Summary: AU, SSHG, Crack, In a world where Lily lived, life was not perfect for Severus Snape. Hope came with the arrival of Hermione Granger who first became his apprentice, friend, and then so much more. But old friends are not happy with his happiness, and one spell changes everything.
Beta Love: Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01
Barely
Chapter Five
The devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you've ever wished for.
Tucker Max
Amelia sipped her tea as she watched Manfred patiently teaching his two apprentices how to keep their ley tendrils to themselves. Hermione's hair was writhing as if alive, and Severus' was literally standing on end, and the both of them had a gathering of ley tendrils nesting in their hair and moving across their bodies with an excitable crackle of energy.
"It's good to see Manfred with apprentices," she said after a while. "He's been terribly lonely in his isolation from most folk."
Nora rubbed the skin above and behind her ear idly. "Those two have a genuinely positive force about them. Together, they cause change and growth. They've learned to rely on each other for grounding and strength, and I can only wish that others could learn from their example. Not that I would ever wish anyone to suffer what they have in order to get there."
Amelia scrunched her face. "I read the reports. I honestly hadn't read too deeply into them until Manfred took them underwing. Maybe I should have."
Nora shrugged. "You'd have wanted to take them into the DoM and teach them there and, honestly, I'm not sure that would have been best for them. They've already forged bonds with the centaur, gained the blessing of Hades, jumpstarted our canine training program—I'm sure anyone could have done much the same, but they hadn't. Those two did. They fall down but always help each other back up. Johnson won't ever let them forget the day they mistook the scent of sage for marijuana during training. It's all about laughs now but I think it's great that they can learn and grow without having to be sequestered away in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries."
Amelia sniffed. "I suppose so. It's also good that Minerva has some extra help training them. I have the utmost faith that she could train them well enough on her own but now she doesn't have to. She has more than enough to do with keeping the school running smoothly while old Albus is being thoroughly picked over by every diagnostic wand in the DoM on his healing team."
"Why isn't Manfred working on the healing team?"
"He has," Amelia said with a frown. "Albus, however, absolutely refuses to be treated by him. And since he is conscious and able to make supposedly sound decisions as to his own care, we cannot force him."
"I think that in itself is proof positive that he isn't making sound decisions, Amelia," Nora said with a scowl.
Amelia sighed. "There is plenty of history there," she said. "Bad history. And he has some strange paranoia about those two, as well. I caught him calling them the harbingers of death."
"Death?" Nora said, narrowing her eyes. "As in dying or as in Lord Hades?"
"Yes," Amelia said. "I'm sure that both apply when it comes to Albus. And it doesn't exactly help that Manfred was quite literally the anthropomorphic incarnation of Camazotz once upon a time. I'm fairly certain that Albus thinks Manfred is Death Himself for whatever reason. Manfred himself makes no such claims, by the way. He says that being Death is entirely too much responsibility, and he has enough of that as it is."
"What an odd thing to say," Nora chuckled.
"He's positively ancient, Nora," Amelia said with a quirk of her lip. "You get used to his little idiosyncrasies. To Manfred, everyone is but a child to be nurtured and guided. We're just lucky we have him on our side and teaching us some of the ancient arts long forgotten. He'll still be teaching those two when we're naught but ash and bones in the ground. But he'll have a true family in them, and that makes me happy."
"You're such a mother to all of us," Nora chided.
Amelia just shrugged. "It's a gift."
"Why didn't you ever apprentice with him?" Nora asked, curious.
"Me? A healer? No," Amelia laughed as she dismissed the notion. "I have never been one for the healing arts," she said. "Such a gift would be utterly wasted on me."
Amelia looked sombre, the tug on her eyebrows drew them together. "Poppy broke his heart back in the day. Such talent. He thought the world of her, and then she couldn't accept the test of his breath."
"Is it anything like Nundu breath?" Nora asked.
"Somewhat," Amelia said thoughtfully. "But it seems almost… sentient? It seeks out the patient and assists in the healing process but it is also a potential weapon. To take it into yourself willingly outside of the healing scope is to accept its judgement of your worth just as much as the gift it represents. It, like the ley-born phenomena, is ultimately a test of faith.
"Mm, I have quite a bit of faith, but I'm not sure I could let Manfred breathe on me and then inhale it on purpose outside of one of his healing treatments," Nora said.
"Hence the reason he hasn't taken any apprentices up until now," Amelia said. "I think that something in Manfred and even Severus and Hermione—it truly frightens Albus. More than just the entire dragonbat appearance. The old records said back when Manfred offered to heal his sister, he was fully on board until Manfred shifted—and then the man couldn't get his sister out of there fast enough. I think that no matter what you say, the proof of who you truly are is shown by your deeds. He just couldn't accept healing from someone who appears as alien and inhuman as Manfred does.
Both witches looked up as Hermione let out a squeal of pure delight as Manfred was teaching them to dodge blows from his wings and muzzle, and the price of missing was apparently tickling. Severus seemed to be doing somewhat better but Hermione was completely taken out by her fit of the giggles.
