A/N SSHG Exchange gift for Fandomme. Betaed by the wonderful Deemichelle.
CHAPTER TWO
Hermione arrived at the Department of Mysteries first. Ginny had sweet-talked Dean Thomas, now an Unspeakable, into letting them in that day. He had grumbled about getting hell from his superior, but surreptitiously passed them access badges anyway.
The stone archway stood in the middle of the room. Hermione shivered as she looked at it. Harry had described a gray veil hanging from the arch, a tattered grey cloth. Hermione could not see the veil, but it spooked her just the same. This was one of the places between life and death. This was where her journey to find Snape would begin. She could not hear the voices Harry had described either, but she could imagine them. They were the voices of the people on the other side of Life.
Fifteen minutes after silently contemplating the arch on her own, Hermione heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Ginny, approaching the archway with reverence. Ginny stopped in front of her, silently reached into her robes and pulled out a slim, wood box. Handing it over to Hermione, she said,
"So. This is it."
Hermione accepted the box and nodded, "Will Harry be very mad?"
"He'll get over it. I'm very good at persuading him."
Ginny gave Hermione a wry smile. Hermione took small respite in the gesture then, taking a breath, opened the box. The wand lay inside, twelve inches, ebony, supple, dragon's heartstring. Holding it in her hand she felt overwhelmed and only came out of her daze when Ginny laid a hand on her arm.
"The potion, 'Mione?"
"Here."
Hermione dug into her robes and brought forth a crystal phial, which over the three-day brewing process had cooked the bright green potion into an agate gray. She uncorked the phial and took a deep breath.
"Look, if I don't come back after seven days…"
Ginny shook her head, dismissing all speech, "You take as much time as you need. Don't come back with regrets. I'll come check on you every day, no matter how long it takes. I won't let anyone do anything to you."
Hermione nodded, unable to speak. She hoped Ginny knew how grateful she was, and how much she appreciated the support, and the willingness to listen. Ginny had never dismissed this as an academic fancy or whimsical obsession. That, above everything else—including the wand—made her most thankful.
Hermione stood in front of the archway, steeling her nerves. She looked at the agate gray potion and, in a decisive move, tipped the phial's contents down her throat. She heard Ginny say something behind her.
"Remember, don't eat anything. Don't eat anything, Hermione, or you'll be lost forever."
The potion phial slipped to the ground and shattered. Hermione felt weak, her body shook with the effort to remain standing. Her innards felt as if they had been slicked with ice, a rattling shiver held onto her body and wouldn't let go. The veil shimmered in front of her and Hermione could see torn grey curtains flapping from the archway, shifted by an invisible wind.
"Hermione, gather yourself. You have to go through on your own."
Ginny clasped Hermione's right hand and closed it firmly, so that Snape's wand wouldn't fall to the ground. She steadied Hermione and gave her a gentle push forward. Hermione struggled to swallow, her throat was so dry. Stepping forward, she reached one hand up, pressing it flat against the stone. The shivering sharpened into prickles, feeling as if invisible needles were stabbing against her skin. Her heart began to palpitate as the curtain brushed against her face.
Hermione pitched forward as if pulled by an invisible magnet, and passed through the archway, the curtains possessively caressing her. What Ginny saw was Hermione standing still for a moment, and then crumpling to a heap on the ground. One-half of her body lay under the archway, the other outside, stuck in between two worlds.
Hermione opened her mouth to scream, no sound issued forth. She was falling slowly, in an inky, viscous blackness. She opened her eyes but could see nothing. She continued to fall, the black syrup-like substance filling her nose, mouth and ears, yet she could still breathe. A moment longer and her body suddenly connected with solid ground.
Hermione lay winded on the ground. A nervous moment passed before her lungs sweetly swelled and she began to cough. She looked up and was relieved to see more than blackness. She lay by a dark river, the ground she lay on was hard, and barren of any life. The sky was permanently overcast.
The wand in Hermione's hand had a string of light spilling forth from its tip; it continued across the river, vanishing to a distant point beyond Hermione's field of vision. She fondled the light string curiously between her fingertips, giving it an experimental tug. A spark of hope fluttered in her chest, and she scrambled to her feet. Brushing gray dirt from her knees, she tucked the wand into her robes, the light still shining through the material.
Walking cautiously along the riverbank she came across an empty boat. She nudged it with her foot, deemed it solid enough to support her, and climbed in gently. Just as she began to wonder where the oars were, the boat glided across the river. The waters were unnaturally still and resembled a large, twisting mirror. The boat rocked precariously as she stepped out and onto the other bank, but she still managed to cross safe and dry.
There was a large, gray forest with dead, gnarled trees. Hermione looked about disconcerted, she wasn't sure what she had expected of the Underworld but somehow a large, iron-gate figured into it. The string of light tumbled down from her robes and onto the forest floor, passing through the dead trees. Hermione was obliged to follow the direction Snape's wand pointed her to. The branches scratched lightly at her arms and legs, snagging at her clothing. She heard a faint, low moan vibrating from the trees, as if emanating from the inside of the trunks. Hermione gamely continued to follow the light, its glow oddly comforting in the eerie wood.
She did not know how long she had been walking through the forest. Had it been two hours? Two days? Maybe even two minutes? It seemed the passage of time down here was difficult to discern.
Hermione saw a break in the trees and eagerly ran towards it. The string of light spilled over into a huge, gray field. The trees seemed to melt away as she stumbled into the clearing. The sky was gray, the land was gray and the permeating light was gray.
