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The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. The air was still crackling with magic, the smell of blood and something putrid hung in the air. Shakily, Snape rose to his feet in front of her.
Hermione frowned. She knew this scenario. It wasn't a dream; it was a memory. She needed to wake up. Her skin prickled. Something was wrong.
Snape made a gurgling noise and raised his hand to his throat.
Horror filled her as blood oozed from between his fingers. This wasn't the way it usually went. His wide eyes met hers, and he took a staggering step forwards. Hermione met him halfway. Her hands covered his, pressing against the gaping wound. Warm blood spilt over her hands, ran down her arms and coloured the sleeves of her shirt red. She knew it was a nightmare; this had never happened, but she couldn't help herself.
"Look at me," he wheezed.
Her panicked eyes left their stacked hands and met his. His face was twisted in pain, and blood seeped of his eyes and nose. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't do this, couldn't watch him die again. She could feel – and smell – Snape's blood on her skin, running down her arms. She needed to wake up. This was only a dream.
"Hermione." Her name was spoken in a whisper.
Her eyes opened, his face blurry through her tears.
The gentle smile looked wrong on his face. "You can't save me." He lifted their hands, and the blood oozed faster. He placed a bloody hand on her face, the caress intimate.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, the blurred ceiling of her hotel room coming into view. There was something wet on her face. Reaching up, her stomach lurched as she imagined her fingers coming away stained with blood – Snape's blood. The liquid on them was clear, though, and she realised she was crying. She let out a frustrated huff as she wiped away the tears. She sincerely hoped the dream wasn't some sort of premonition.
It had been three days since she confronted Snape, and she hadn't seen him since. She didn't think their meeting had gone too badly – at least he hadn't hexed her – but he couldn't keep avoiding her. Halloween was barely three weeks away, which didn't feel like enough time to get Snape to talk to her and figure out how to stop them both dying. Maybe she could risk going back to the bookshop since the tactic of letting him come to her clearly wasn't working.
After casting a quick Tempus – which showed it was barely six o'clock - Hermione stayed in bed for a few minutes longer before stumbling into the bathroom. She put the temperature to almost scalding, hoping the water would rinse away the feeling of Snape's blood still on her body. Forty minutes later she exited the shower feeling slightly more awake and no longer with the scent of blood in her nose.
The weather was still showing off autumn in the best way, and leaves crunched underneath Hermione's feet as she walked towards the coffee shop down the street to get breakfast. The owner – whose name she'd learnt was Richard – seemed to have taken a liking to her and kept trying to give her a discount on her breakfast. Yesterday she had accepted it but put two extra dollars in the tip jar by the counter.
"Good morning, Hermione," he smiled as she entered the establishment. "You're early today. Jet lag's still keeping you up, huh?"
Hermione smiled slightly. "It is. I've heard it gets better, though."
"Take a seat, and I'll fix your order. Same thing as yesterday?"
"Yes, please."
Removing her jacket and scarf, Hermione took a seat by the window. The sun had just risen fully, making the frost on the trees and parked cars glitter in the morning light. A few minutes later Richard came out with her breakfast and coffee, and she smiled before tucking in. In the distance was the outline of a dark figure on the sidewalk. She kept her gaze on the figure as it approached; recognising it as Snape straight away, even dressed in Muggle clothing. The black coat didn't look too dissimilar to the billowing cloak he had favoured back when he was still her teacher, though this Muggle equivalent didn't have the same flounce.
She was expecting him to walk past the window and go on his merry way. Then their eyes met through the window. Hermione froze. Snape halted. Then he started walking, and Hermione slumped slightly in her chair.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
"Ah, good morning, Mr Snape," Richard said pleasantly. "What can I get you?"
"And to you, Mr Thurber. An americano, please."
Hermione, whose back was to the counter, felt a strange satisfaction that they weren't on a first-name basis.
"Coming right up. Oh, I was meaning to ask; did that nice British Girl check out your store? She said she enjoyed books, so I sent her your way."
"She stopped by, though I doubt she found anything she was looking for."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Richard chuckled. "I didn't think that was possible, with the number of books you have. Here's your coffee, Mr Snape."
Hermione was surprised when Snape approached her table.
He glowered at her. "What are you doing here?" It was less of a question and more of a demand.
"Having breakfast. What about you? I find it hard to believe this is your normal stop for coffee."
Snape snorted. "Believe what you will."
Taking a chance, she gestured to the empty seat across from her. "Won't you sit?"
She was surprised when Snape actually did. Deciding to tread lightly, she continued eating while Snape stared out the window.
It was several minutes until either of them spoke.
"What are you really doing here?" Hermione asked.
His brow raised. "Getting coffee."
She rolled her eyes. "And you choosing a coffee shop around the corner from my hotel is pure coincidence?"
"Your hotel is around the corner? I had no idea."
Hermione chuckled and sipped her coffee. "Should I take that you're voluntarily conversing with me as a sign you're ready to listen?"
