Ashwinder :: To bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses

Part Two

Harry was snoring, the bluebell flames in the jar casting eerie shadows, and Hermione watched as Ron tossed and turned on his bunk, guilt coursing through her. She hadn't meant to Splinch him in her panic to get them to safety.

Things had been so much better when they had still been able to stay at Grimmauld. Prospects hadn't seemed as bleak. They had been warm and dry and safe...and fed, thanks to Kreacher. She had even been able to pass information along to Snape through the portrait of Headmaster Black. Now, she wouldn't be able to do so in secret. Not with the boys around.

There was a tug in her chest; Hermione lifted her head from the pillow. Heat grew and she rose quietly from her own bed, trying to keep the springs from creaking. Was Snape nearby?

Cautiously, she peered out of the tent's flap. Nothing. Just that same insistent tug. She followed it to the very edge of her wards, but was unwilling to step out of them.

“You are safe,” came a disembodied voice. Snape's voice.

“Prove it's you,” Hermione challenged.

“For fuck's sake, Granger,” he said, his tone losing its polish. She relaxed at the rough Northern lilt, and the heat in her chest became a flame. “You know it's me.”

She stepped from the safety of her wards and he appeared in front of her. She shivered, feeling his wards encircle them both, hiding them. Clever.

“I have to be careful,” she told him.

“Obviously,” he bit out. “What the hell happened?”

“We got what we were looking for,” she said carefully. The last time they had met and she had tried to mention her task, Snape had nearly bitten her head off. “I Splinched Ron, though.”

Snape's gaze sharpened. “How badly is he injured?”

“Fairly badly, but I've got Dittany. It just needs time to heal.”

“Good.” Snape paused. “You cannot return to Grimmauld. The Dark Lord has already sent a team to lie in wait.”

“We weren't going to go back,” she said irritably. “Hence the tent.”

“I didn't think you would, but you need to know why. Potter is not, after all, particularly intelligent. I can just imagine the little idiot returning for some sentimental item.”

“You're probably right.” Hermione shivered. Snape moved closer and with a swirl of his arm he enveloped them both in his robes. He was warm and she relaxed, feeling sheltered and...safe. That was a nice feeling.

“How's the school?” She asked, unwilling to let him leave. The boys would sleep for a while, and even if they woke, Snape's wards would keep her and the professor as safe as her wards kept Harry and Ron.

“A nightmare,” he said curtly. “There is...not much I can do. The Carrows are monsters. I tried to suggest Crabbe and Macnair: while both are vicious, they are also cowards. The Carrows have no such trait, and report directly to the Dark Lord.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” He sighed wearily. “Is there anything you require? I am not able to get away often, but—”

“We'll be alright,” she said. Hermione looked him over, at the deep circles under his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones. “Will you?”

Snape shrugged jerkily. “I will because I must.”

On impulse, Hermione hugged him. He felt painfully thin as he stood frozen in her embrace; after a moment he relaxed and tentatively returned the gesture. The warmth where his soul resided within her suffused her from head to toe. There was a soft gasp from Snape: did he feel it, too?

Too soon, he withdrew. “I have to go,” he said roughly. That Northern was back, the sound she was coming to know as the dropping of his guard. “Go through Phineas if you require aid.”

“We should be okay,” Hermione offered.

“You shouldn't have to be, Miss Granger.” His face was haunted. “You are too young.”

How many people had he had to watch suffer? How many had been 'too young'? What about him? What had this life done to him? There was pain radiating from Snape, and she kissed his cheek before withdrawing.

“If you need help, you know where to find it,” she offered quietly. As if to demonstrate, Hermione tapped her chest, then his. “Good night, Professor.”

“Please, don't call me that.” Snape's voice was muted, pained.

Hermione paused, awkwardly.

“Severus is fine,” he muttered. Was it a trick of the moonlight, or was he blushing?

She nodded, giving him a faint smile, and moved through her wards once more. There was a faint pop, the tugging on her heart was over, and Snape—Severus—was gone, leaving her alone with the boys.

Severus dropped his head into his hands as Hagrid escorted the little miscreants out. Longbottom, Lovegood, and Weasley. Again. He had lost track of how often he had had to intervene. They just wouldn't keep their heads down.

On one hand, he needed them to keep giving hope to the other students. On the other...he needed them alive. If they kept up the rebellion, he wouldn't be able to stop the Carrows from inflicting their method of punishment. Hogwarts was turning into a place of nightmares and he was running out of ways to keep students from the worst of it. Already he had pushed back the Carrows' proposed curriculum three times. They wanted to have the older students learn Unforgiveables. Worse, they wanted them to practice on the younger set!

