Chapter Six

There was some magic that would never find its way into books, this I learned early on in my life as a witch. There was some magic that was so terrible that a book could not contain its horror, and there was some magic that could not be written down at all, for it was a magic so powerful that books could not contain its sublimity.

I had put my very will into the Charm that had bound Severus Snape to me, protecting him, healing him, and keeping him a virtual prisoner. I could not simply call it by a name, it was not a spell that could have a name, but I had known this spell before I had erased it and Severus from my mind.

I had saved Severus, I had removed him from the place he should have died, and I had tended to him during the pain and fevers. As it all came back to me, the memory flashing behind my eyes like a bolt of lightning, the residual fear of losing Severus Snape remained. I would have done anything to save him, and in that sentiment, I had given part of my life to him.

Hagrid had been so nervous when I brought Severus out of the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, casting his eyes about the empty grounds. He had taken the wounded man into his arms, wrapping him in an old cloak, carrying him like a newborn child, and I followed Hagrid, knowing that no one would see us so late in the night when most of us could only deal with the loss left behind after the battle. At that point, I had no idea what to do, and the logical part of my brain told me to take Severus to the castle to be placed with the other wounded.

No, it could not be done, Severus Snape, by all accounts was still a villain of the highest degree, and only time would reveal his role as something else. There was no time, and there would be no time until the battle was truly over and those Death Eaters who had survived were tried in court and condemned. There was no time to explain to the others...

Hagrid placed Severus on his large bed, sniffling and close to a full cry, but I could not weep, and would not weep for a long time.

'Watch him,' I whispered to Hagrid, 'I will collect what healing draughts I can.'

I had gone back to the castle, my face made of stone, gathering up healing potions and draughts, whatever I could take when no one noticed me. If I were to speak in explanation, I had planned to tell whomever that I was tending to Hagrid. I was not confronted. Everyone was far too lost to their grief and sense of duty to notice that I was moving around them, filthy but virtually uninjured, setting aside my own grief for another time.

The wound on Severus' throat was a terrible bit of gore, but it healed easily with the proper potions, but the venom that threatened his life and paralyzed him took much longer to negate. The hours I spent separating his blood from the poison turned into a day, and many times I felt as if the attempt to save the man's life was in vain. However, by the second day after collecting Severus Snape from the Shrieking Shack, I had done the near impossible.

It was as I sat on the steps to Hagrid's hut, willing myself to stay awake, and heartened by the thought that Severus would live that Harry and Ron found me, asking me to come with them to collect Severus' body. I had been so tired, near exhaustion, and that had saved me from revealing what I knew already—there would be no body to collect. Feigning shock and surprise had been easy, and when Harry and Ron had left to tend to other matters, I returned to Hagrid's hut to find that Severus was conscious, but unable to speak.

He was weak, but could take broth and water, still lost to fever, but compliant. I tried explaining to him what had happened, but I never knew if he fully understood that Voldemort was defeated. Days passed, and I, having to make an appearance among my friends, left Severus in Hagrid's care. When I could return again, Severus' fever had broken, but his voice was still gone. I remember him lying in Hagrid's bed, staring at me with dim eyes.

'Do you want to live?'

He had nodded, and closed his eyes to shut me out.

I could not tell if he knew who I was, or what I had done. I could only stare at his sallow, sickly face for a long while, unsure what to do next.

Severus could not simply walk away from Hogwarts; he could not simply resume his life as it was without being imprisoned in Azkaban until he was exonerated. Azkaban would suck whatever will to live was left in the man, and there was still fighting going on beyond Hogwarts.

I had to protect him, I had to hide him, but even I could not simply leave Hogwarts, not yet, not when the eyes of the Wizarding world were watching me. The protection of Hagrid's hut would not last, and Severus would not stay when he was able to move again.

I stared at the slow rise and fall of his chest, and I stared at the dried blood on his clothes. So much had gone into destroying this man through the years, that no one, not even Harry at that point, would want Severus to be alive... Severus would have to play the martyr, that would be his role, and who was I to save him?

Merlin, what had I done?

I was so selfish, so arrogant, but as I drew my wand to slice my palm and allow my own life's blood to well up, I was not thinking of consequences—Severus Snape should live, damn the fates, damn destiny, it was wrong to let him die.

