A/N: Happy Spooktober!
This was written for the SSHG Spooktoberfest 2020, which you can find over on tumblr and AO3.
(This chapter contains a trigger warning for cutting and the use of blood for a dark ritual. It's not described in gory detail, but if you know you are triggerered by this, proceed with caution.)
The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. Frowning, Hermione looked around. Where was Harry and Ron? She blinked. There was a black-clad figure standing in the far corner, back towards her. Snape. Her stomach rolled. They needed to leave. It wasn't safe there. You-Know-Who could be back any minute. And they still needed to kill the snake.
"Why didn't you save me?" his voice was barely louder than a whisper.
"Sir?" she said, voice echoing strangely in the small space.
He spun around, robes billowing around him. She stifled a scream. The side of his neck was a big gaping hole, shirt and robes drenched in blood that glistened in the low light. His black eyes were wide holes in his narrow face. Then he was in front of her, hands gripping her upper arms tightly and face so close to hers she could smell the blood.
"Why didn't you save me?" he roared.
Before she could answer, his body started to shake violently. His face twisted in pain, and with a bone-chilling scream, he shattered to pieces right in front of her.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, the scream caught in her throat. Her ears were ringing, pulse racing. Another nightmare. Her surroundings were dark, and she reached for her wand on the bedside table to cast Tempus.
It was only four o'clock in the morning.
She sat up and ran her trembling hands through her sweaty curls. There would be no going back to sleep. At least there were no disgruntled roommates who had been awoken by her nightmare. Only five students had returned for their eight year at Hogwarts, and the Headmistress had made the decision to give them private rooms in an Eastern corridor on the sixth floor, which was as much for their benefit as for the rest of the student body.
Rising from the bed, she shivered when her sweat-soaked skin met the night air. Despite the warming charms woven through the stones, the castle was always chilly at night. She went into the bathroom, where she blinked blearily at the harsh light. Putting her damp pyjamas in the laundry bin – where it would disappear to be laundered by the House-elves – she turned on the shower. The temperature was practically scalding, but Hermione still felt cold as the water beat down on her body.
She had been having the same nightmare for months, ever since she watched in horror as Severus Snape bled to death in the Shrieking Shack. Several times a week she woke up either screaming or in tears, the scent of his blood still lingering in her nose. She regretted all deaths in the battle, but none as much as his. What a life wasted, cursed by a twenty-year-old mistake he could never escape. Severus Snape was the biggest tragedy of the Wizarding War.
Stepping out of the shower, Hermione avoided the mirror. She knew what she would see: a body that was still too thin, brittle hair, and eyes that had seen too much. Sometimes she wondered if she was even still a person, after all she'd seen and done. The scar on her forearm throbbed. The Healers had been able to remove the curse from the wound, but nothing could fade the scarring. She had felt strangely detached when they told her. What was a little bit of scarring, the Healer had said. At least she was still alive.
Hermione got dressed and pulled her still wet curls into a French plait, then grabbed her beaded bag and left her room. The corridors were dim and empty; Hermione didn't even see any of the ghosts on her walk down to the kitchens. The House-elves seemed to have forgiven her for trying to give them clothes back in her fourth-year and practically fell over themselves to offer her breakfast. She could only stomach a cup of coffee and a piece of plain toast.
She had thought going back to Hogwarts would be exactly what she needed; some normality after everything that had happened. Instead, she'd never felt more out of place. She walked the corridors and ate in the Great Hall and went to her classes, but it all felt wrong. She was no longer an enthusiastic schoolgirl, determined to prove she belonged. Harry and Ron had opted not to return; Kingsley's offer to join the Auror programme had proven too tempting. Maybe she should have done the same.
As the castle slowly began to wake, Hermione sat in an alcove near the library and looked out over the grounds. The dark stone of the war memorial shone in the early morning light. She had been there for the unveiling, right before the start of term. The names of those who lost their lives in the war – not only those who died at the Battle of Hogwarts – were carved into the marble. She remembered watching them uncover it, seeing so many names of people she knew. Her eyes had lingered over Snape's name. He didn't deserve to die. Not after everything he'd done for them, for devoting his life to the Order.
At once it all became clear, like suddenly remembering something she'd almost forgotten. She knew what she was going to do.
She was going to bring Severus Snape back from the dead.
–
Once she had made up her mind, she was filled with a new kind of exuberance. She had no idea how she would pull it off, but she would try anything. Shutting herself into her room, Hermione pulled up her calendar. She had only three weeks until Halloween. It was also the Gaelic festival of Samhain, where the barriers between the physical world and the spirit world would break. If she was going to attempt it, it would need to be then.
Rubbing her eyes with her hand, Hermione sighed. The problem was she didn't know where to start. Where would she even find a book with that kind of information? Books like that didn't just lay around for anyone to read it. She froze. Of course. How could she forget? She reached for her beaded bag at the foot of her bed, and a summoning charm later a large book bound in faded black leather flew into her hand.
Secrets of the Darkest Art.
