Chapter Forty-Seven

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Hermione stumbled back to their rooms, light-headed and tipsy. Severus wasn't inside, so she dropped her bag and her outer robes on the sofa, yawning. A pile of papers spilt out of her bag onto the floor, and Hermione squinted at them. It was her newspaper articles from the library.

What had she been preparing to do with them? Something about...Grindelwald.

The bathroom door clicked open, and Severus emerged. He pushed wet hair out of his face glancing at Hermione and then looking back properly.

"Are you alright?"

"Mm fine," Hermione mumbled, leaning her head on the arm of the chair.

"Are you...drunk?"

Severus was leaning over her, peering down.

"Dear God, you smell like a fucking firewhiskey distillery."

"Hello Severus," Hermione said as his face disappeared. "Where've you been? S'been ages. I've missed you."

Severus reappeared, uncorking a bottle and handing it to her.

"Drink this," he said tersely.

Hermione peered suspiciously at the bottle, then shrugged and drank it down. It tasted like mouthwash, and she coughed and spluttered as her head cleared.

"Jesus Sev, what the hell!"

"Back, are you?"

Hermione shook her head, clarity returning. The room's edges came back into focus, and the walls began to stand still again. Her head no longer felt stuffed with cotton wool.

"Did you have to give me the most disgusting sober-up potion on the market?"

"I'd rather discuss why you were drinking at all," Severus snapped back, but it lacked bite. Looking at him with sober eyes, Hermione noticed he was paler than before the holidays, and his eyes had deep rings.

"I used an alcohol removal spell," she said. "No damage done."

"Right."

Except, Hermione remembered with a wince, there had been some damage. Damage in the form of a Dark Mark bearing a lightning bolt hovering above the astronomy tower at that moment.

"Oh shit," she muttered, putting her head in her hands.

"What?" Severus said.

"Nevermind. I'll be back soon," Hermione said, standing and reaching for her cloak.

"It's two in the morning. Where are you going?" Severus demanded.

Hermione grimaced. A headache was building in her temples. "So theoretically, if someone got drunk and cast a Dark Mark with an offensive twist above Hogwarts and left it there...how pissed off do you think Voldemort would be?"

Severus stared at Hermione for several long seconds, then he swore colourfully and grabbed his cloak.

"Stay there," he said sharply and left at a run. He was back a minute later, panting.

"Which tower?"

"Astronomy," Hermione said, and Severus vanished again.

"Shit." She rubbed her forehead. Did Severus even know how to take down a Dark Mark?

While Hermione waited for Severus to return, she changed out of her robes and gathered up the fallen papers from her bag. She began to reread them, so absorbed she didn't hear the door opening half an hour later.

Severus cleared his throat. "That was quite the piece of magic."

"You took it down?"

"With difficulty. You were really drunk when you cast it?"

"Completely smashed," Hermione said, and she could have sworn that Severus's lips twitched.

"Not bad," he said, removing his coak and sinking onto the sofa.

It was the friendliest conversation that they'd had in weeks. Hermione wasn't sure what had brought it about, but she decided to take advantage. She'd wanted to share the discoveries she had made in the library with Severus. He had a sharp mind for things like this.

"I need to talk to you about something," Hermione said.

Severus turned to her. "What?"

Hermione pulled out the newspapers and spread them across the floor. She pointed at them.

"I wanted to find out more about Grindelwald - I was sure he was behind something here - and I did some research. Can you take a look at these and tell me if I'm seeing connections where there aren't any?"

"Him again?" Severus said, sighing. "Hermione, do we have to do this now? I'm really tired, and I want to get to bed."

Hermione hesitated. She was so certain that she'd found anything. Severus looked at her face and sighed.

"Alright. Let's hear it."

"Look," Hermione said at once, pointing at the first article. "The pureblood alliance: The largest secret society you've never heard of."

Severus snorted. "Not very secret if they're writing about it in a newspaper."

"Just listen," Hermione said and launched into the article before he could object.

"Rumours have abounded for decades about a secret society with members that span continents and care nothing for international borders. But these have been mere rumours, and no evidence has ever come to light of such a society existing - until now."

"Dramatic," Severus said, unlacing his boots and propping his feet on the sofa.

"Recent events at Durmstrang Institute of Magic," Hermione continued, "are rumoured to be the work of the Pureblood Alliance. Durmstrang itself is said to have several prestigious ex-members, including Lord Aleksander Karkaroff and Gellert Grindelwald."

Hermione paused and stared triumphantly at Severus. He looked back, nonplussed.

"Don't you see?" she said excitedly. "This is what Ivan was doing! He must have been a part of this - this must be why he took his Grandfather's name! He was a member - maybe even a high up member - of this secret society."

