AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own Harry Potter or anything from that universe. Only our Queen J.K. Rowling has that honor.

*Well, well, well. Here we are again! This is supposed to be a companion piece to 'The Boy From the Eastside' although I suppose it could probably be read on it's own. This is set 20 years after the ending of 'The Boy From the Eastside'.*

"I kinda like living in Hell with you

Heaven's a lie

You know I would always choose

Your darker side

Baby, that's my favorite view

'Cuz I'm a little messed up, too..."

-Alice Gray, "Hell With You"

x-x-x

x-x-x

May 2, 1998- 20 years after Hogwarts graduation

It was bad.

Death Eaters were pouring into the castle from every direction, blasting holes in the stone if there was not a window or door readily available. She knew that this was going to be it, that this battle would determine the fate of the Wizarding world and, quite possibly, that of the rest of the world as well. But she had also hoped, perhaps naively, that good would readily and easily triumph over evil.

That was not how it was happening at all.

Order members and Hogwarts students, some that she and Severus had taught for years, were being killed faster than some could draw their wands. The Death Eaters were merciless and their sympathizers were worse. As if the unending torrent of silver-masked, black-cloaked figures wasn't bad enough, all manner of Dark, twisted creatures were right on their heels, eager to sink their fangs and/or claws into anything and everything they could, so long as it was alive and on the side of the Order. Vampires, giants, acromantulas, werewolves; they were flooding the halls of Hogwarts right alongside the Death Eaters, eagerly helping to taint the ancient stones of the school with rivers of innocent blood.

It was bad.

"Crucio!"

Hermione felt a large hand on her shoulder just moments before she was pulled to the ground by it. She glanced over her shoulder to see her husband's slender body contorting unnaturally under the torture curse, his eyes and mouth wide with horror and pain. Her brain kicked into high gear and she lunged in front of him like a human shield, breaking the Death Eater's line of sight long enough for the curse to subside. Antonin Dolohov bared his yellow teeth in anger and thrust his wand at her in a threatening motion that she instantly recognized as the precursor to the Killing Curse. Internally thanking Moody for impressing upon them the importance of learning non-verbal magic all those years ago, she took Dolohov down before he could even begin to mouth the words with a silent Stupefy. As soon as his body hit the wood floor, she turned back to her husband.

"Severus! Are you okay? Can you stand?"

He was breathing a little heavier than usual but otherwise seemed to be in one piece. Severus rolled his neck, "I just need a minute, but I'll be fine. Hermione… you really shouldn't have—"

Hermione put her fingers against his mouth, "Where you go, I go remember?"

His onyx eyes softened.

"You've been out of practice too long," she said gently, brushing back a fringe of his silky, raven's wing hair. "I love you, but your reflexes have slowed. If we're going to make it through this, you need me here. So do us both a favor and shut up about it, yeah?"

Before he could respond, there was a crash of stone and the wall behind him gave way as two masked Death Eaters whisked into the castle on the wind. Their obsidian, corporeal forms solidified as they touched down to the floor of the tower and by the time Hermione had shoved Severus' still trembling body behind her, they had their wands raised to her face and chest.

"Well, well," said one of the masked figures in a distinctly feminine voice. "If it isn't the Potions Master and his pet Mudblood? The Dark Lord will be most pleased."

Hermione threw a silent stunning spell that they easily flicked away.

The Death Eaters took a synchronized, lunging step closer.

She quickly cast a non-verbal Incarcerous that caught the second one, the one who had spoken, by surprise and rendered her useless on the floor, fighting in vain against the tight, asphyxiating bindings constricting around her throat.

Hermione panicked. She hadn't meant to aim for the woman's throat! She hadn't meant to…

A few seconds later, the Death Eater's silver-masked head thumped against the wood. She was dead.

Hermione heart twisted painfully in her chest. She didn't want to kill anyone, she always said she wouldn't even if she was up against Lord Voldemort himself. She had always fought with the philosophy that she would happily stun or bind someone until another Order member could arrive and take care of the rest. Never, not once, not even in all their years working for the Order, had she killed a Death Eater. But things were different this time…

Now, it was clearly kill or be killed.

And she had no intention of leaving her husband.

The remaining Death Eater looked down at his fallen companion and then back to her. There was a split second of stillness before he attacked, wand forgotten on the ground, screeching like a banshee.

