempt from the absolute hailstorms of detentions that had plagued all four houses. If nothing else, she could be sure Severus had enough hands to cut up ingredients and prepare the potion bases he needed.
The first rays of the sun were just beginning to lighten the eastern horizon, easily visible from Hermione's nook at the top of the staircase, when the staircase below rumbled and moved into position. She paid it little attention, though, as the stairways often began moving as the castle occupants came awake. Each dawn brought the final battle closer, and the tension that mounted as she counted down the days would have killed her if she hadn't been dead already. As it was, she could only wait, and worry, and, while she had lost nearly all her religious convictions after her own death, pray for those whom she loved most.
The soft scrape of a boot sole against the dust on the landing did catch her attention, and her curiosity. Not once, in all the time she'd haunted the highest vantage point in the castle, had anyone ventured up this far. She turned away from the window, guessing that Harry Potter was making one of his infrequent visits to the castle and sought her out. He usually made a point to speak to her whenever he came to Hogwarts.
The man who appeared was not Harry Potter. He still wore the enveloping black robes of a Death Eater, and one side pocket swung heavily with the weight of the silver mask.
"Hermione," was all Severus said.
Her voice rasped ever so slightly as she acknowledged him. "Professor. I didn't know you had been summoned again."
He did not respond immediately, though one shoulder lifted in a weary shrug. As reluctant as she was to provoke his temper, she was prompted to ask him, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." His ebony eyes lifted to meet hers and seemed to stare straight through her. "I wanted to talk to you."
Even without the need to breathe, the urge to sigh was unavoidable. "Is there anything left to say?" she asked rhetorically. "I offended you, and I overstepped all bounds of acceptable behavior for a ghost. You'd be perfectly within your rights to have me exorcised. At the very least you're within your rights to speak to the Baron about having me censured."
"I did had a word, with the Baron," Severus admitted. "He had quite a bit to say."
"Did he tell you he warned me to stay away from you?"
He seemed startled by that, but shook his head. "No."
Hermione took a moment to look the subdued man over, and was not happy with what she saw. "You look like hell," she said baldly.
"That sounds like something Albus would say. Has said, though not in so many words."
The words stuck in her throat, but she forced them out anyway. "You should get some rest. There's not much time left."
"I know," he said softly. "I've tried to sleep. I can't."
She raised one eyebrow at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched in self-mocking humor.
"After that day we quarreled, I stayed awake all the next night. I was sure you'd come back, wanting to make amends. You never came back."
Hermione lifted her chin. She had only a little pride left when it came to this man, but it remained at the core of what she was. "I understood that I'm not welcome, Professor. You made it quite clear."
His dark head nodded, as if in agreement. "You haven't come back to the dungeons at all, have you? Not once. I can feel your absence."
"You've been shouting at me for years to leave you alone. Now I have."
Uncharacteristically, Severus shifted his weight and peered up at Hermione's translucent gray form where she hovered above him. "I only intended… my privacy has always been sacred to me, Hermione. I never meant that I did not want your presence."
A flash of pain and outrage swept through Hermione at those words. "My presence is welcome, Professor? Or just my labors? You've never valued either, so I'll make it easier for you, and stay completely out of your way."
With a self-righteous huff she turned towards the farthest corner from the dawn light coming through the windows, her form drifting down and away as she began to fade from view.
"Hermione – wait! Please. Wait."
Reluctantly Hermione paused and became a bit more visible, although she remained half in and half out of the solid stone wall. With an audible inhale of air, the Potions Master sank down on the small wooden bench to one side of her little sanctuary. His black hair, disordered and looking in need of a wash, moved in lank hanks over shoulders as he rubbed his tired face and leaned his elbows onto his knees.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Pure shock kept her silent, and he filled the awkward silence with an outpouring of honesty that was a blend of confession and an exhausted ramble. "I took a Dreamless sleep potion the night after we argued. I didn't trust you.
"The next night – I waited. I thought you'd come. When I did finally sleep, I kept dreaming the same thing. I was searching for something. Every night, for the last ten or so days… I search for something I cannot find. I run, or dig, or climb endless towers, looking for it. I call, and call, but it never appears. I never find it."
"I've felt you, calling me," she told him in a small, bitter voice. "I stayed away, as you asked."
"I don't want you to stay away," he admitted roughly. "I should have admitted it when the nightmares began again. Last night, when I was summoned, I half expected you to be there in my rooms, telling me to be careful. And I knew you wouldn't be waiting for me to come back."
"I don't understand. I thought you were angry with me."
"Angry," he scoffed. His voice was full of pain, as were his eyes when he opened them again. His next words were pulled from him reluctantly.
"I've given up," he said simply. "I can't find what I'm looking for, because you're not there any more. Last night, standing in the Dark Lord's presence, I should have been listening, but instead I squandered the time trying to remember where what you said you did with yourself when you weren't with me. Appalling, isn't it? Nothing came to mind. Just the time we've spent together, side by side. The things you've said. Your focus and drive and your amazing, able mind. Not even death was able to stop you from accomplishing the things you wanted."
Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione drifted down to the floor level, barely even daring to consider what, exactly, the exhausted man in front of her was saying. His eyes were black and glittered with emotion that she never expected, never even dared to hope even after admitting to herself that she loved him. His sincerity was apparent in his face, and even more so when he reached out one hand to her.
"I can only find it here, Hermione. With you."