It was blood magic, forbidden, bordering on Dark, but I moved my wand and used my blood, whatever it was worth, and began working a spell that had no incantation and no name. When it was done, Severus opened his eyes, staring at me, accusing me, asking me what I had done. Before my own eyes, his body glowed white and the dried blood on his clothing burnt away, as did all the pain and sickness that coated him like a death shroud, and in the back of my mind, I could hear his voice.

You should have let me die...

I closed my eyes and answered that voice with all the emotion I felt for him. I respected him, esteemed him, was indebted to him, cared for him, and that silenced the growing anger I felt from Severus.

'I will save you,' I whispered at last, my eyes opening.

Severus reached for me and I took his cold hand in mine. I could not read the intention of this gesture, but I knew that if he were to remain safe, I would have to forget, even for a short while, what I had done to protect him.

Given time, I could arrange for his safe passage away from this place, and away from this world. Given time, he could go on knowing that his life would not be threatened, and I, in my selfishness to keep him alive, knew that he would somehow help me save him...

'Goodbye, for now,' I whispered to him, squeezing his hand and hoping that he could see that my intentions were set, and my will was strong.

I whispered to Hagrid, who had been nearby all the while, telling him all that he needed to know and must keep secret.

Then...

'Obliviate...'

When I blinked my eyes, I found that I was staring at an empty, rumpled bed, and Hagrid was weeping from the hut's door, silently nodding.

I moved to embrace my friend, and told him that I was returning to the castle. I believed that I had come to comfort the half giant, and at that moment, would go to nurse my own grief with the people I loved.

I did not know that Severus, healed by my blood, followed along, and I did not know that he had taken in the devastation of the battle with fear and regret in his soul. I did not know that he remained with me when I finally went to collect my parents, only to find that they had no desire to return to England. I did not know that Severus was with me when we buried our dead and I mourned the loss of my childhood. And I did not know that Severus was with me when I started on with my adult life, feeling the loneliness that came with growing up.

All I did know was that I could hear him in my head, that small inner voice, like a conscience, pushing me toward a path that would ultimately set him free.

Severus Snape existed in my dreams, and nowhere else.

For the first time in ten years, I was utterly alone.

"Miss Granger, are you unwell?"

I blinked, and set down my quill and notepad on the worktable, suddenly unable to remember what I had been doing.

"Pardon?"

I had been cataloging in the Hall of Prophecy, standing at the end of one of the long row of shelves where I had been marking off numbers of foregone prophecies that needed to be removed. At some point, I had lost my place and my mind had wandered. I did not hear Purvis Miller, my assistant in the Department of Mysteries, approach, and now I was staring at his young face, lost.

"You are very pale, maybe you should sit down?"

I blinked again, glancing to my notepad and the errant ink drop where I had paused in my writing. I shook myself and smiled.

"I'm fine; I just lost my place..."

Mr. Miller regarded me for a short moment and returned my smile. "Easy to do, I guess...so many prophecies to sort, eh?"

I nodded. Mr. Miller excused himself and walked along the sidewall of the hall to return to his section to begin cataloging again. I, on the other hand, did sit, taking the chair from the worktable and sitting down gracelessly, my robes feeling far too heavy though my insides felt like air.

I did feel unwell, but I did not know why. I only knew that for some reason, I felt very empty, and that I could not summon an inner will to make that sickly feeling pass. My head felt like a balloon floating high above my shoulders and as I turned to rest my elbows on the worktable, I glanced to my notepad again.

My notes along the margin of the paper were a terrible scrawl I knew I had to decipher later on, and I was halfway along the list of numbers, only a dozen or so struck through. Yet, as I squinted my eyes trying to refresh my memory as to where I was along the list, I came upon a clear passage of words at the bottom of the page.

You have forgotten him again.

I bit my lower lip, knowing that I had written the words, the scrawl as familiar to me as my own face.

Damn.

I pushed back from the table and looked around me, as if seeing the Hall of Prophecy for the first time. I touched my lips, feeling a strange sensation upon my skin, like a burning pressure, not unpleasant, but odd.

You have forgotten him again.

Why had I written that? Who was 'him?' Damn...

I rose from my seat, my robes falling about my legs, weighing my body down to the spot. I groaned and pulled at the robes, the clothing of my position as an Unspeakable, and when I got the heavy material off my body, I shivered in the cold of the Hall.