"We could all learn something from them," Nora said with a bit of wonder.
"Aye, Nora," Amelia said with a sigh. "We really could."
"Albus, you have at least three curses anchored to you that we know of so far," Healer Manchester said with a grim nod to his associate. "The one on the group of students from your school, some sort of hazard jinx on an employment position at your school, and another rather nasty and insidious compulsion we found on your brother Aberforth to, um—" The healer shook his head, wincing. "Do some rather unseemly things with goats."
Dumbledore's blue eyes blinked slowly. "Three?"
"Four if you count the compulsion driving your obsession with sherbet lemons," Manchester said with a sniff. "And it's not exactly doing your teeth any favours either."
Albus' hand suddenly froze over the bowl of sherbet lemons, a muscle in his face twitching spasmodically. "Compulsion?"
"The sherbet compulsion can be removed by us, but the hazard jinx will have to be dismantled by the Department of Mysteries. The anchor, however, is beyond our skill here or anyone in Britain save for one."
"No," Albus said flatly. "I will not be treated by him."
"Mr Dumbledore," Healer Manchester entreated. "If the anchors are not removed, you condemn both your students and all future teachers to living a cursed life."
"Then find someone else to remove it," Albus insisted stubbornly.
Healer Manchester's jaw set.
"Healer Manchester," an authoritative-sounding voice called from the hall.
The healer's head snapped up immediately. "Yes, Master Albrecht?"
"Leave the patient to their ruminations," the voice advised. "I will send word to the Board of Governors that he has refused treatment. The Wizengamot will take care of the rest."
"Yes, Master," Healer Manchester said as he bowed out. "Good eve, Mr Dumbledore," he said as he swiftly left the room.
Drama at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Students are reporting that the headmaster of Hogwarts has not been seen in the castle for quite some time now, and many parents are starting to wonder why. Many have said that the Deputy Head, Minerva McGonagall, is currently at the helm, which still begs the question of why?
A number of notorious student troublemakers have also disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and some wonder if this is a mere coincidence or a sign that something more nefarious has been going on at Hogwarts.
All attempts by this newspaper to contact Headmaster Dumbledore directly have so far been ignored.
"That stubborn old bastard!" Aberforth yelled as he slammed his tankard down on the bar table.
The nearby goats were startled in a cacophony of bleating, and some of them fainted on the spot.
Aberforth sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "I'm going to have to find some good homes for the goats," he said. "I don't even like goats that much."
"Mr Dumbledore—"
"Aberforth, please," Aberforth corrected. "Please don't make me sound like my brother."
"Have you had any further compulsions that you know of?" the healer in green robes asked.
Aberforth shook his head. "No. Other than the need to shower pretty much constantly, but I figure that will stop when I manage to rehome all these bloody goats."
The healer scribbled notes on some parchment.
"I want you to take this potion once a day for the next month," the healer said after a while. "It will help soothe the channels in the brain affected by the long term compulsion and keep it from driving you to return to old habits. And I would highly recommend not mixing it with alcohol," he added.
Aberforth grunted in assent. "Alright, Healer Robinson. I promise I'll do as you say."
Robinson smiled. "I'll check up on you in a month and reassess you then. Hopefully, the potion will keep your mind from relapsing."
Aberforth sighed. "I'm just glad I can finally see straight for the first time in—one helluva long time."
The healer nodded. "I'm glad you're already seeing positive effects."
"You go tell those sods at the Department of Mysteries that I'm bloody grateful, and if they want to goat-kick my arse of a brother, well, I won't mind one bit."
Healer Robinson snort-laughed. "I will certainly relay the message, Mr—Aberforth."
Aberforth sniffed and pulled out a large wheel of goat cheese. "Here. Take this home to the family. Apparently, I make some damn good cheese. At least I gained one positive thing from having all these goats around."
Robinson chuckled. "I will, thank you."
"If you know of anyone who needs some goats," Aberforth said. "I have a few too many. Might keep a few just for the milk, though."
Robinson tilted his head. "Arthur Weasley's wife, Molly, is pregnant again, she's almost due with their third child. They could certainly benefit from having some dairy goats around. She's always said she wanted to make her own homemade soaps and lotions one day. I'll ask Arthur. He ends up in my clinic often from sheer exhaustion. They work him such odd hours. He seems to like it, though. A strange man with his Muggle fascination."
Aberforth grunted. "Well, hopefully, he isn't cursed and anchored to my damned brother too."
Robinson looked horrified. "I dearly hope not. There has been far too much of that."
"I know you can't tell me what the hell's going on with my brother," Aberforth said, his blue eyes turning fierce. "But you can tell that old bastard for me that I remember what he and Gellert did to start off their bloody "greater good" shite. If even half the rumours I hear about some of those kids up at Hogwarts are true, there are far greater powers than I that might be coming 'round to collect soon enough."
Robinson nodded silently and left the tavern as Aberforth closed his eyes.
"You can run from your guilt, brother," Aberforth muttered, "but you can't hide forever. Not when you hurt so much more than just our dear sister on your blind quest for greatness."