The first and only time she'd read through it – when they were hunting Horcruxes and starving in a freezing tent – she'd found it repulsive. It contained the darkest and most horrific spells and rituals one could think of (and a few you couldn't), and if there was anywhere she could find the information she needed, it was in that book.
Just opening the book made Hermione feel dirty. The things that book contained... She shuddered. Taking a deep breath, she locked away all her emotions and started to read. Near the end of the book, she found what she was looking for. Reading over the ritual, her stomach turned. She paused. Was she really doing this? She had never read about a successful resurrection. Then she thought back to Snape bleeding out on a dirty floor, eyes frenzied and desperate. No, she needed to do this. She owed it to him to try.
–
The week before Halloween, Hermione went to the Headmistress to request permission to go down to London. Though she'd never been a very good liar she concocted a story about meeting an estate agent about her parents' house, which Professor McGonagall believed.
Feeling maybe more paranoid than she ought, Hermione Apparated first to her parents' house in Bromley. There she changed out of her muggle jeans and jumper and into transfigured black robes. The many buttons and high neck reminded her of Professor Snape, which she found fitting. She practised her glamour several times before she was satisfied she wouldn't be recognised going into Knockturn Alley. Her eyes lightened, her hair turned straight, short and blonde and her skin darkened to a healthy tanned shade. Disturbingly, she almost looked like Lockhart's long lost sister. Shaking off the notion, she braced herself and Apparated to Knockturn Alley.
The wizard behind the counter in The Coffin House barely looked at Hermione when she entered. Pulse racing, she tried to give off an air of superiority and confidence. It felt like when she was impersonating Bellatrix all over again. He eyed her suspiciously when she stated which items she wanted to purchase, but did not comment as he gathered her order.
Ten minutes later she exited the shop, transfigured beaded bag filled with all the items on her list. Concentrating on the three D's, she Apparated back to Bromley, where she collapsed on the sofa. Her knees were still shaking. She had all the things she needed for the ritual now, bar two. Blood from the caster – her – and something belonging to the deceased. She knew from Harry that Spinner's End had been untouched since the war, waiting for the Wizengamot to make up their minds about what to do with it since Snape had left no will.
Disillusioned, Hermione Apparated to Spinner's End. The end of terrace house looked run down and bleak in the autumn sunlight. With a wave of her wand, she exposed the wards. Surprisingly, they weren't too advanced; it wouldn't take her more than a minute or two to take them down.
Once inside the house, she didn't dare linger; she wasn't convinced there wouldn't be additional wards or alarms, and the last thing she needed was to get caught inside by Aurors and having to explain what she was doing there. Going up the hidden staircase she found herself on a small landing with two closed doors. She tried the left one – which was unlocked – and walked into what must have been Snape's childhood bedroom. A narrow bed stood underneath the cracked window, grey sheets in disarray as though the occupant of the bed had just left it. A rickety bookcase with a few books and a Muggle chessboard stood by the door, both covered in dust.
In the tall wardrobe in the corner, she found several pieces of clothing – black, of course – that had belonged to Snape. She ran her hand over the scratchy wool of a frock coat. Even months later it smelled of smoke and herbs, like it was clinging to keep some part of the Potions Master alive. Plucking it from the hanger, Hermione carefully folded it and put it in her bag.
–
Whether she was ready or not – and she didn't feel it – Halloween was fast approaching. She had already asked Harry to borrow the cloak and the Marauder's Map, which he had sent over without any questions. He probably thought she would be sneaking to the library after hours.
The night before Halloween Hermione went over her plan and double-checked she had everything required for the ritual. She planned on staying behind from the Feast, claiming illness, then don the cloak and sneak down to the Whomping Willow once the Feast was underway. The secret passageway that led up to the Shrieking Shack was still intact, and that was the route she was planning to take. Once inside the Shack... Who knew what would happen?
The knock startled her. Hastily gathering all of her items and pushing them underneath the duvet, she went for the door.
Ginny was on the other side, fiddling with the ends of her hair. "Can I come in?"
"Of course." Hermione stepped aside. Mindful of the items hidden beneath the duvet, she sat on the foot of the bed. "Is everything all right?"
Ginny took the chair and offered a wan smile. "I was going to ask you the same thing. You've been...distant, lately."
Hermione tried a smile, but it felt wrong. "I'm fine, Ginny. Honestly. It's just a lot. Being back here, after everything that's happened."
"I know what you mean." Ginny sighed. "Things won't ever be the same, will they?"
Hermione looked down, pulling on a loose thread on the duvet. "I don't think they can be. They can be normal, I hope, but not the same as they were."
Ginny let out a frustrated huff. "Well, I want things to be normal soon."
Hermione felt the outline of the book beneath her fingers. "Me too."
Soon, at least one thing would be back to normal.
–
The morning of the Halloween Feast, Hermione was sick.
Flushing the toilet, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She must be mental to think she could actually succeed. Rising on shaky legs, she rinsed her mouth several times. The least she could do was to try. Anything to make the nightmares stop. Maybe they weren't just nightmares, maybe they meant something more? He kept asking her why she didn't save him; now she could. She had tried using Dreamless Sleep to stop the nightmares, but it had stopped working months ago. So she would try. If it didn't succeed, if something went wrong, she knew what to do.