She picked up another article, waving it at Severus. "And look - 'Scamander denies the existence of Pureblood Alliance. "It's an absurd fantasy and something that no self-respecting wizard would be involved in," Reuben Scamander Jr told reporters. "Diversity is the beauty of our wizarding world and is something we must all seek to cultivate."'"

"So?" Severus said blankly.

"Reuben Scamander is Ivan's father, " Hermione said. "I think he made this statement as a warning, or maybe to distance himself from what Ivan was getting involved in. Wait, look - there's more."

She pulled a final article from the bottom of the pile and showed it to Severus.

"Scamander claims Grindelwald title," she read out loud. "It's from last year! It's about Ivan laying claim to the Grindelwald line. Listen - Seventeen-year-old Ivan Scamander - grand-nephew of the magizoologist Newt Scamander - today shocked the Bulgarian nation as he appeared in court to lay claim to the dormant title of his Grandfather, the infamous dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. The ministry did not choose to comment at this time."

"Quite the impressive magical lineage," Severus said, his back now turned as he filled the kettle.

"But don't you see what it means?" Hermione said impatiently. "It's obvious! Ivan joined up with the Pureblood Alliance when he was at Durmstrang. No wonder he took the Grindelwald name."

Severus banged his cup down on the counter a little too hard. "All very impressive sleuthing," he said dryly, "but that doesn't give the slightest explanation as to what he was doing at Hogwarts or why he tried to kill you repeatedly."

Hermione hesitated and then slowly unfolded the last paper.

Bulgaria furious as werewolves invited to join Dark Lord Voldemort.

"So what?" Severus shrugged.

"It all makes sense!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't you see? The Pureblood Alliance must have heard of Voldemort - he's obviously got the same ideas as them - but they're angry about the way he's going about things, inviting half-human creatures into his army. They might even know he's not a pureblood himself."

"If they're that concerned, why aren't they going after Voldemort then?" Severus said.

Hermione shook her head. "Remember when Ivan arrived? Right after the summer, when Voldemort announced he was naming me second in command! It finally makes sense."

Severus poured his tea and added milk, then turned to face her, his face giving nothing away.

"I think it's far-fetched," he said at last.

"What? It makes sense!" Hermione said furiously. "All year, I've been lost on why Grindelwald was trying to kill me, and now I know! That time he sealed us into Bellatrix's office? I bet he'd have been delighted if Bellatrix drowned too. He's working for the Pureblood Alliance. They're trying to take down Voldemort."

"I'm sorry, I don't think it makes sense," Severus said flatly. "Why are they trying to kill you and not Voldemort? Don't you think they'd have focussed their efforts there?"

"I don't know," Hermione said impatiently. "All I've got is what newspaper articles have reported. But there must be so much more out there than that. If only I could get Arabel to do some research -"

"But you can't," Severus snapped. "On account of her being exiled because of this dead man you're suddenly so interested in."

"For the last time, I didn't fucking kill him," Hermione said, resisting the urge to throw the newspaper at Severus. He raised his eyebrows and turned away as though finished with the conversation.

"Severus!"

"I can't do this right now," Severus said in a low voice, and as he turned, Hermione caught sight of his face caught in the light and saw something she hadn't seen before. Salt tracks on his cheeks, catching the light. Severus had been crying.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

"No." Severus turned back to the bathroom. Hermione's heart clenched.

"What's happened?"

"Nothing." Severus shut the door behind him.

Hermione was in bed with a book when Severus returned from the bathroom. He picked up his tea and sat on the bed across from her, and she tried not to let her surprise show.

"You were right. I need to talk to you about something too," Severus said.

Dread pooled in Hermione's stomach at the anger on his face. "Yes?"

"My mother's dying," Severus said. His brows were knotted together, pale hands twisting in his lap, eyes glittering, and Hermione abruptly realised he wasn't angry. He was on the edge of falling apart.

For several seconds Hermione couldn't find any words at all. A cold feeling settled over her.

"Sev, I - "

She stopped. There weren't words left that she could say.

"It hasn't been fast," Severus said, the words pouring out of him. "It was the shock at first. They took her to St Mungo's, and she stopped speaking. Then she stopped eating and drinking, and they had to spell it into her. Now she's just...fading away. I talked to her, but she couldn't see me. She didn't hear me. It's like she's just given up on life."

Hermione hung back, still wary of him.

Severus drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He looked small, vulnerable in a way that Hermione had never seen before.

"I've been so angry," he said hoarsely. "I blamed you for it. I've been - God, I've been such an arsehole."

Hermione didn't move. Couldn't. But she couldn't reach out either. Then the tears spilt from Severus's eyes, and he turned his head away, tucking it into the crook of his arm, and Hermione wasn't in control of her actions anymore. Before she knew how it had happened, Severus was in her arms, his head against her should, and he was clinging to her desperately, fingers clenched tightly into the front of her robes.