Severus watched as Hermione walked into the healing chamber, the soft tinkle of the healing bells on her anklet ringing gently in the silence.
The mark of a healer—
The healer's circlet wove into the laurels of Hades, and the ley tendrils had marked her skin with distinctive glowing brands.
Only the main gem in the circlet was missing, marking her as an apprentice. One day Master Morgan would place his gem in the empty space there, telling the whole wizarding world that she was ready to practice on her own.
But for now, she was eagerly following in Manfred's impressive footsteps, and he couldn't help but admire her gall. She'd cast aside all fear to breathe in the breath of their master and had accepted both its gift and its burden even as the leys only newly sang in their blood.
While she was not quite as savvy at the art of crafting potions as he was, she could easily titrate and balance their use with movements he could barely even see, her eyes picking up on some signal in a patient that demanded a quick adjustment on the fly. While she always looked to Manfred for confirmation before giving her adjustments to the patient, their master seemed more than pleased with their progress.
Hermione often spent long hours with him, discussing various potions she had needed and what effects she wished to produce. He would, in turn, produce a potion that she desired, much to Manfred's delight.
But this—
Watching Hermione in her healing trance, her fingers gliding across the leys as she listened to Olde Magick whispering to her—
It caused a shiver in his body.
She'd often said watching him brew potions made her happy, and he could finally understand what she meant. Watching her do what she loved made him happy.
The leys danced joyfully all around her, a crackling energy weaving between her fingers as she swayed back and forth. She had a wand in one hand, but it was mostly there for show, he knew. It was there to reassure those who did not understand that she was commanding the magic they knew to be natural.
It was a lie, perhaps.
It was magic far older than the crude spells the Wizarding healers at Mungos used.
Just as the potions he brewed under Manfred's critical eye were far more than what he could hope to learn from mere books.
There were no books to outline the process of the potions he was brewing anymore than there were tomes that could explain the delicate dance Hermione did amidst her healing trance.
And the deeper she descended into the trance, the closer the bond was pulled, the more the ties between master and apprentice tightened. The leys sang with a stunningly beautiful resonance.
Could no one else hear them singing through the tinkling of her healer's anklet?
How could they not?
Her body blurred and shifted with each beat of her dance. Claws extended from her fingertips, her features dancing between that which was human and that which was needed to channel the powerful healing magic.
It was a metamorphosis as her body left the constraints of the physical and became more, just as they had instinctively done as children when he had become a chimaera and she the great cat of prehistory.
But, to him, all of her forms were beautiful. They all sang with the great heartbeat of magic.
It was in watching her that he finally realised what the leys had known all along. She allowed magic to sing through her so that she could heal just as he allowed it to sing through him as he crafted potions. They had opened themselves up to magic's voice and listened while so many others remained deaf and blind to its cries.
And underneath it all, there was an unshakable trust, between them, between magic, between their masters, to the centaur, and even to Lord Hades—the god who had found trust again with the return of his cloak.
He trusted more because she trusted him.
He was willing to let himself go on faith that there was more to life than the world his sodding father painted for him.
He once dreamed of spells he could cast on his father in retribution for all the pain he had caused him, but the seemingly bottomless well of hatred he had once harboured had been replaced by countless touches, smiles, and someone he could rely on to always be there no matter how bad things got.
Even if they argued.
Even if they disagreed.
They were still friends in the end.
Hermione's trance had taken her deep into the healing song of magic, and he could feel their master's presence guiding and helping her process what she was feeling. Like how his hands knew the exact pressure to use on certain ingredients or which direction and speed a cauldron needed to be stirred—she was learning the dance of the healing magic and how to guide it into her patient while tucking her private emotional responses away.
Perhaps, this was the most important lesson Manfred had been giving them—how to detach from emotion and memory in order to function effectively during a crisis and need without being compromised.
A ley-born could not afford to be emotionally compromised during a crisis, and that was doubly true for Hermione as a healer.
He was so proud of her for having succeeded in her exercises!
And now—
Her current patient was none other than the headmaster of Hogwarts—a man who had flatly refused Manfred's healing for upwards of a year due to some reason that he refused to reveal.
The Wizengamot had ordered him to allow himself to be treated due to the involvement of the cursed students. They didn't care one whit about his reasons but Severus had not been privy to the actual reasons that had been revealed during one of the Wizengamot's closed sessions.
Whatever it was, Dumbledore had claimed that he was willing to undergo treatment from "anyone but Manfred Morgan." The Wizengamot had agreed that if he took an oath to this effect, he wouldn't be forcibly removed as headmaster for purposely endangering students. That had seemed to startle the elder wizard into deep consideration.
Ah, but the look on the headmaster's face when the Wizengamot had ordered Manfred to teach his apprentices the appropriate magic as no other wizard of witch wished to risk their lives.
Said look had been absolutely priceless.