He tilted his head. "I am, let us say intrigued, by whatever far-fetched theory you have to present to me. When you're finished, come by the shop." The chair scraped against the floor when he stood. "And do try to hurry up, I haven't got all day."
Hermione had half a mind to dawdle to spite him but decided against it. Like it or not, they needed to try to get along.
"Are you quite done?"
Hermione looked away from the second edition of Dracula she was flipping through. She had taken full advantage of the closed shop to browse, with Minnie on her heels headbutting her legs. It wasn't at all surprising that the shop had an excellent selection; Snape didn't do things halfway. "Pardon?"
Snape leant against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "I was under the impression you had something of importance to discuss with me, and I don't think it's the threat of female sexual expression."
She closed the book with a shrug. "I'd be happy to discuss that, but perhaps not right now. Can we sit?"
Snape pushed off the wall and gestured for her to follow him. He brought her back into the office where they had conversed days prior. He took the seat behind the desk, and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was such an obvious move to establish dominance. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured the plain wood chair on the other side of the desk into a comfy armchair.
Sitting, she crossed her legs. "I don't suppose I could trouble you for a cup of tea?"
He glowered. "Don't push it. You wanted to talk. Talk."
There were plenty of questions Hermione wanted to ask, and she surprised herself when she opened with, "What made you settle here?"
Snape shrugged. "Why not?"
She tried to reign in her frustration. She took a deep breath. "All right. When did your nightmares start again?"
"You're assuming they ever stopped."
She slammed her hand down on the armrest, startling Minnie who had curled up on the edge of Snape's desk. "Stop being obtuse, you berk. This is important."
He had the audacity to look amused. "Is it? So far you've given me nothing else but an inquiry of my sleeping habits and my place of residence. Are you a Gryffindor or not, Granger? Subtlety doesn't suit you."
"Forgive me for opting not to open a conversation after a decade with 'Hello, how have you been? Oh, just so you know, you're going to die soon.'"
Snape's brow furrowed. "What are you on about?"
Hermione exhaled shakily. "I started having nightmares about that night in the Shrieking Shack about a month ago. I did the Arithmantic calculations, and unless we do something by Halloween we'll both be dead."
He couldn't quite hide the surprise in his eyes. "Explain yourself," he barked.
She sighed. "It'll be easier if I show you." She walked around the desk – running her hand over Minnie's back doing so – and brought up his Arithmantic line. "See here, where it stops?" she pointed at the fizzling out of the blue line. "This is on Halloween. Mine look the same." Waving the line away, she instead brought up their joined one. "This is the one I calculated after deciding I needed to find you. The lines continue, but they are still this one," she brought up the final line, which she had calculated shortly after their first meeting, "is with us doing the ritual on Halloween." Their combined lines shone brighter than their separate had, the silver glow almost blinding. She tore her eyes away from the lines to Snape.
He was fixed on the line, mouth slightly open. At length, he spoke. "I need a drink."
–
They ended up in a bar, though it wasn't even noon.
Snape directed Hermione to a table half-secluded behind the pool table and went to give their orders. The bar was small and slightly shabby, reminiscent of the ones she recalled seeing in movies, with neon lights and sticky floor.
When Snape returned he placed two tumblers of amber liquid, though hers was topped with foam, a cherry and an orange slice. He sat across from her, and their legs bumped as he got comfortable.
Raising his glass, he gave a mock toast. "To our health."
Hermione sipped her drink. The heat from the bourbon warmed her insides going down. With a wave of her hand, she cast a Muffliato and a Notice-Me-Not charm, though the bar was nearly empty. They drank in silence, and Hermione took the opportunity to study the former Potions Master. Compared to the last time she'd seen him – having just been raised from the dead – he looked amazing. He was still thin and hook nosed, but his face was less harsh than she remembered and he looked healthy. His hair – still worn long – was streaked with silver, and she found it suited him. Doing some quick maths, she was surprised to realise he was barely fifty. He had always seemed old and weary when she was still at school, but he hadn't been much older than she was now.
"Are you quite done?" His eyebrow was raised, but he looked more amused than bothered by her scrutiny.
"I am," she said, taking another sip of her drink. "Have you settled into the notion that we're weeks away from possibly dying?"
"Perhaps after another drink."
Hermione chuckled and leant her chin on her palm. "I would advise against that until we've figured out the ritual."
A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Spoilsport."
She rolled her eyes.
–
Snape led her back to the bookshop – which had opened for business since their departing – and into the office. He produced a pot of tea and biscuits and steepled his long fingers together.
"Tell me about the ritual you used to bring me back."
Hermione rummaged through her beaded bag and pulled out Secrets of the Darkest Art. She hadn't so much as opened it in the ten years since she had hastily stuffed it into the bag following Snape's resurrection.
She placed it on the desk, then sat back. The alcohol had made her warm and slightly less tolerant of any bullshit Snape would try to pull.
"The ritual is on page 589, if I recall correctly."