Hermione held him for what seemed like hours as he sobbed himself dry. Her stomach ached, and her legs were stiff, but she couldn't bring herself to let go. She breathed in the smell of him, the mixture of herbs and smoke.

When Severus finally stopped shaking, Hermione didn't let go. She pressed her face into his hair, unwilling to meet his gaze or speak to him lest the moment was broken. He couldn't go back to the way things had been before. He just couldn't. She waited for Severus to push her away, get up, and leave, but he didn't. He stayed there, in her arms, breathing steadily.

Hermione's legs began to cramp with discomfort, and she shifted slightly, stretching them out. Severus moved too, sliding away, and she braced herself for the moment he would leave. But he didn't. He slid off her lap and onto the bed and then pulled her down with him until they were lying in the darkness facing each other.

Hermione still couldn't look at him, too afraid of what she'd see in his face. So far as she could tell, Severus wasn't looking at her either. But in the dark, she felt his knuckles brush against hers. It felt like a question, and hardly daring to breathe, she spread her fingers in response. A moment's hesitation, and Severus slipped his hand into hers.

His palm was warm and dry and achingly familiar. They lay there in the dark, hands pressed together but touching in no other way.

"Severus," Hermione whispered. She wanted to ask if he was alright. If she could do anything to help. Whether the school knew. But instead, she found a different question leaving her lips.

"Why can't you forgive me?"

Severus closed his eyes and twisted to stare up at the ceiling.

"I did forgive you. I forgave you the next day."

Hermione rolled towards him, mind racing. "But all year - since the wedding - you've -"

"I know," Severus said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Why?"

Severus didn't answer for so long that Hermione thought he had gone to sleep. He turned his head, eyes wet again with tears.

"I was scared. Of you, of the future, of everything."

"Scared?" Hermione asked. It was the one word she couldn't have imagined.

Severus turned away, tracing lines in the condensation on the window that led to the black lake.

"Terrified. You remember the pensieve you showed us all? To prove that you came from the future?"

He didn't wait for her to answer.

"I saw myself in it, Hermione. You thought you were showing us proof of the future, but I saw something different. I saw myself. A Death Eater and a murderer. A man with two masters, and no place or person to call his own."

"But you -"

Severus ignored her and continued.

"I saw someone who lost everything and followed Voldemort just to feel like they mattered. Like someone saw them. I had nobody, and I went to him."

Severus laughed bitterly. "It turns out I'm more of a follower than a leader."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he was still speaking.

"Damn it, Hermione, you don't understand what it's like to know that you have nothing in life except what somebody else tells you to do. I fell for Voldemort, and I fell for Dumbledore. Why is following you any different?"

Hermione's throat closed. "I wouldn't make you - I'd never -"

"You didn't have to make me. You're so damn good at it," Severus said. "Look at the rest of them - Rabastan, Arabel and them all. They'd follow you anywhere."

"Not anymore."

"Yes, they would, and you know it. Oh, you don't do it on purpose - but that makes it worse. It's so natural to you to manipulate people to act without thinking about them. I was scared Hermione, really scared that with you, I'd be living out that life again, just with a different master."

Hermione lay frozen, every muscle in her face stiff with the effort not to collapse. At last, the truth. Was he right? Was she the monster he painted?

Memories flooded her. Bringing Alecto into the woods to kill her brother, knowing that murder would bind them to her. Building Regulus up, giving him confidence and a place to excel away from his brother's shadow. Giving herself to Severus. Letting him love her. But it had been real, all of it. She'd loved him back. She still loved him back.

"You're wrong," Hermione whispered into the dark.

Severus had been staring out of the window into the blackness of the lake. He turned back.

"I'm what?"

"Wrong," Hermione said fiercely. "You're wrong. You don't know me like you think you do if that's who you think I am."

"I know you," Severus said, his mouth tightening, and Hermione knew she was losing him. She grabbed his hand again.

"No, you don't. You've known the after me, not the before me. I came to this time straight from fucking prison, Severus. I'd just seen everyone I loved die. Do you really think that's all I am? Look," she said, meeting his eyes. It wasn't a command; it was an invitation. Severus hesitated on the threshold for a long time, so long that Hermione almost gave up. But he entered, at last, a cool presence inside her mind.

Look and see who I am, Severus Snape.

Hermione had shown Severus memories before, but the focus had been on the war. They'd been hurried, no time for nuance, exploring, or proving anything except that she spoke the truth. This time she needed Severus not just to see but to understand.

Hermione tightened her grip on Severus's hands, an anchor to the world they lived in and dived into the stream of memories.

She began with childhood. The lonely girl trying again and again to make friends but never understanding the other children, nor them her. Who fell into books and knowledge as an escape from the real world, spending countless nights buried in the pages and found comfort and escape there—warmth and companionship where the real world fell short.