There had been some fascinating potions that Manfred had taught him using ingredients that had never been put to parchment, nor would they ever be published in common Wizarding archives. It was knowledge passed only from master to apprentice. Some of the ingredients could only be found with the help of the leys, and the resultant potion required ley energy to be activated. Severus found it so inspired that he'd ended up deep in the forest chasing ingredients he'd never known had been lurking under the leaf litter and moss, in the cracks between the bark, and so much more.
They had left a grateful offering to Lord Hades for His and Persephone's blessings that had allowed them to find such a rich harvest in the deep and hidden places. The gods seemed to approve of their expression of respect, as the forest came alive with an abundance of magic-blessed pomegranates and olives from the enchanted groves deep within the centaurs' treasured forest home, providing a very welcome harvest for the herd's stores for the colder seasons.
But the healing of Albus Dumbledore was a strange dance, and Severus didn't mean that in regard to Hermione's literal healing movements. To Severus, wanting to be healed would have been a given almighty yes, but the headmaster seemed deeply disturbed by being near Manfred and all those who had touched upon his power.
It stirred so many questions deep within his brain, but so many more came to mind than were solved.
The waiting, most assuredly, was the biggest question. The magical families had been practically frothing at the mouth to give Dumbledore a hefty piece of their minds, and they didn't even know the wizard had certain reasons for delaying his treatment. All they knew is that their children were being sequestered away from family and friends, were being denied the right to attend school, and, to top it all off, had been cursed somehow.
The headmaster also didn't like leaving Hogwarts, and while Severus could understand running a magical school was probably a very difficult task, he wondered why the man seemed deeply distressed about being away. He seemed, even more, unnerved that he would have to undergo the "treatment" outside of Hogwarts. Considering the man didn't want the said treatment to be at Hogwarts, then where in bloody Nifelheim did he expect it to be?
People were so contradictory and utterly confusing.
He realised he liked his master all the more for being very upfront and the very opposite of cryptic. Everything was explained in a straightforward manner, done with purpose, and had a clear reason. He could trust that if Manfred told him to jump, he'd be safe to do so long before he considered the consequences, and that was—
Profoundly liberating.
Oddly enough, or perhaps expectedly, Hermione trusted Manfred completely long before Severus had come up with his epiphany. Trust had never been easy for him, and it had been hard enough to realise that he had finally put his faith in more than himself and his own abilities.
Hermione had wiggled her way into his life, and he could trust that she would always be his most ardent defender, even if he was disgruntled that she kept doing so regardless of whether or not she was asked. The centaur were all quite honourable, and while mistakes were made, their honour demanded restitution when such things happened. Even the youngest of foals would apologise if they accidentally stomped on his feet. Minerva McGonagall, too, was nothing but a standup defender of her apprentices, a dispenser of unbiased justice, and being true to yourself and your skills. Their drills with DCI Nora Matthews were simultaneously exciting yet well-structured. She never demanded more than was possible even if they didn't actually believe that until the very end.
Even Lord Hades and his wife had bestowed upon them their trust and blessings.
Perhaps, Severus realised, there was more trust than he'd initially believed himself able to have. It had crept in like a sneaky feline slithering under the duvet in the hunt for warmth.
Like Hermione on a cold winter's day—
Insufferable feline.
She was getting a bit too large to hide under a duvet without revealing herself, even if they had learned the subtle art of disillusionment.
A huge prehistoric feline shaped lump under the duvet all but screamed her presence, well, a huge prehistoric feline with an obsession for stealing all the warmth. It was a good thing she liked to share her heat.
The jingling of Hermione's healing anklet brought him fully back into focus, and he could feel Hermione drawing on the bond between herself and their master. She was all too aware that her skill as a healing novice was not the equal of her masters, but her absolute trust in her master allowed for their master to guide her mind to mind. She knew the lessons well enough. She knew the song of the healing leys and how to release their specifically potent healing breath, but the intricacies of determining where and how much was something only experience could give, and they had not the time to wait for her level of experience to catch up.
Too many lives were now depending on Albus Dumbledore being released from his curses.
With a twist of cunning, Hermione did something that she could do but also let their more experienced master take care of. He felt the pull of the power with the excited leys, and they seemed eager to please.
Magic called to magic.
And the pathetic pool of magic one even remarkably powerful wizard possessed was nothing when compared to the very heart of magic. And a curse? It was but a tiny droplet in a massive, swirling sea.
The trick was, at least as far as Severus could remember in listening to Hermione and Manfred's avid discussions, pulling out the insidious magic and cutting it off from the pool. Then, the leys would devour it, purging it of all identity as it turned it back into pure magic, unaffiliated and wild.
Magic was, intrinsically, completely selfish and unaligned. It flowed where it wanted and did whatever it pleased, and it was about as obedient as a typical cat when someone tried to tell it what to do. If anything, being ley-born meant magic took a liking to you enough to actually notice you existed, but on a deeper level it meant that magic saw you as an extension of itself. Complicated, probably, and far more deep than he wanted to think upon most days.