Watching him watch the book, she didn't miss the slight tremor in his hand as he reached for the volume. His hand made contact with the leather, and Hermione half-expected something to happen. But it didn't. Snape slid the volume closer to him.
"Might I relieve you of this for a few hours?" he asked, eyes still on the book.
Hermione nodded. "Of course." She'd sprung a lot on him today, and while she'd had plenty of time to reconcile with the notion of dying, he hadn't.
–
Snape instructed Hermione to return to the bookshop at seven o'clock that evening, giving him a few hours to look through the book.
Hermione spent the rest of the day not doing much; she had explored much of what the town had to offer the previous days and she didn't want to risk Apparating anywhere without more knowledge of the area.
After a long nap that thankfully didn't include any nightmares – memory-based or otherwise – she showered and changed clothes before heading out. It was dark out, a chilly wind rustling the leaves on the trees and the ground. Hermione tugged her scarf closer to her face and quickened her pace. A fine mist hung in the air, making the air around the street lights hazy.
As she crossed the street, the hairs of the back of her neck prickled. Was someone watching her? The church bell chimed, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the bookshop came into view.
Snape was leaning against the door, hands in the pockets of his black coat. A dark coloured scarf hid most of his face from her view.
"Have you eaten?" he asked when she was close enough for conversation.
"I haven't."
He rolled his eyes. "Follow me."
Hermione followed him into a narrow alleyway between the bookshop and the next building over. There he stopped and held out his arm.
"Where are we going?"
"Since neither one of us has eaten and the subjects we're about to discuss are of a sensitive nature, I thought it best we went somewhere private."
Her brows raised in surprise. "Your house?"
He nodded. "I have extensive wards, so to allow you entry I must take you Side-Along. Is that acceptable?"
Hermione grabbed his arm. The wool was scratchy underneath her fingers. "Yes."
–
They materialised in an entrance hall with dark wood panelling and an L-shaped staircase going up to the first floor. Hanging her coat and scarf on the metal coat rack by the door, she followed him into a sitting room. Two of the walls were lined fully with bookcases, while the other two were taken over by a fireplace and large windows. Two dark sofas took up most of the floor space, but it was difficult in the low light to see if they were blue or black.
There was a chirp and the sound of small paws against the wood floors. Minnie appeared from an open doorway on the other side of the room, trotting towards them.
Hermione smiled and crouched down. "Hi, pretty girl."
Minnie immediately jumped up in Hermione's lap, and she wrapped her arms around the cat before standing. Minnie purred and bumped her hair against Hermione's chin. She met Snape's eyes – who looked amused – and raised her brows, daring him to say anything.
He snorted. "Come on, let's eat. I'd prefer not to discuss my imminent death on an empty stomach."
She wasn't at all surprised Snape turned out to be an excellent chef. She sat at the kitchen table – Minnie half asleep and purring loudly in her lap – as he made them a simple dinner.
After dinner they went back into the sitting room, and Snape placed the book on the coffee table.
Hermione sipped her wine. The sofa – which turned out to be a deep navy – was as comfortable as it looked.
"I found the ritual we need to perform," he said matter-of-factly, twirling his wine glass. The flames from the fireplace reflected in the crimson liquid, the shapes almost mesmerizing.
Hermione's hand stilled on Minnie's back. "You did?" After a small protesting meow, she began moving her hand again. "How?"
He rolled his eyes. "I checked the book, Granger. It told me everything I needed to know, including the reason why the ritual is necessary."
Unease settled in Hermione's stomach. While she hadn't read the book in ten years, she was sure there hadn't been anything in there about another ritual. She would like to think she wouldn't have done the ritual if there had been. "Which is?"
"You managed something there is no record of; a successful resurrection where the subject came back fully as themselves with no cognitive or bodily abnormalities. Frankly it was a fluke, and you are lucky you didn't raise an Inferi instead." He sighed. "The point is, Death doesn't like giving up what's rightfully theirs. They allowed our lives to continue, for a while, but now it's time to pay what is owed."
Hermione pondered his words. "So we do the ritual and hope Death shows us mercy? We won't know if it'll work until we do it?"
"Correct. The Arithmantic calculation you showed me gives me some hope the ritual will be successful, but we cannot know for certain."
Hermione bit her lip. "I was thinking the same thing. Arithmancy can't predict the future, after all. I assume this ritual must be done on Halloween?"
Snape nodded. "It must be done on the same day and time as the original ritual. It also requires the use of the same ingredients as the resurrection ritual. Do you have the personal item of mine you used last time?"
Hermione nodded. Snape's cloak had – along with the book – stayed at the bottom of her beaded bag since that night.
Minnie sat up and stretched, burying her claws in Hermione's thigh before walking across the sofa and into Snape's lap. She trilled and bumped her head against his hand.
Snape stroked her back absent-mindedly. "Let's hope it works," he said, looking away from Hermione and into the fire. "Contrary to what you may think, I've found I don't particularly want to die."
Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that, so she settled for sipping her wine.
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