You have forgotten him again.

Yes, I had forgotten something, and if it were a man, I knew I should find him.

There were some things I could not recall, whether it be because of the passage of time or the unconscious will to forget a trauma, but it seemed lately, that I had been forgetting a great deal of things. I knew I was far too young to be losing my mind, and the concept of Alzheimer's was as foreign to the Wizarding world as online shopping. All the same, the fact that I was mixing up details of my past was alarming sign of something not being quite right. Dementia was not something that ran in the Granger family, and I had not hit my head enough times to explain the gaps and misinformation my brain was feeding back. At first, I thought it was post-traumatic stress. I had read of cases of post-traumatic stress sometimes interfering with memories, and for a while I chalked it up to the fact that I, at the age of seventeen, had experienced enough wartime traumas to need intensive therapy.

I paused as a feeling of deja-vu swept over me like a tsunami's engulfing wave.

I had thought this all before—before I got the position in the Department of Mysteries...

The feeling passed, and I found myself running along the Hall of Prophecy, and even that brought up another feeling of deja-vu, but that feeling I could remember, I had ran along this hall as a mere child, but I had not been alone, not alone as I felt at that moment.

I heard Mr. Miller call after me as I reached the door to the Hall, but I ignored him. If I were to stop, I could not explain where I was going for I had the faintest idea where I needed to go... I simply had to go, I had forgotten him again, and I let my feet carry me.

Him. Him? I focused on the word and tried to understand it. There were so few men in my life, but I could rule out names quickly. Harry, Ron, Hagrid, Mr. Miller, my father, no, none of those men... Him...

As I jumped off the lift to the Ministry lobby, I only slowed to cast a glance at my moving feet, trying not to trip. When I came to the Apparition point beyond the Wand Check, I closed my eyes trying to picture 'him.'

I would go where 'he' was, wherever it may be, but why?

Merlin, I felt so alone, so confused, and so lost. How could I have forgotten something so important? Yes, 'he' was important, 'he' who had made me forget, but I, with my strong will, would remember 'him' and right the wrong I felt.

I did not give a thought to splinching myself in some horrible manner, but Apparated, feeling that somehow I was being punished, and I did not like this feeling in the least.

Light, color, and sound whirled around me as I Apparated and when my feet slammed into the ground, restoring gravity and reality, I fell to my knees in a puddle of rain water. It took several moments for me to catch my breath and realize where I was.

I had come to rest in a filthy alley and before me, out on the street, were people walking with umbrellas and shopping bags with French wording. Rain fell upon my head and shoulders, and as I rose to my feet, I started to draw my wand to orient myself when suddenly the sound of a bell caught my attention.

Just down the alley, near the far end which opened onto another street, a shop door opened and a portly older woman exited, speaking English with a Parisian accent.

"Thank you, Monsieur; I am sure this draught will soothe my arthritis during these rainy days..."

A voice answered with a deep timbre, but I could not discern the words. The woman laughed and pointed to a sign hanging over the door.

"Rains for a rainy day," she twittered and smiled, apparently pleased with her English pun.

I licked my lips and took a few steps toward the woman. As the door closed and the bell twinkled again, the woman blinked at me, and I realized she was about to draw a wand from her sleeve. The woman, who was dressed in a long red rain coat with a strangely patterned dress underneath, did not look like a typical Parisian, if that was where I was, but like many of the people I had seen in London—witches and wizards, dressed to pass as Muggles in old fashioned, often mismatched clothing.

I opened my mouth to reassure her that I too was a witch, but the woman turned on her heel and fled as if chased, out onto the empty street at the far end of the alley. I began to follow her, more to discern where I was than anything, but stopped at the shop door, turning to look up at the old sign.

The sign was half obscured by age, but I could tell that the aging was intentional, and around the edges of the wood, there was a Charm to make the words unnoticeable to anyone who might see it. It was the same sort of magic that kept the street entrance to the Leaky Cauldron nearly invisible to Muggle eyes, and only the Wizarding population could see the entrance for what it was—a gateway into another world.

I felt myself start to laugh at the clever camouflaging, but as I read the sign, I frowned.

Apothecary, Claude Rains proprietor, it read in French.

Claude Rains?