"You killed her!" He screamed, his mask flying off to reveal Corban Yaxley's face contorted with anguish and rage. Tears poured from his narrowed eyes as he dove at her with his hands twisted into the shape of claws. "You fucking bitch! You fucking killed her!"

She shoved her husband, who was still on the ground trembling with aftershocks of the violent Cruciatus, further away with a sharp jab of her foot, "Severus, go!"

Still reeling over the woman she just murdered, Hermione's reflexes were much too slow to stun Yaxley before he reached her. He crashed into her and tackled her to the ground, swinging at her with a combination of fists and claws. He was snarling with rage as he struck her, over and over, not even slowing for a fraction of second when blood spurted from her broken nose and split eyebrow.

Now she understood why Moody had also vehemently recommended hand-to-hand combat lessons. She was kicking herself for allowing the other Order members to convince her to ignore his somewhat paranoid ramblings.

Hermione managed to grab her wand from under Yaxley's leg and was readying herself to cast another non-verbal stunner when something yanked the man off of her and tossed him over the balustrade into the night. She looked up into the shadowed eyes of her husband, who at the moment, looked very much like a Death Eater himself. His chest was heaving and his expression was murderous as he took in the undoubtedly ghastly wounds on her face. His limbs were still shaking a little but he reached for her and she took his hand, heaving herself up.

"Get out of here," he growled, much harsher than she had ever heard him before. "Get yourself out now."

Hermione spit some blood onto the floor before dragging her sleeve across her mouth, "I won't leave you, Severus." She looked up at him, blinking blood from her eyes. "Where you go, I go."

"Hermione—"

There was a flurry of movement over her husband's shoulder and her eyes widened as she saw Dolohov stumbled to his feet with a look of fury on his face. He raised his wand to Severus' back.

"Get down!" She screamed, knocking him aside with all her strength.

There was a flash of green that whizzed past her riotous hair, right where Severus had been, but she wasn't fazed. Hermione leapt forward aggressively, throwing any and every hex, curse, or jinx she could think of at him. There was no more time for feeling the dark twist of guilt in her gut at the thought of killing. Now, there was only survival.

Dolohov was better prepared for her this time. He blocked every spell with expert precision, casting them right back at her as quickly as she threw them. Every now and then he would try and hit Severus with something but she was always prepared for that, her right hand stretched towards him in a protective gesture, ready to cast another Protego around him at a moment's notice. Thank all the Gods she was ambidextrous and could cast with both hands.

Severus kept trying to push her aside or to cast something over her shoulder at the Death Eater, but she would just push him back again and cause him to stumble. He was too weak from the strength of Dolohov's Cruciatus to be helpful right now and she really didn't want him wasting what little energy he had left. The battle was far from over, that much she knew for certain, and Dolohov's Crucio had been far too powerful for him to be at his strongest. No, right now it was her job to protect him.

"You won't win," Dolohov sneered as he threw an Entrail-Expelling curse at her. "Not against me."

She blocked the majority of his curse but a small piece broke through her faltering Protego and sliced, deep, into her abdomen. Hermione stumbled, gripping her stomach as blood pumped from the wound in time with her frantic heartbeat. The wound wasn't deep enough to kill her on its own, but if she didn't staunch the bleeding soon, she would easily bleed out. There was a flash of light as Severus cast something from behind her, knocking Dolohov off his feet with the strength of the spell.

"Heal yourself as best you can," he said as he stepped in front of her. "I'll take care of him."

She wanted to argue, to protest that he was still too weak and that she would be fine, but she was already feeling lightheaded. Hermione waved her wand at gaping wound, mumbling every healing spell she could ever remember learning or Severus teaching her. The gash slowly knitted itself closed but she was still woozy from the rapid blood loss. What she needed was a Blood-Replenishing potion, but seeing as that was not an option, Hermione simply scrambled a standing position, gripping the parapet until she could gain her bearings.

Dolohov had gotten back to his feet and was now throwing fierce, dark curses at Severus with blinding speed. It was as she suspected then; Dolohov didn't care so much what happened to her. It was Severus he was after.

Her vision swam for a moment. Was Severus slowing down or was it just the blood loss making her see things? She shook her head to clear it but when she looked back up, her question was answered. Severus was panting heavily, sweat dripping from his sharp face as he struggled to keep up with the ferocity of Antonin Dolohov. He was too slow for this. She knew this would happen, she had known from the moment he had revealed his intentions to fight in the Final Battle. At full strength, Severus Snape was a force to be reckoned with. On the ends of a violent Crucio, after months of recon and spy work instead of physical training, he was not.