Her first day at Hogwarts. Bushy hair and buck teeth, and an inability to shut up. The first classes, even her first potions class with him. Severus jolted in her mind when he saw it, but she didn't linger, bringing him next to the terrible day when she'd locked herself in the toilets crying, and Harry and Ron had saved her from a troll.

Hermione took Severus to the quest for the philosopher's stone and her frantic dash through the castle to bring help. To the end of year feast, beside Harry and Ron. She was a child. Not a manipulator, just a girl with finally some friends, who perhaps didn't understand her but loved her regardless.

It was hard not to skip through the years, lingering on the dramatic moments. The basilisk glaring at her from the silver face of the mirror, the werewolf transforming before their eyes, riding a Hippogriff with Sirius Black, and Harry emerging from the maze clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory. Those were important, but they weren't the whole truth. Hermione showed Severus the rest, too.

The quiet moments before the fire in the Gryffindor tower, laughing with Ron and Harry. Dancing with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball. Crying in the dormitory behind closed curtains after Ron got together with Lavender. Holding Ron's hand at Dumbledore's funeral. Cooking mushroom soup for Harry and Ron in a tent while Harry swung Slytherin's locket back and forth resentfully.

She showed him all of it. The last time she had seen Harry and Ron in the forbidden forest, the green light dappling Harry until he looked like an angel. Fighting Voldemort in the final battle. Holding Ron's hand, sobbing desperately as he slumped against the wall, chest blown open. Watching Harry fall and running, running running. Severus would be able to feel what she felt. The hollowness. The agony. The knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again, and that Hermione Granger, the little girl who had hidden inside books to hide from the real world, would have to change now to survive.

Running. Hiding. Training with Mad-Eye Moody. Constant Vigilance. Digging up graves for potions ingredients. Inscribing runes on rocks beneath the full moon and scattering them around muggle villages to offer as much protection as she could. Holding in her arms a little girl who had been savaged by werewolves and realising she could not cry anymore. Rocking the girl until she passed on, unable to do more. Watching her slip away. Hardening her heart. Standing up. Moving on. Carrying on. What else could she do?

They all hardened in the end. Even Luna, even Ginny, even little Dennis Creevey had tagged along with the crew until he was old enough to fight alongside them. You couldn't live the way they did and remain soft; it would kill you. There was only so much grief a body could take.

They were picked off, one by one. Voldemort ruled, and his forces grew and swelled until their rag-tag band of rebels was nothing more than a nuisance to him, a fly to swat. They hid in caves and abandoned huts, and they struck when they could, but more frequently, they were hunted. The last day when the Death Eaters blasted their way into the cave system the order was hiding in, and they were all dragged out like ants pouring into the sunlight.

The ministry dungeons. Holding hands with Luna, dirty skin against skin, for hour after hour. Knowing she would never forget the blueness of her eyes or the whiteness of her smile. Lunna dragged away. Gone. Discovering she could cry after all.

Nobody left. The time turner. The veil. Blackness, dizziness, and pressure, and the largest part of her praying that death really had come at last and she could see them again. Harry. Ron. Luna. Ginny. Mad-Eye. Remus. All the parts of her heart. Her beloved ones.

She was not cold. She was hard, but she was not empty. Her heart held a reservoir of love that had grown more vast over the years until it could have flooded a desert and still had room to flow. She possessed a capacity to love passionately, and she had given that love freely. And for those she loved, she had crossed every line, broken every boundary, and would do it all a thousand times over.

When Severus slipped out of her mind, Hermione slumped onto the pillows trembling. Every muscle in her body burned, and her cheeks were crusted with tears that had flowed and dried. Severus was shaking, his hand still locked with hers. Beyond the window, the faintest hint of green filtered through the water. They had spent the whole night in her mind.

"Hermione," Severus said, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. "I'm - I'm sorry."

"You -"

"I didn't understand," he said. "I thought I knew what your life was like, and I thought I understood, but I hadn't seen anything, had I? My god."

Hermione rubbed at her face wearily. She was beyond exhausted; it felt like she had been through a dozen rounds of sparing with Lord Voldemort.

Seemingly unable to find words, Severus shook his head. "Can you forgive me?"

"I fucked up too," Hermione said quietly. "Sometimes, I forget that we're not in the middle of open war right now. I forget that we're just at school and that not everyone is killing each other right out in the open. My mind doesn't - I don't know, it's like my body acts before my mind can catch up."

"I know," Severus said quietly. "I know now."

Hermione could hear his heartbeat, see the pulse flickering in his neck. He was alive. He was real. There was much she wanted to say, but her throat was dry and her head was spinning with exhaustion, so she let it fall back to the pillows. They fell asleep like that, curled up beneath the eerie light of the black lake.

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Thanks for reading,

Cas