I blinked at the sign as the Charm began to shimmer over the sign, obscuring it slightly. Looking at the door, it too was almost unnoticeable, the glass dusty, the wood worn with age. The shop was in an improbable place, on an alley and off two main thoroughfares. I glanced around for a sign to tell me what streets ran off the alley, but there was nothing to tell me where I was.

As I approached the door, my hand reaching out to take the door handle, I hesitated, feeling the warding, a further protection to discourage Muggles. I ignored the feeling and let my now dripping fingers to close over the handle. The bell sounded again as I pulled the door open, and stepping inside, I shivered, feeling a sudden humid coolness inside the shop.

It was, indeed, an apothecary, and I could smell the cooking of potions from somewhere in the back. There were shelves of potion supplies, cauldrons for sale, and phials with labels in French for Pepper Up, Dreamless Sleep, and Blood Replenishing potions. Lamps high above the floor dimly lighted the shop, and shelves lined the walls with jars of preserved herbs and dried parts of various animals.

Moving to the back of the shop where a counter stood with an antique till, I found, who I assumed was the proprietor, bending over a cauldron with what smelled to be the makings of a Polyjuice potion. I knew the odor very well.

The proprietor raised a hand at my approach. "I will be with you in a moment," he said, and I felt my jaw tighten.

I knew this voice.

There seemed to be so much I knew... Claude Rains was the name of the actor who played the Invisible Man in the old film, a name nearly synonymous with the role. I wondered if any witch or wizard knew that... It was a joke, perhaps, and then I heard the proprietor drop the ladle on the counter.

The man who faced me suddenly paled as he looked at me, and when our eyes met, I gasped.

I knew this face.

I do not know how long we stared at each other, time seemed to slow down to a crawl, but when he spoke, it seemed as if something was released behind my eyes.

"One year and seven months..." he said through his teeth, crooked and slightly yellow.

Claude Rains was a tall man, thin and imposing, but I knew him by another name, a name I had nearly forgotten if something deep in my psyche had not reminded me.

He leaned forward, his large pale hands resting on the counter between us, a strand of raven black hair falling from a tie at the nape of his neck to rest against a sallow cheek.

"One year and seven months, Merlin, woman, you have the most extraordinary mind."

It was all coming back to me, and all I knew was anger.

My brow furrowed and I stepped closer, my own hands going to the counter, leaning toward him so that our noses were only inches apart.

"You Obliviated me," I said in a mixture of anger and disbelief.

He nodded. "It seems it did not take," he responded with a hiss.

He had Obliviated me not long after I had freed him from the Charm, or Curse, or whatever it truly had been that I had done. I was sure he would have considered it a Curse, but...

"You kissed me, you..." I trailed.

He had kissed me. Severus Snape had kissed me in the washroom of my London flat, and when he drew back, I had taken him by the collar and brought him close again, my lips and tongue tasting him as I had done in the many dreams we had shared.

In my dreams, he had always been there, sometimes as a spectator, sometimes as a participant. In the nights when I would touch myself, he had been watching while I was ignorant of his presence, and in my dreams he would touch me in return. He had years to form a sentiment about me, all the while striving to be free of me and what I had done to keep him with me. It was not love, per se, but a regard that I was his captor and his salvation.

I knew this man, every inch of him, and though part of me was repulsed by the idea that he had been my professor, a man I had only ever esteemed during my childhood, the older, mature part of me desired him. It was a strange dichotomy of respect and longing, but I accepted it in my dreams.

In my waking hours, however, I could only look at Severus Snape as a man, a man that I craved to touch me and forgive me.

That day, the day I had set him free, we kissed for the first time in a waking world, and the sensation of that kiss far exceeded that of our dreams. It was silly, I supposed, like something out of silly romance novel, but I felt a spark when we kissed, a true meeting of desires. We had moved against each other, inside each other, not caring about the consequences, or thinking of who or what we were...

Severus had pinned me to the wall of the washroom, his hands questing over my clothing to make it drop around my ankles. I remembered tearing at his restored clothing until our skin touched, just as it had in my dreams. The true texture of his skin was far more solid than it had been in the dream, but the scars and imperfections of his skin were just as I remembered. Even in my dreams, Severus Snape was true, genuine.