Hermione thumped one foot down on the ground, her bare foot having transformed into something decidedly other. As her claws clicked on the stone, a powerful pulse of magic rose to her summons, and the leys swirled and danced around her body. While invisible to most, Severus found the tendrils of ley energy like the Aurora Borealis, both beautiful and unexplainable. Seeing how intimate the dance was between the healer and the leys, he realised why Manfred could not imply or casually choose an apprentice. There was the matter of his breath, most assuredly, but it was only half of the equation. Without the leys, the level of surgical precision required was impossible.
Manfred had been waiting for lightning to strike twice, something that had miraculously happened.
It was a gift, and they all knew it.
The leys were drawing out strands of foreign magic that were tightly entwined around Dumbledore's magic. Hermione was the unraveller, and she used the leys to unwind the strands and move them out from the wizard's core—something it did not wish to do, had it not been for the irresistible siren song of the ley's greater magic.
A curse, hex, jinx, standard spells, or even tailored healing spells were, ultimately, just magic.
It could not resist the greater, more powerful song.
Therein lay the secret of Manfred's powerful healing for it was of ley magic as much as it was his own innate breath. Their magic could not be lured off by leys because it was already rooted there. It could not be stolen. It could not be syphoned away by a wanting witch or wizard—not unless they wanted to be burned by said leys.
Hermione carefully guided the strands of Dark magic away from Dumbledore's own magic, allowing his magic to settle back within him, but her task was not yet complete. She pushed them along to the outer chamber where their master awaited.
The floor itself rumbled with the sound of Manfred's low, ultrasonic growl. The leys consolidated, their power forming into a dense cord.
KzzzzzZZZZZZZT!
All at once, multiple strands of ley energy snapped together and attacked the Dark energy.
A ghostly phantom of a young man dressed in Hogwarts student robes screamed in the room, clutching at his head as if in agony. His face went from youthful and handsome to unnatural and eerily reptilian, red eyes glowing as his face exchanged a fine, roman nose with mere slits and lightly tanned skin for a ghostly pallor.
The leys swirled around the apparition like a school of hungry sharks, ready and eager, as if the phantom was like blood in the water.
Hermione's body stiffened, then she took in a sharp breath and exhaled a cloud of misty vapour. The leys vibrated excitedly, and then they seemed to pounce on the spectre. The wraith screamed again as the leys converged en masse, burning through the magic and all that it was connected to, drawing the foul Dark taint into itself and purging it of all semblance of alignment.
The leys then novaed, spreading outward, following the "trace" to every single line it was connected to, burning them away as it went, drawing out all magic connected to the curse's signature to be swallowed up into its voracious and pitiless embrace.
There was an enormous roar that seemed to reverberate in the very air.
Even the gathered wizards and witches from the Wizengamot instinctively covered their ears.
The phantasm screamed even louder, its "body" instantly shattering into countless tiny shards of aether and ectoplasm. Some of the Wizengamot stood up, screaming—wands pulled.
The hair rose on the back of Severus' neck as he saw and felt the hostility in the room rise.
Multiple wands were suddenly aimed squarely at Hermione.
No.
NO!
Severus snarled, leaping up from his seat in the viewing area towards where Hermione was. His body was jerking wildly with ley energy even as his own, innate shift consumed him in a heated rush.
Fury from the depthless pool inside him, fed by countless acts of terrible cruelty on his father's part, instantly snapped to his call. His body twisted to his need, wicked talons replacing nails, ivory fangs replacing dull, useless human teeth, fur spreading all over him like a brush fire, tail lashing angrily, huge wings breaking through his robes—
He roared loudly in rage, ley energy zipping and sparking around him with electrical ferocity even as the power of his master flowed into him, heightening his senses, tempering his rage, and honing his magic into a weapon.
Manfred had previously been Oathed not to step foot into the Wizengamot during the healing session. He could not physically be there, but Severus let himself go to the bond between master and apprentice, and he felt the cords of power and loyalty snap into place, stronger than ever before.
Severus threw himself over Hermione, his arms wrapping around her as he flung them both to the ground, the sickly green beam of a killing curse flying just over their heads. He snarled, focusing on where the beam had come from, and the leys promptly responded in kind.
Eager.
Hungry.
Vengeful.
Zing!
ZINGshing!
KkkkZZZAP!
Ley energy bolts shot into the offending wizard as he let out an agonised scream. Dark magic poured out of his body in a thick cloud of miasma, forming into a sickly greenish skull and serpent—
Another sudden shriek came from elsewhere in the Wizengamot as a middle-aged witch rose up and tried to cast a nasty curse at Hermione and Severus.
Severus used his great wings to cover them both, an electric ozone odour filling the air as ley energy spread over them like an impenetrable shield.
Aurors were now on the move, spells flying in all directions, Aurors to combatants, combatants to Aurors—Dark spells colliding with defensive and counterspells. The Wizengamot was in total chaos, some attacking, some diving to the floor in a bid for sweet survival, others not knowing who to attack, who to defend, or even why they were attacking anything at all.
There was a ripping, tearing sound as if the very earth itself was being torn asunder, and Albus let out a loud yell as some final bit of foul magic was expelled from his body. The leys instantly fell upon it with a crack of thunder, and the courtroom was filled with blinding flashes of magic and screams of agony.
