16.
Hogwarts - Late October 1997
"You wouldn't think that extracting a soul from a living host would be quite so obscure…and difficult…and obscure."
Harry slammed the stiff leather cover of the ancient tome shut and a fresh cloud of dust rose to thicken the already mote-heavy air. Hermione waved her wand and chased a cleansing charm after the specks, banishing them to the fire burning in the large hearth as she'd been doing for days.
She shook her head and sank back into her own chair, the warmth of the thick damask a comfort to her aching shoulders and spine. She huffed a laugh. "Yes, who would believe it?"
Harry pressed his fingers into his eye sockets and slumped his elbows on the book-crowded table. "We…we have to consider the fact that I should just—"
"No!" Hermione bit out the word. "No, we will not consider it for a second, thank you very much, Mr Potter."
A soft laugh broke from her friend. "Kissing Snape too often. That explains it."
Hermione growled at him.
"Way too often."
She threw her quill at him, his seeker-reflexes saving him from a splatter of fresh ink to the face.
"Dumbledore," and she couldn't help the hard edge that came with his name every time she said it, "raised you to be a sacrifice. Therefore it benefited him in some way. Therefore," Hermione fixed him with a fierce glare, one that would do Severus proud, "we will not follow that route. We still have time. Am I quite clear?"
"More scary too," Harry murmured.
A snort broke from her. It'd been ten days since they'd moved into the Chamber of Secrets —the main secret being that Salazar had prepared it for her. And in those few short days, she'd settled into the fact that she had a very definite…something with Severus Snape. A delicious, toe-curling, butterflies-in-the-belly something that more often than not had her day ending with kisses-she-never-wanted-to-end before the hearth. A setting where he allowed himself to wear his true face. Though she was as happy to see a scowl on the decade's old glamour he wore too.
Fall with me.
Gods, those three words still gave her the most delicious shiver. She really was quite hopelessly smitten.
"As I have said from the beginning, a wizard worthy of you," Salazar murmured.
"You needn't be quite so smug, either."
But there wasn't much of a cut to her mental tone.
She focused again on the pile of books, open and discarded and yet more to read through for even the slightest hint of a way to separate souls. "There has to be a way, Harry. Nothing is truly impossible with magic. Perhaps…something used in sundering a bond? A potion or…or a blood rite."
Harry frowned. "That's dark, Hermione."
"Intent," she muttered.
"You intend to kill snake-face's soul."
She blew out bad air. "Would it be dark, Salazar? The path to hell, and all that."
"It is…grey. How it would affect your magic, I couldn't say. It's very personal to you. It's a complex subject in how a Dark Path changes —or does not change— your magical core. So many vagaries. In the end, I believe, Hermione, that —if it needed to be done— then it is something that we must do. Because it would be the right thing to do, regardless of the…personal cost."
He was silent for a moment. "I would have kept Theosophia with me, witnessed her first steps, her first words…every part of her life would have been mine to see, but I had to cut her free from my line and spit vileness till the end of my days. To attack and belittle, and my legacy shadowed a millennium. Set how many on a Dark Path?
"My magic was tainted. I could feel the cloud of it as I met my end. My soul, I couldn't say. But…with my time over, I would do it again. And again. We do what we must."
"Dumbledore—"
"Used others to gain ground, never inconveniencing himself. Your friend is his finest example. And his last act, to demand such a thing from Severus. No. Even if I fell before the temptation of that cursed ring…I would've faced the Pretender and obliterated both myself and him. And left details with those I trusted —with Severus— to destroy the remaining horcruxes.
"And I would give Mr Potter the choice, as you may have to, my child."
Hermione's throat was tight and she pulled another tome from the pile and eased back the stiff leather cover to reveal the mottled first page and faded writing. "I know…but not yet."
The echo of boots, of a fast and angry stride, jerked her attention to the thick doors that hid their warren of rooms within the larger Chamber of Secrets. Severus. His magical signature smacked against the wards, sharp and bitter And he was angry, fiercely so. Her fingers flicked, easing back the protections and he burst in, all billowing robes and bitter scowl.
Hermione flicked a glance to Harry, who buried his face in another book to hide his smirk.
It was just like old times.
"Your research? Anything?" Severus planted his hands on the stable and glared at Harry, before those black eyes shifted to find her. "Anything at all?"
"Severus…?" Hermione's stomach twisted, a dark pulse pressing against her heart. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"I am being given the…honour of a position in the Ministry." He closed his eyes and she could hear the grind of his teeth."The Dark Lord intends to turn over the school to Dolores Umbridge." He shook his head, and worried eyes fixed on her. "We have just run out of time."