Hermione instantly wished she had taken more caution in approaching the clearing. There was a large gathering of people around the string of light. They were also gray, merely shades of a person who had already passed. Upon her arrival, their heads snapped forward in unison and they gazed at her with blank faces, eyes holding no emotion.
She could tell her string of light had caused a disturbance, because they murmured, some picking up the string in their fingers and gently feeling it in reverence. One shade began to approach her, and Hermione took a step back. This incited the rest of the crowd to draw near, moving quickly and aggressively. They held the light string in their fingers, holding out their hands to touch her, their murmuring swelling to a loud buzz.
"Don't … stay back …"
Hermione's hand reached for her wand, until she remembered she couldn't perform any magic if she wanted to stay in the world of the dead. Clenching her hand into a fist to resist the temptation, she gave a muffled shriek when the shades closed in all around her. She couldn't understand their buzzing, but she got the impression that they were angry she was there. She felt cold hands brush against her face and grab at her robes. They wanted the light string, and whatever it was attached to.
One shade found Severus' wand tucked away in her robes. Hermione's heart leapt to her throat and she quickly grabbed it. The shades stared at her, faces still blank, but their hands were expressive; clenching and tensing into claws, pulling persistently on the wand. Afraid she would lose it—her only link to Severus—Hermione yanked the wand toward her, tearing it from the shades' grips. They murmured angrily at her daring, glancing at each other, before leaping towards her. With a shriek Hermione turned her back to them, fell to her knees, and curled into a fetal position, the wand clutched protectively against her chest. She felt the cold whispers of their hands snatch at her robes and tug at her hair.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione's heart stopped.
"Hermione."
Hermione turned her head, looking behind her. The awkward position she was in caused her to twist her knees too far, and she collapsed to the ground in a graceless heap. The moment's flash of long black hair was all she needed to see to know her search was over.
"Professor."
The tall shade froze for a second, and then its thin lips quirked into something halfway between a smirk and a smile.
"Severus … I haven't been a professor for a very long time now, Hermione. Perhaps you should get up from the ground."
Snape extended a hand towards her, and she stared at it for a moment's pause before accepting. The strength he used to pull her to her feet seemed fluid and effortless.
Hermione had to suppress the impulse to grab his face so she could better look at him. His skin looked dull, as if no light could reflect off it.
As Hermione's eyes hungrily drank in his countenance, he looked intently at the wand in her hand. When Hermione broke from her reverie, she noticed he looked at his wand with longing, and she held it towards him. He glanced up at her once before taking it with reverence.
There were no scars on his neck; apparently, one did not carry their injuries into the next world. He turned the wand over in his hands, nimble fingers caressing it with familiarity. The string of light faded away into the gray. Everything was gray. He looked like a person who had a light extinguished inside of them, or as if the only light that could emanate from him was gray. It made Hermione's stomach turn.
He was so engrossed with his wand that Hermione felt he wouldn't even notice if she touched him. She wanted to know if his skin still felt like skin. Her fingers crept forward, diffident, unsure in her trepidation (would he react badly?), finally grazing his left wrist. She was right; he didn't notice a thing, and if he did, he didn't care; he was still staring at his wand. His skin felt like skin cooled by a constant autumn breeze, dry and without warmth but not cold.
A thought struck Hermione and she pulled up his robe's left sleeve. His forearm was pale and smooth, a blank canvas of cool skin. Her fingertips traced over it and she felt the muscle underneath flex. Snape turned his head to see what she was doing.
"It's gone." Her voice was soft.
His eyebrows, dark and dramatic, twitched in confusion. "What?"
"Your mark, it's not there anymore."
He remained silent, a question mark written over his face. Hermione looked back at him shocked; she realized he didn't understand what she was talking about.
"The Dark Mark, you don't have it here. You used to have one."
Hermione felt her insides go cold. She had never considered that the dead may not remember parts of their past. She had just assumed they would be continuing their lives, albeit on a different plane of existence. Now, the more she thought about it, she realized Snape hadn't once snapped at her or said anything caustic. He didn't look as if he would. There was no guarded mask policing his facial expressions, or caution in his actions. It seemed he was not only extinguished of vibrancy and light, but of his bitterness and festering anger as well. He was … blank. Blank like the shades that had gathered around the one source of light that had strayed into their realm.
"I think, I may know of what you speak," Snape said slowly, turning the idea over in his mind.
Hermione could see the gears turning, an ember of remembrance slowly being allowed to ignite. A slight frown creased his brow.
"It is not something I think of often. It was not a pleasant time; I think you would agree."
Hermione nodded quickly, not wishing to press the matter further. She was afraid her mention of the Dark Mark would unwillingly force him to relive horrible things, and cause him to revert back to his former unpleasant demeanor. To see him so calm and amiable surprised her.
"Why are you not like them?"
The shades had gathered around to watch them again, fully gray and flitting from degrees of insubstantiality. Snape gazed at them indifferently.
"We are in the fields of Asphodel. They live here. I do not. Come, I do not think you are welcome."
He took her hand and led her away. The brush of skin against skin was electric and caught her off guard. Hermione could see no situation like this playing out between them when Snape was alive.
It seemed as if they had only taken a few steps before the setting changed to a brighter field with trees, a part of the gray river, and vegetative life the field of Asphodel did not have. It only reinforced the notion Hermione had that the laws of time and space were different down here.
Snape let go of her hand, and gazed contentedly at the dimly lit field. A soft light seemed to permeate the surroundings, giving the impression of early dawn. There were other people walking and sitting around them. Hermione thought it was subdued and slightly melancholic, but still pleasant and tranquil.
"Where are we?"
"These are the Elysian fields."