For a moment, a tall shade draped in mist and shadow seemed to rise up out of the ground, the silvery glint of a scythe marking the swift passage of metal through the air. Bones moved smoothly without accompanying muscle. A crown made of cypress leaves wreathed a skull head that seemed both man and yet most definitely inhuman. Glowing twin flames lit and burned within the otherwise empty eye sockets. One bony hand cast an arc of divine power in a circle in front of them, drawing a trail of ley magic in a painfully bright shade of white.
The room dropped about fifty degrees in but a moment, the very air becoming so still and so bitterly cold that the living all shivered, a light sheen of frost forming on their skin and hair as an icy hoarfrost spread throughout the room.
The skeletal figure's jawbone opened and he began to speak.
"Your time is now up, Tom Marvolo Riddle," a remarkably deep voice chuckled. "The eternal balance demands its requisite pound of flesh. May you and all those who followed in your great and terrible shadow know the almighty wrath of the Underworld, where you and yours shall personally experience an Afterlife every bit as agonising as the pain and sorrow that you foisted upon your many innocent victims in life. Live out your eternal lives in a ceaseless horror of your own making, without the benefit of magic, and may your mangled and broken bodies manage to slowly crawl their way to the Underworld. Pray often and keep one obol close, lest Charon deny you passage. And should you dare take your own life in the depths of your misery and woe, you will return again and again until your suffering is adequately weighed against that of the souls that you have harmed."
"This is my judgement. This is my decree. I, Hades, have spoken."
The skeletal head turned with an unnervingly audible creak, his glowing eyes staring directly into Dumbledore's bloodlessly white face. "You have something of mine, Albus," Hades said without any trace of emotion. He extended one bony hand in unmistakable demand.
Albus swallowed hard, his head jerking away as if to deny the frank accusation.
"You will never be the Master of Death, Albus Dumbledore," Hades said.
He held within his bone-hand what looked like a tarnished silver ring with a black stone set in the band, pulled out of the aether through a rip in time and space. He crushed it in a quick movement and it turned into so many grains of sand. One single wisp of Dark magic escaped only to be devoured at once by the waiting leys.
"Two of my Hallows have already been removed from the hands of mere mortals," Hades drawled. "What you so foolishly seek can now never be achieved." Hades' smouldering gaze suddenly seemed to brighten. "Do you have so little faith in your own ability that a single carved twig from an Elder tree is the oh so fragile hinge upon which your success depends?"
Hades snorted, a cloud of mist exiting the nasal hole in his skull. "Free yourself from this self-crippling crutch and live out the remainder of your life free of it or take my wand and continue on with your shallow, meaningless existence as one whose deeds will never be judged based on the man himself but on the pitiful stick he carries."
Albus closed his eyes, his shoulders falling. He pulled a wand out from his robes and reluctantly placed it in Hades' open hand.
The god's hand closed tightly around it, and the wand was atomised instantly, turning into fine particles of dust in the blink of an eye.
"You have been freed of your curses, Albus," Hades said slowly, "but not your guilt. That, mortal, is a matter between you and the Erinyes, and it will be addressed in good time, not at this very moment but at a somewhat later date. You have been warned."
"Live your lives well, mortals," he rumbled. "You never know who might be—" A strange smile briefly twisted the bones of his skull-face. "Watching."
He slammed down the scythe as a blast of energy went out, and the entire room went blacker than the blackest night save for the electrical current that surrounded Severus and Hermione. Only the glow emitting from the ripples of energy reflected off of those left in the room even as the light began to dim and slowly faded away.
Tom Marvolo Riddle Exposed as Dark Lord Rising,
He and His Followers Judged by Hades Himself During Wizengamot Session
They say a curse is just a curse, but during yesterday's closed Wizengamot session, the removal of an elaborate set of Dark curses anchored to none other than the current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, led to the evocation of the Lord of the Underworld in a truly unprecedented show of Olde Magick.
Wizengamot members are still reeling from the proceedings which had them overseeing the decursing of Albus Dumbledore from various complicated curses and jinxes that used him as a living anchor. While that process had been impressive all on its own, the dispelling of the curse led to the revelation that said curse found its origin in a former Hogwarts head boy named Tom Riddle—the wizard who would one day rise to infamy as You Know Who.
Riddle's body was found on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron later on the same night as the Wizengamot meeting surrounded by his faithful. Both he, and those who swore fealty to him, seem to have been drained of all magic regardless of how far physically they were from YKW himself. Even more shockingly, a few members of the Wizengamot from certain old magical families launched an attack as the curse was released from Mr Dumbledore. Even as Aurors fought bravely to stave off the damage and protect the lives of innocents caught in the line of fire, the great God of the Underworld, Hades himself, rose up amidst the chaos to personally pass His Judgement upon those guilty of disrupting the balance of life and death.
Rumours are swirling with reports that one if not more of the actual Deathly Hallows were present in the courtroom, allowing Hades to manifest. Others say that the injustice was simply too extreme for even the God of the Underworld to ignore. While reports that the victims were drained of all magic has reached us due to the loud outcry from some of the very oldest magical families, the more intimate details of the Wizengamot session still remain sealed under Oath.