We kissed as if we were starving for the taste of our mouths, saliva like an elixir that fueled our desire. When he grasped my hips to hoist me up along the wall, I remembered looking back toward the washroom mirror to see the reflection of his pale back, the bony ridge of his spine and the sure movement of sinew under his skin. I remembered calling his name when he slid inside me, rending apart my most tender of flesh, and I thinking that this was a metaphorical sword I would gladly fall upon. Pain and exquisite pleasure coursed through every nerve, and as Severus moved against me, forcing my body into the wall, I could hear our mingled exhales and soft sighs echoing in the small space. I held to him, unable to let him go, unwilling to let him go.

It had been so profane and unattractive, and when we lost our footing and fell hard into the washroom tile, we shared a gasp and a soft intoxicated guffaw. I hiccupped as he continued thrusting into me, even though my head buzzed as it had in my dreams, and I questioned the wisdom of allowing Severus Snape, a man I both respected and reviled, to, for lack of a better word, 'fuck' me like some scarlet woman on a washroom floor. Yet, as I felt the tightness of my lower belly draw taut and my climax approach, I realized it did not matter one whit. This was something I wanted, I, alone and without suggestion, wanted.

He nipped and kissed my shoulder, my chin, my breasts, growling like a starving animal afraid that another beast would take his meal. I could only sigh and sob against him, until we had moved, by the force of our meeting, into the corridor. When he finally came, I was already undone and reeling. We lay like a heap of skin and bone and sweat in the narrow, dark corridor, gasping for fresh air. At some point we retired to the bedroom to lie together on my bed, only to reignite our bestial mating an hour later.

With a smirk, I wondered how someone like this man could be so willing to expend so much energy to take me again, contorting my body to find just the right position. How many years had we done this very thing in my dreams? I was drunk with him, and every kiss and every taste of his sweat and skin on my tongue only made me want more of him. I could touch him and hold him for a million years and never be satiated. And when our bodies, spent and unable to produce the energy to continue our mad lovemaking, rested, I know I slept dreamlessly, unwilling to remove myself from him.

I woke at some point to stare at his face in disbelief, only to find that he was watching me through his dark and impossibly long eyelashes—there were so many small details about Severus Snape I would have never noticed until then...

He extracted himself from me, and immediately I felt the change in his demeanor. I could not know his mind, the connection, whether it had been due to the Charm or from his expert Legilimency, was gone and I could only speculate what he was thinking to do next.

I could never expect it...

He Obliviated me and fled, even after I asked him to forgive me again at some point during our coupling, even after I told him that I had fallen in some sort of love with him although I had not been conscious of it.

Now, however, he was staring at me in frustration, and I was not sure what might happen as we stood in a dark, humid apothecary somewhere in France, perhaps Paris.

"What will you do now, Hermione Granger? Will you Curse me again to remain with you until the end of time?"

I pushed back from the counter and frowned.

"No," I laughed, not knowing why.

He straightened and crossed his arms before his chest, a movement so familiar that I felt my heart tug on some invisible string. I wanted to touch him, just as I had touched him one year and seven months before...

Severus cocked his head curiously and studied my dripping clothes and me. For a long while he watched me and when he seemed to have enough of me, he drew his wand and cast. I winced, but there was no need to fear as magic worked over my skin, drying and refreshing my hair and clothes.

"You really are an extraordinary witch, Hermione Granger, but quite infuriatingly persistent," he conceded and moved around the counter, slipping his wand back into his robes, robes that were not unlike those he wore at Hogwarts, robes that reeked of potions and his scent, a scent that brought back all those supposedly lost memories of the day we had parted one year and seven months before.

When he touched my face, lifting my chin to look up into his face, I could not read his expression, but I could see him. This fact, again, tugged at my heart, and suddenly I was in his arms again.

"If I am to never be free of you, I suppose I could not settle for a more benevolent captor."

I smiled into his chest, but I knew he would never smile back, for I knew, better than anyone, it simply was not in his character.

Author's Note:

As to the title: "Urit enim fulgore suo qui praegravat artes intra se positas; extinctus amabitur idem," or "That man scorches with his brightness, who overpowers inferior capacities, yet he shall be revered when dead," from Horace's Epistles (II, 1, 13), referring to Augustus. Original Prompt: Hermione is beginning to think she doesn't remember the war the same way that anyone else does, including Severus's fate. For hinkykneazel