She found it difficult to focus on anything that day; in her mind she was constantly going over the ritual, trying to anticipate every way things could go wrong.
Feigning illness proved easy, as she was jittery and nauseous in anticipation. An hour before the Feast was due to begin, she rose from the sofa in the Gryffindor Common Room and excused herself.
Once back in her room, Hermione couldn't stop pacing. She needed to let the Feast begin before she went down; the corridors would be empty and there was less of a chance she would be discovered. She checked her beaded bag once more – for the fourth time that day – to check that everything was packed. The map and the cloak lay ready on her bed.
All she could do now was wait.
–
Going through the castle under the Invisibility Cloak was easier than she thought. She checked the map every couple of minutes, and found each time that everyone was still gathered in the Great Hall. It was only when she came down to the Entrance Hall that her heart started to race. Casting a voiceless Disillusionment spell, her arm reached outside the cloak for the door. The great oak door gave a low groan as it opened. Hermione slid through, then carefully shut the door behind her.
It was a starry night, the gibbous moon pale in the dark sky. Hermione cast a warming charm as she hurried down towards the Whomping Willow. Her breath was loud in her ears, and the map rustled in her grip. She glanced down at it. Everyone was still in the Great Hall. Good.
Reaching the Whomping Willow, she found a long branch on the ground which she levitated to knock on the knot by the base of the tree. At once the Willow froze, dry leaves rustling in the wind. She stared at the entry to the passageway. Both times she'd gone through that passageway and the tunnel, it had involved Snape in one way or the other. Hopefully, he'd be climbing back out of it with her this time.
Once she was inside the tunnel, Hermione cancelled the Disillusionment spell and removed the cloak. Bundling it up in her beaded bag, she started to crawl. The earth was cool underneath her fingers. The tunnel seemed much longer than she remembered. When the tunnel finally started sloping upwards, she knew she had almost reached the end. This time there was no crate blocking the entrance to the room ahead.
Her back gave several pops as she stood up straight. Looking around, she froze. The room hadn't changed since the last time she was there; the mangled table, the broken crate Harry had moved aside. And there, on the floor near the wall, was a large red stain. That was where Severus Snape had bled out five months previously. Hermione's stomach turned.
Right, she needed to get started.
Approaching the spot where Snape had died, she knelt and opened her beaded bag. First, she pulled out the wool frock coat and placed it carefully over the bloodstains on the floor. Then she took out her silver knife, a large container and the items required for the ritual.
Picking up the book, she rose and used her wand to draw the runes from the book onto the floor. Then she placed and lit several candles in a semi-circle over the symbols enclosing both her and the cloak on the floor, then took a deep breath. It was time to begin.
First, she poured the pomegranate juice – she had bought the pomegranates from the Tesco near her parents' house and juiced them herself – into the container and spoke the first incantation. She had practised the Latin several times over the past weeks to make sure she got everything correct. An invisible wind whipped her robes around, and the Shack suddenly felt stifling. Heart racing, she picked up the Adder's Fork, carefully broke the forked end in two and added the pieces to the pomegranate juice. Another incantation. The Shack groaned. The flames on the candles fluttered. Hesitating, she picked up the silver knife. Holding her arm over the container, she squeezed her eyes shut. The knife sliding over her skin gave a burning sensation, and she gasped. This part of the incantation was harder to get out as tears streamed down her face from the pain. The knife made a clanging sound when she dropped it on the floor, and she spoke a quick healing charm to close the cut on her forearm.
She peered down into the container. The mixture was a deep blood red with a pearly sheen. Just like the book had said. Something akin to hope blossomed inside her. This could actually work.
Picking up the container with one hand, she raised her wand with the other. Only one thing left to do, then the ritual would be complete.
Channelling her magic, Hermione gripped her wand tighter and spoke the final incantation. A magical force field slowly materialised from her wand, enveloping her and the frock coat on the floor. She felt the magic go through her, test her. It burnt like a thousand needles all over her skin. Gritting her teeth, she waited for the force field to fully enclose them.
Then she threw the contents of the container on the frock coat and shouted, "Eum transire!"
The force field exploded, sending her flying back. Trying to catch her breath, she blinked slowly. Fabric rustled against the floor. She stopped breathing. Hermione sat up slowly, heart thudding fast.
Where she had placed the frock coat lay a thin figure crumpled. All she could see was black; black boots, black trousers, black robes, black hair. Then white. White hands taking grip on the floor and heaving the body up to a kneeling position. The black hair swung as his head turned, and she found herself staring into Severus Snape's black eyes.
It had worked.
Her mouth opened, then closed again. She cleared her throat, then managed to croak out, "Welcome back, Professor."
His eyes left hers, slid around the room before fastening on the still bloody knife, the chalk and the book. His eyes snapped back to hers.
Then he snarled, showing crooked yellow teeth. "What the devil have you done?"
Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.