An old magical family contact informed this paper that St Mungo's has seen scores of magically drained patients from a number of prominent pureblood lines including the Rosier, Malfoy, Greengrass, Lestrange, Black, Nott, Avery, Bulstrode, Macnair, Parkinson, Carrow, Crouch, Macmillan, Rowle, and Yaxley families, all of whom are now resident in a newly-established closed ward in the lowest bowels of the hospital.
What does this mean for the future of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?
All interview requests sent to St Mungo's have thus far been denied.
"I'm not really sure what to think, honestly," Severus confessed as his eyebrows knit together.
Hermione sketched out a diagram, shook her head, scribbled it out, and tried again. Her anklet jingled as her foot tapped an impatient tattoo against the desk leg. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she concentrated harder. She stared a hole into the parchment as if it would solve her problem for her. "We've had to deal with their mockery and malarkey for the last five years," she said. "I have a hard time forgetting all the horrible things they did."
A ley tendril zipped in and out of her hair, fussing with it until it had arranged it into an intricate war braid and then swanned off to do whatever it was ley tendrils did when they weren't fussing with their ley-born.
"I know," Severus sighed. "You were always the first to leap to my defence whenever they came after me," he recalled. "But—I think they are truly penitent. They are serving their time in detention, they aren't even pulling the silly pranks anymore, and Longbottom hasn't had to curse any of them since they were allowed back to school. And you know me—I'm the last person to think highly of Potter and his merry band of idiotic dunderheads, but—"
Hermione lifted her head.
"You've taught me that people can be worth believing in," he said.
Hermione flushed slightly, looking rather abashed.
Severus grasped her hand, his jaw set. "You are worth believing in. You know that, right? It isn't just smoke our masters blow at us to make us feel better. They genuinely believe in us. And I believe in you."
Hermione looked down, grimacing as her emotions struggled to make headway in her expression while she simultaneously fought to control them. "I believe in you, too, Severus," she said after a long pause. "I always have."
Severus' lips tugged into a small smile. "I've realised that the leys gave us a great responsibility, and we can't really take sides outside of protecting them. Especially with Hades' blessings. If I allowed my emotions to overrule my reason, I'd have wanted Potter's still-beating heart on a platter. Well, me and pretty much everyone else in the school. Now, he has to prove not just to me but to the entire student body that he's not a complete pillock. He and all of his friends. I think out of all of them Pettigrew is the one that is going to end up hanging like a piñata from the Whomping Willow. He hasn't changed all that much since the curse was removed, and even Potter, Black, and Lupin don't seem to care for his sorry arse now."
"Makes me wonder if the curse was originally anchored to him, or rather, maybe it spawned off the amount of exposure to him," Hermione speculated. "He's definitely the one that has changed the least, and we never got to run a diagnostic scan on any of them after Dumbledore was cured."
Severus shrugged. "With the main anchors removed, the rest seemed moot, I suppose," he said. "Some people—" he trailed off. "Some people just never learn to be civilised."
"Civilised, Severus?" Hermione said, clearly dubious.
"Domesticated?" Severus offered.
Hermione snorted. "Git."
"As you say," he rumbled.
Hermione felt a pleasant shiver go down her spine as she listened to the deeper rumble of Severus' voice. Gone was the awkward cracking that had caused some strange spell mixups and random side-effects. It had been so embarrassing for him, so much so that he'd redoubled his efforts in learning silent, wandless magic, and he'd become very skilled at it.
Now, his voice was deeper, and rather than cracking it seemed to have developed a pleasing rumble. It was the kind of rumble that reminded her of their master's deep ultrasound purr. It was comforting and—
Surely not that, she chided herself. They were friends, nothing more.
She dug her nails into her palms and forced her emotions to heel.
Stupid hormones. The last thing she wanted to do was inflict her raging hormones on her best friend.
There were so many prettier, more popular witches that were practically salivating to get their names associated with the young "rising star of potioneering" than there were wizards hoping to snag a healer. Most wizards weren't all that keen on the notion of riding the coattails of a witch, she knew.
Slughorn's parties had guaranteed a high profile for them both, but people had usually gotten a glazed-over expression when they found out she was a healer or else they were paranoid that she'd read their minds.
Severus had a way of being an enigma and a mysterious puzzle waiting to be solved, and whether he liked it or not, people wanted to figure him out.
But really, Hermione figured, how could people not find him attractive? He was smart, had a wicked tongue with a razor's edge, talented in spades, and capable of vast feats of magic. If they were the recipient of his protective instincts, he'd go down fighting to ensure their safety. He had both the theatrical entrance and exit down to a science, having learned the art of the proper illustrious billow from Master Morgan, whose natural wingspan transferred to his robes.
No, she was just mediocre healer trainee Hermione Evans whose main selling point was an overactive brain and an unfortunate tendency to boss people around. No one liked a bossy little know-it-all.