Severus was trying to dissuade the Dark Lord from approving their plan. His current tactic was that the spells, wielded by inept children, were more likely to cause damage to the rest and that the Dark Lord's view of a pure, Wizarding Britain would be tainted by drooling imbeciles unfit for even procreation.

But it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord's growing instability overrode that as well.

“Severus?” Albus's portrait ventured.

“What, Old Man?” Severus snapped. He hated that damned nosy portrait. Hated the machinations that had led to this terrible role.

“You should rest. You look terrible.”

Severus snorted. “How keen of you to notice, Albus.”

“You can't patrol every night,” he said. That painted kindness was bitter to him, and he rose from his austere desk with a sneer.

“I cannot let another person suffer, Albus.”

It was in the early hours of the morning that Severus finally collapsed into his bed. The Headmaster's bed was a sinful thing, but he found it hard to take pleasure in its softness when his world was crumbling around him.

Like most nights, he found himself pressing his fingers to his sternum. The flicker of warmth that was Hermione Granger pulsed. He felt her now most nights, sending something along their connection. He couldn't name it. It was...affection, maybe. Part of him wanted to call it friendship.

But he got his friends killed, didn't he?

“Severus...please...”

Squeezing his eyes shut against both memories and the dawn, Severus took comfort in her presence, in the generous giving of her attention. Perhaps he could pretend, just for one night, that he had a friend. And that maybe he would survive the war.

Maybe.

The woods were frigid, and Severus surveyed his work. The Sword of Gryffindor glimmered faintly under the layer of ice. It would have to do, he mused. It was about as 'heroic' as it was going to get in the middle of the woods, unless he managed to coax out a wild beast, and Severus had no interest in risking Potter's life. A few warming charms and the boy would be fine.

Severus secreted himself behind a tree and watched as his Patronus bounded off. As always, the shape of it pained him. Lily.

It was minutes before Potter appeared, wand lit. The boy looked thin and cold, but not overly so. The doe disappeared under the ice, and Severus saw the light of it limn the sword with a silver glow. Good. So far, all is as it should be.

For some reason the idiot stripped down. Hadn't Granger taught them basic survival spells? Disgruntled, Severus watched him dive for the sword without even a charm. Why the hell was he wearing a necklace?

In horror, Severus watched as Potter seized the sword and began to struggle to reach the surface. What the hell? At first, he thought it was the sword, but then he noticed the necklace that had lain flat was now...tugging...Potter towards the ice.

Severus moved forward to render aid, then darted back as a blur of red jumped into the lake. Weasley? Wand in hand, just in case he needed to intervene, Severus watched the red-head pull Potter to safety. Assured of their continual survival, he inched away.

While he was here he may as well check on Granger.

The edge of her wards rippled as he pressed a hand against them, and he gave their shared soul a tug. A few moments later she appeared, shivering.

“Severus?”

“You look awful.”

“Well you don't look that great yourself,” she retorted. Merlin, but she was thin and a little dirty, clad only in a jumper. Without thinking, he pulled her under his cloak. She pressed against his side. “What about Harry?”

“Retrieving the Sword of Gryffindor from a pool,” Severus said. He debated telling her that Weasley had returned, but some tiny wedge of kindness made him leave it for Potter to share. “I imagine he'll use it to destroy whatever it is you needed it for.”

“Thank Merlin,” she breathed. “It's been destroying us, carrying it around.”

Severus didn't ask what 'it' was. While he knew what it was, that they were hunting pieces of soul, it was easier to keep that hidden if it wasn't often in his memories. Safer for them all, even if he hadn't been in the Dark Lord's presence all that often.

“I cannot stay too long. Is there anything you require? Potions?”

“We're alright on those, I think,” Granger replied. “It's food we're low on.”

Severus nodded. “There's an abandoned farmhouse half a mile east that I passed on my way. Even with our connection, your wards are sufficient to mask you that I had to trudge through the damned snow.” He grimaced at the way he was drifting off-subject rather than getting to the point. He was too desperate for a connection with a person who didn't revile him. “I can have the House-Elves drop some staples there, if you think you can retrieve them without arousing Potter's suspicion. And...perhaps a book. For you.”

“I can.” She smiled, a brilliant little thing. “Thank you. That will really help.”

He made a jerky shrug, uncomfortable. The woods were silent, snow settled on the branches. She remained under his cloak, her nearness setting his chest aflame. The minutes ticked by with no crunching of footsteps or chatter. He should go.