Hermione stared at the outstretched hand with consternation. "Severus, I can't touch you," she told him, her own voice cracking with emotion.
"Take my hand," he commanded, in a voice that brooked no argument. Longing and fear warred with each other until courage overrode all, and she reached across the small distance between them and wrapped her fingers around his. The heat of his living flesh was searing, and she knew her own was devastatingly cold to him, but they both carefully grasped the semi-solid reality of each other as fully as they could.
Severus drew himself up to his full height, austere and formal. "I do not wish to be without your company, Hermione Granger. It's far too lonely in the dungeons, and that is something I thought I'd never say."
"I've missed you, Severus," she confessed. "You've no idea how hard it's been to be without you."
A rare smile crossed his face. "I have some idea, I believe." He dropped his hand from hers, fingers blue with cold. "If we only had more time, I would have liked to find a way to make it up to you." He resumed his seat on the bench, weariness once more settling on his shoulders.
"Unfortunately, we have only six days left until Mabon night. The entire Order is making plans for battle, although secrecy is the utmost importance until that day. After the battle…I expect we'll have more time to talk, then."
Hermione agreed and moved over to join him, settling on the far end of the bench where the sunlight was not so painfully bright. Their relationship could not be mended in the short time they had available to them, and the looming battle was more important than any misunderstanding, no matter how devastating.
"Have they a plan, then?"
"Only the optimistically deluded would call this a plan," Severus observed dryly. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the rune sigal Dumbledore had given him just a short time earlier, when he'd returned from the Dark Lord's summons.
In broad terms, he outlined the intention to drag Voldemort back towards the mortal end of the magical spectrum, with the intention that he would then be more vulnerable to standard spells.
"And this little pin is part of the plan?" she questioned in disbelief. "Are they mad?"
"Those were my thoughts exactly. And to make it worse, they've dragged my godson into their foolishness."
Hermione shot him a look of exasperated patience. "Severus, I realize Ancient Runes never held your fascination, but do you mean to tell me you've never really looked at Harry's scar?"
"It's a lightning bolt shape. Jagged, red, and hardly remarkable."
"That's what Dumbledore's been saying for years – other than the unremarkable bit. But you've obviously never looked at his reflection in the mirror."
Familiar patterns of conversation fell into place, and Severus made no effort to stifle his sarcasm. "I've never gossiped with him in the loo, if that's what you're implying."
Another irritated look was thrown his way before Hermione leaned over and blew gently onto the dark stone wall between them. A sheet of frost obligingly formed, thick and white.
"Write the Sowelo rune," she commanded. Realizing the futility of argument, Severus did as he was bid and used his finger to scrape the jagged backwards 'Z' shape.
"And Harry's scar looks like this," she continued, and ran her finger over the wall next to the frosty circle, much as Dumbledore's finger had written on parchment the night before. Her finger left behind a line of white frost, this time in the lightning bolt shape that graced Harry Potter's forehead. The two marks were exact mirror images of each other.
"Don't you see? This is the key. Harry was marked as Voldemort's equal. His scar is a reflection of the Sowelo rune, and when Charlie Weasley enacts his spell, Harry will be part of that energy connection.
"I've heard all the stories that Tom Riddle spent years putting all sorts of enchantments on himself, to make himself immortal. One of the ways to link your physical self to magic is to have the spell actually tattooed on your body. Like the Dark Mark. Sirius Black had tattoos on his chest, and I remember wondering about that when we were at Grimmauld Place, so I went and looked it up. If I were going to make myself immortal, I can imagine spells, runes, being tattooed all over…"
"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…." Severus quoted, his voice almost gravelly with shock.
"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives," Hermione finished quoting the prophecy. In contrast, her voice had taken on the excited edge that always accompanied her incredible leaps of logic.
"Positive and negative electricity cannot meet without shorting out or causing sparks to fly. But if you put something in the circuit, to control the flow –"
"Charlie Weasley –"
"Will be creating a power circuit on the battlefield, but it's going to include Harry as well as Voldemort. And if Dumbledore isn't already aware of this possibility, I'm the bloody Queen of May."
"Of course he is, the old sod. He's going to be on the battlefield, next to Harry. I'd lay odds he's expecting this."
"You're going to need something in the circuit that can control that much power."
"And if we can channel it to Potter, away from the Dark Lord… we have to talk to Dumbledore." He rose in a swirl of black and strode impatiently for the staircase. "Well, woman? Are you coming with me?"
"To the Headmaster's office, or the dungeons? You need to change," she reminded him.
"Both," he declared, then faltered. "Hermione, I want you to come back to the dungeons – but only the dungeons. For now," he added quickly. "Don't think I don't want --" his usual facility with words failed him suddenly, and a faint touch of color appeared on his cheekbones. He took a breath, and continued.
"As the appellation of 'greasy git' no longer applies to me, it is expected the students will likely begin to refer to me as a lazy git. It's not often a middle-aged professor spends all of his spare time pottering about in his lab and sleeping."
His black eyes burned with an intense fire, and a promise. "But I cannot afford the distraction now, Hermione. Every last effort must be made in the effort to defeat the Dark Lord, and I won't falter now, not when we're so close."
"I understand, Severus. I even agree, believe it or not. And when the war is over?"
His smile was slow to grow, but revealed the same delight and roguish charm Hermione had, up until this point, seen only in his dreams. "Then we will dream – together."