And especially since Dumbledore did his best to not push either of them into social situations with their official houses anymore, her social connections were pretty abysmal when compared to the rest of her supposed peer group.
Current rumour had her painted as some future incarnation of Madam Pince, whose only redeeming character trait was in knowing where every single book went by heart.
She was obviously not going to win any dates with a reputation like that, and Severus was definitely not going to find someone like her attractive in the slightest. A suitable partner for homework and various projects, sure, but she was certainly no one's idea of a real catch.
Now if she could just manage to stop wondering what it would be like to share a bit of eternity together, well, that would be super.
"What are you thinking so hard about?" Severus asked, his brows having knit together again.
Hermione jerked her head up and gulped like a fish out of water. "Nothing, just—" she stammered. "The future. Our N.E.W.T.s and all, you know."
Severus tched. "You'll do fine on them, just like you do with everything else. Don't be stupid." He went back to scribbling in his notebook.
Hermione muttered nervously to herself and frantically scribbled a series of Arithmancy equations down along with her healing potion titrations.
Just let me die, Hermione moaned internally.
"Hey, Severus," one of the Slytherin witches called out as a small group of them sauntered by.
Severus lifted his head, leaning his back against the giant feline he was doing his best to use as a furry lounge chair. He lifted a brow as his curtain of black hair fell across his face. "Miss Fawley," he said coolly.
The girl with perfectly feathered blonde hair smiled prettily at him. "Call me Sherry, Sev," she cooed. "All of my friends do."
Severus narrowed his eyes at her. "I am not your friend, Miss Fawley."
Her lips puckered into a flirty pout. "We could be. Why don't you come with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow? We could go to Madam Puddifoot's and get to know each other a little better."
"Tell me, do you think me a fool, Miss Fawley?"
"Of course not, Sev."
"An idiot, perhaps?"
"What? No!"
"Then why would I wish to go to a public place with a high profile witch such as yourself who keeps a running tally of the length and girth of a wizard's cock stowed in her trunk, hrm?"
"W-whut? B-but how? That's positively crude of you! Y-you horrible boy!"
"Boy, am I now?" Severus said with disdainful sneer. "I must be far too young for you, then. I fear that I must decline your most gracious offer."
"Fine!" she hissed furiously, turning and storming off in a huff. "You have a horrible nose, anyway!"
Severus sniffed, jerking his head so his long hair covered up his face again. "Idiot."
Hermione's tail flicked lazily up and down, then side to side.
Severus gently rubbed Hermione's velvety ears as he continued to read his book.
"Snape."
Severus' jaw tightened. "Potter."
The mop-haired wizard was trudging toward him with a rather nervous look about him. Whether it was something he was thinking about specifically or simply the unnerving nearness of a man-eating sized feline was anyone's guess.
"I need to ask you a question."
"By all means, Potter," Severus said dryly. "I live to answer your questions."
The other wizard ignored the jab and blurted, "Do you think Evans would go out with me to Hogsmeade?"
Severus' body stilled. "I am not her keeper, Potter. If you want an answer to your question, you'll have to go and ask her yourself."
"Do you think she'd even answer me?"
Severus turned his head as if on a swivel, his umbral gaze centring on Potter with a grim focus. "Tell you what. I will ask her to go with me and save you the trouble."
"You would—I mean—fuck, I don't even have a chance, do I?" Potter groaned, throwing up his arms and storming off. "Gods, Snape, if you wanted to take her out yourself, then why the hell didn't you just ask her before?"
Severus grit his teeth and groaned softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a ragged sigh. "They say that we Slytherins have a way with words and that the best always know what to say, but I swear to Merlin, no matter how often I practised in a mirror, talked to myself, and rehearsed to a tree, I could never get the words out to ask you," he confessed. "If I'm a total idiot and you want me to go sod off and kiss a hippogriff, we can always pretend that I nev—MMFPH!"
Four hundred-some kilos of gigantic cat pinned him to the ground just before she took on human form.
"YES!" she cried, her wild curls threatening to reach down and choke the life out of him.
Severus grunted, but his hand reached to brush the hair away from both his face and hers. "Thank Merlin," he whispered. "I was sure I was going to have to ask out the mirror or the tree before I could manage to ask you myself."
Hermione's expression softened. "I didn't think you'd ever be interested—in me that is."
"Are you mad?" Severus blurted. "Do you see any other overgrown super talented healer ley-war cats around to ask?"
Hermione tilted her head as if to ponder the question.
Severus narrowed his eyes, pulled her into his arms, and sealed his mouth over her lips in a fervent kiss.
When he finally pulled away, Hermione's eyes were glazed over, her pupils blown wide.
"Does that answer your question?"
Hermione just nodded numbly.
"Good, because I really hate repeating myself."
"I wouldn't mind a repeat conversation," Hermione mumbled. "Or three."
Severus growled softly and reverse-pinned her against the ground as she squealed. "As my lady commands."
A/N: Please thank Dragon and the Rose for not passing out on me to get to the end of this chapter. Even if she did shortly after I typed this sentence. *shifty eyes*
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!