“Miss Granger—” he began but she shivered and cut him off.

“We are working together, you know. You could just call me Hermione,” she grumped. “I mean, I'm not your student any more.”

“It would be inappropriate.”

“Oh come on, Severus. Please? We're friends, aren't we?”

Severus froze, his hands balling helplessly into fists.

“Severus please...we're friends...”

He nearly shoved her away. “I have to go.”

“Severus?”

She caught his sleeve. “Did I say something wrong?”

So anxious... he looked down at her dirty, upturned face, the way her confusion and distress beat at him.

“No,” he said. “It is merely time to go, you foolish girl.” He felt the hurt and shrugged her hand off. He couldn't do this. Could not drop his walls, not so close to the safety her soul offered. He would not return to Hogwarts if that were the case. “I cannot stay. Hermione.”

She gave him a small smile and nodded. “Take care of yourself?”

“As I can.”

The last thing he saw before he Disapparated was Hermione, waving at him.

Hermione watched Ron and Harry—terribly disfigured, she'd apologise later if they all survived—being dragged away and tried not to panic. They'd survived so much, come so far...and it was all going to end here.

Maybe Ron and Harry would escape the dungeon and carry on.

Terror beat at her and she tried to focus. She couldn't tell Bellatrix about the sword, and clung to the fact that they had found it. That was the truth—no spell could force more from her. Hermione had never felt more alone or afraid as she did then, watching Bellatrix's eyes narrow, at the wand tip pointed directly at her heart.

“Crucio!”

They hadn't even had the decency to push her over first was Hermione's last thought before her body turned to pain.

She flailed, writhing on the rug, feeling her cheek burn and her bones reshape themselves. It hurt more than anything. More than when she was eight and had needed a filling but the gas had run out. More than the Bubotuber pus in the hate mail. More than her first period cramps before the potions. More than the hurt of Ron mocking her at the Yule Ball. More than the shoulder she had broken on the playground.

It was all of that and more, and fire ran through her mind and her body and when it stopped she could hear the echoes of her own sobbing screams.

“Tell me!”

Hermione blinked, gasping. Tell her what?

“Tell me where you got the sword!”

Oh, yes, the sword of Gryffindor.

A kick to her ribs. “We found it!” Hermione cried. “Please, we found it!”

Maybe if she said it was a fake?

“LIAR! Crucio!”

The pain took her again, but something was buffering it, and Hermione was drifting, hearing her own screams and her repeated cries as if from far away. Warmth was cocooning her. Familiar warmth.

You're safe, the heat soothed.

Hermione whimpered. It hurts, she thought.

You will survive this, the warmth seemed to whisper.

There was no voice, really, just a feeling that those were the words. She felt safe, distantly aware that she was being tortured. I will survive this, Hermione echoed to herself.

Severus sat in the Headmaster's Office, his fist pressed to his breastbone. He was damned lucky he had been alone when the pains—horrible, wrenching phantom pains—had struck. It wasn't the first time that he had experienced the Cruciatus curse, and it certainly wasn't the first time he had done so for another, but never like this.

Part of him wished he could make note of the fact that their shared souls could transmit such pain, and most of him wished he could make it stop. Severus trembled in his chair, eyes closed tight and actively setting up Occlumency walls. He imagined pulling at the heat that was her soul, balling it up tight, and shoving it behind the walls. The ferocity with which she was tormented said that the caster was accomplished at the spell, but his Mark had not burned this night.

With any luck, the two idiots Hermione was with would come to her aid. In the interim...he built more walls around his mind and hers, hoping it was working for her. He could feel so much more of her now. Terror, pain, desperation, could hear her begging.

Severus fought to keep her safe, forcibly reaching for her soul. Or trying to.

It was difficult to feel the imposing chair in which he sat. He felt scratchy carpet against his hands, and when the curse came again he could feel the jolt as it struck him this time, and imagined he could hear a mad cackle.

Was it his imagination as well, or was he feeling Hermione's warmth huddled against him? The urge to protect her, to gather her close and shelter her, was so powerful that for a moment he lost his concentration.

“Oh come on, Severus. Please? We're friends, aren't we?”

Damn his conscience.

Damn his soul.

Was he so weak-hearted that so simple a gesture could destroy his resolve? He had to pay for his sins, not become attached to a teenage girl who called him a friend.

Still, he furrowed his brow. He had to keep her safe. She had to survive this. Potter needed her. The Order needed her.

And he'd rather kiss the Dark Lord's scaly arse than admit that maybe he needed her, too.

Hermione stirred; she could smell...salt? Pain wracked her body but everything seemed clearer now. Sharper. More in focus. The warmth that had suffused her, sheltered her, was dissipating. She missed it. She had felt so familiar, so safe, wrapped in Severus's soul.

The air was cold, there was wet sand beneath her, soaking her jeans. Someone was holding her—Ron. Harry was clutching a frail form and her stomach sank. Dobby?

The sight of the little elf, bloodied and motionless, stung. Was Dobby dead because of her? What had happened? She remembered vaguely pleading, trying to convince Bellatrix Lestrange that they had found the sword.

The sword? Did they still have it?

Hermione looked around. Yes, there, Ron had it. Good. She relaxed. More was coming back, but now that she wasn't wrapped in protection her body was making its pains known.

Hermione had been reading in her spare time at Shell Cottage. Her bag had somehow made the trip back with them, and Luna was a quiet enough roommate that she had been able to read the book Severus had left for her at the farmhouse. It was a thick book on soul magic, written in tiny font with the most verbose writing style she had ever had the misfortune to plough through. It was taking her way too long to finish, but it was fascinating.

There was so much the Wizarding world knew about souls. They held a power all their own—something she was acutely familiar with now, having carted about that nasty little piece of You-Know-Who—and she had been cautiously trying some of the techniques written.

Souls could be used to shield, to protect. They were impossible to damage except by the soul's actual owner, which alleviated some of her worries about the entangling. She couldn't harm him. He couldn't harm her. They were just...together. It could even not be permanent. With time the connection would fade or grow stronger. They could even try to disentangle their souls. The only guarantee of being split was death, but neither of them could force the other to join them.

It was comforting and, well, it helped. Hermione had felt awful that she had merged Severus's soul with hers. She hadn't meant to, and had thought for sure that he would be furious at the violation, but he had seemed...

Well, she wasn't certain, to be honest. His horror had been at her being tied to him, not the other way around. Maybe it was because he seemed to certain he would die? The thought made Hermione sick to her stomach. Severus Snape deserved more from this war.

Out of habit, she stroked along the warmth of his soul, trying to send comfort his way. Merlin knew he needed it, after what Luna had told her about Hogwarts. Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that Luna also thought that Professor Snape was on their side, but neither of them had voiced it, and wisely so.

With a sigh, Hermione started the next chapter. Anything to distract herself from the upcoming break-in to Gringotts.

Hermione held grimly onto the horrid wand in her hand. She hated the way it felt, but ruthlessly clamped down on the wand's tendency to want to resist her spells. As soon as this war was over she was getting her own damn wand back if she had to take Malfoy Manor apart stone by stone.

With a snarled curse, Hermione jabbed the wand at the back of a Death Eater. He fell with a shriek of pain and she continued on, keeping close to Harry. Ron flanked them, and she tried not to think of that silly kiss. This was not the time to be wondering if it was really right or if she had been caught up in the moment.

It hadn't even felt right! She had been so happy and then too embarrassed to pull away... And what was she going to say? 'Sorry, Ron, I don't think I like you that way any more, let's go and fight for our lives'?

Ugh!

Disgusted with herself, she hurtled over a fallen statue still feebly trying to fulfill its protective duties and reach its stone sword. Thinking about kissing during a war! About boys! The three of them ran across the school grounds, trying to reach the Whomping Willow and the secret tunnel at its base.

Hermione was horrified. Severus was bleeding out in front of her and she felt panicked, reaching into her beaded bag for an empty phial for the memories haemorrhaging from him. She reached back into the bag as Harry collected the silvery memories, searching for healing potions. None. None! Why hadn't she accepted Severus's offer for more potions back in the Forest of Dean? He was going to die and it was all her fault.

Over Harry's shoulder, Severus's eyes met hers and she felt the warmth of him, a gentle, soothing stroke.

A goodbye.

“Look...at...me...” he whispered, his eyes meeting Harry's.

NO! Hermione flicked her wand as Harry turned away, casting a Petrificus. At the same time, she pulled on his soul, gathering it close. No! You can't die! I'll keep you safe, I promise. As soon as we can, we'll get you help!

The warm was balled uncomfortably in her chest and she cradled the weak flicker. It's going to be okay. Severus, the very essence of him, stirred within her. We'll get through the end of this together.

Hermione.

So faint, but...that was his voice! She clung to that voice as they hurried down the passage. We're going to get through this, Severus Snape. Don't you dare die!

As if he could, pulled so tightly to her? Severus knew he had been dying, fulfilling all of Albus's grand plans. And then a sharp yank, a suffusion of heat, and he was inside Hermione. He could hear what she heard, see through her eyes...

He was exhausted. Months of working to keep students safe, intermittently being tortured by the Dark Lord for his decisions regarding detentions and curriculum, trying not to be poisoned or cursed by his colleagues...

...He wanted to be free. No more Dark Lord. No more war. No more getting people killed and losing friends to his darkness.

You'll be alright, came the fierce whisper. He was floating on an ocean of warmth. I won't let them take you away. I'll make it right, I swear. Trust me.

He did trust her.

I'm your friend. You're stuck with me now, professor or not. Just rest, Severus.

Feeling safe and protected, Severus rested.

Hermione carefully Levitated Severus's Petrified body into the Infirmary. She was so, so tired. Between the months of nearly starving in a tent and the battle, she was exhausted. Severus was quiet within her, and she hoped she wasn't too late.

“Miss Granger? Severus?” Madam Pomfrey bustled over, blood staining her usually crisp apron. “Oh my dear girl. Is he...?”

“I don't think so,” Hermione said wearily. “I Petrified him. I think I was in time.”

“Set him down on the bed along the far wall. I will see what I can do.”

Hermione settled him upon the clean white sheets and took a moment to truly study him. “You look so worn,” she murmured quietly, pressing her fingers to her breast. He was gaunt, almost skeletal on the bed. His hair was lank and filthy, his cheekbones sharp under his sallow skin. The gaping wound in his neck didn't help, either.

Madam Pomfrey tsk'd, casting various diagnostic spells. Her face was grave. “I can try to heal him, Miss Granger, but I can't guarantee that he will hold on that long.”

Oh yes he will, she thought firmly. In her soul, Severus stirred. Hermione took that as agreement.

“Don't get your hopes up, dear.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Madam Promfrey.”

The matron waved her off.

It took three days, during which Harry ran himself ragged, clearing Severus's name while Hermione began the arduous task of restoring the school (and avoiding Ron), but by then Madam Pomfrey had restored Severus's body completely. He even looked healthier than he had since her fifth year. Are you ready? Hermione asked. We can trade books after, maybe? I wanted to read the one by Kiddin you were talking about yesterday. She paused. I'm going to miss you.

She swore he snorted in derision.

Hermione cancelled the Petrificus, watching in relief as Severus's chest rose and fell. Using what she had read in the book he had given her, she began the careful, gentle process of following the pull from his body to his soul and extricating it from hers.

Slowly, the warmth that had lived within her faded, pooling within him.

All too soon it was done and she was alone and cold in her own mortal coil as black eyes looked up at her.

Severus rummaged through boxes miserably. Horace had made such a bloody mess of the stores, and moving the Potions labs temporarily so they could restore the school's foundations had been left to Severus. He wondered if Minerva thought it was punishment—for him or for her, he wasn't certain. Merlin knew she hadn't apologised for her actions over the past year.

He was cold, and couldn't blame it on being in the lower levels of the castle, not this time. He was wrapped in a heavy wool coat and voluminous robes, but couldn't stop his hands from twitching in agitation, trying to get warm.

It was difficult to admit that he missed sharing souls with Hermione Granger. He missed the warmth, the security of someone so close to him, so accepting of him.

And he had no way to voice that to her. And too much foolish pride to go crawling to her and beg for attention. After all, four days of assisting with the school's repairs and she hadn't sought him out.

He could take a damned hint.

There was a rap on the door. “Not now, Minerva,” he snapped irritably. “I'm still sorting. Kindly go and chase a ball of wool off the damn roof.”

“Professor?” His head whipped around. Granger stood in the doorway and his heart stopped. “Severus?”

He rose to his full height, unable to reply.

“Er, hello.”

Severus clenched his jaw. What the hell was he supposed to say? 'Hello' sounded so mundane. And he wasn't the type who could simply say 'I missed you' or 'share your soul with me'. He couldn't think of a single thing to say to her.

“I—you haven't talked to me at all. I just, I wondered if we were still friends, that's all.” Hermione licked her lips, then sagged. “I just...I mean...Oh, never mind. Sorry to bother you.”

His wand was in his hand before he could think, the door slamming shut and trapping her inside.

Hermione spun and Severus said hoarsely; “Anima veri revelio!”

She met him in the middle, arms open.

Fin