She had to help him. Dolohov had quickly gotten the upper hand and was advancing on them now. His curses were becoming darker, faster, and more accurate. Severus' strength was waning quickly and it wouldn't be long before he simply didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Hermione heaved herself forward, throwing a weak Reducto at the other man but it wasn't enough to warrant anything more than a vague flick of his wand in her direction. His eyes gleamed hungrily in the dim light, and they were locked directly on her husband.

She could feel the panic constricting her chest as the severity of the situation began to set it.

They were completely fucked.

"Crucio!"

Severus deflected.

"Sectumsempra!"

Severus deflected again, though slightly slower. His arms were trembling.

"Incarcerous!"

Hermione watched in horror as her husband was, finally, too slow and the ropes that sprung from the end of Dolohov's wand wrapped like greedy tendrils around the one in Severus' hand. With a wicked grin, Dolohov yanked the spell back and the wand was ripped from Severus' grasp, leaving him completely disarmed.

She immediately stumbled in front of Severus, her wand trained shakily on Dolohov's heart.

"I'm not interested in you," he crooned, twirling the second wand between his stubby fingers. "Move aside. I only have orders for him."

"Not a chance in Hell," she hissed.

The Death Eater shrugged, "Have it your way."

It all happened very quickly then. Dolohov raised his wand, Severus gripped her arm and yanked her back, and there was a flash of brilliant emerald light that blinded her.

When her vision returned, Dolohov was gone and her husband was on the floor, his eyes staring wide into nothing and his chest frozen in place.

He wasn't breathing.

Hermione fell to her knees in horror as she gripped Severus' heavy teaching robes, "N… no…"

He didn't move.

"No… no! No! NO!" She cupped his angular face and his skin was still warm, making her stomach twist. "Severus! Severus!"

There was no response.

She started screaming.

Throughout her life, Hermione had known pain. As a muggleborn soulmate bonded to a Slytherin—an extremely intelligent, talented, highly sought-after Potions Master—pain was something she had become rather intimately familiar with. First, from their time in school together when he was in love with Lily Evans. Then, from the rise of Lord Voldemort and his subsequent persistent attempts at recruitment of her husband- followed by multiple assassination attempts when he vehemently refused. She had known the feeling so well she could almost call it a friend. It was something that had been with her for most of her life now, continually residing in the far reaches of her heart- always there, never completely disappearing. As if it knew that she was a slave to it. As if it knew she would never be able to escape from it.

But this… this was so much worse than the constant, dull aching pain she had grown accustomed to since Severus had almost been killed all those years ago. This was searing and jagged, like broken glass set on fire. This was consuming, all-encompassing, and devouring.

She would never survive this.

Hermione shoved her forehead against his, tears splashing onto his frozen face. How could this… how could this happen? After everything they had been through, after everything it took for them to finally be together, how could it just… end like this?

They were married. They were soulmates. They had successfully thwarted Voldemort's attempts on Severus' life many times over. How could the Gods just take him away from all of that so easily?

Broken, desperate sobs ripped from her chest as she clung to him. It was all her fault. She had known he shouldn't fight, she had known he had been out of the field for too long, but she had let him come anyway. She hadn't even put up a fight! She had been so sure that the Order was going to win, so certain that the forces of the Dark would fall at their feet that she hadn't even considered the possibility that things could go this fucking badly.

She never, not once, considered that he might get killed.

And now he was dead.

Severus Snape- her husband, her soulmate, the love of her life- was dead.

And it was all her fault.

Hermione pulled Severus into her arms and cried brokenly into the curve of his neck. He still smelled like he always did; the scent of old books, Darjeeling tea, and that rare brand of ink he used assaulted her senses and drove yet another spike into her shattered heart. She loved him. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone, more than she knew it was possible to love another person. She had never cared that he was poor. She had never cared that he was not conventionally considered handsome. None of that mattered. He was her best friend since she was eleven and the moment he had chosen her back at Hogwarts, the moment he had admitted to the things she always hoped he'd felt, it was like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. They were meant to be, it was a simple as that.

And now he was gone. Forever.

"Oooh, whassa matter, Mudblood? Did something happen to the big, bad Potions Master?"

She gripped Severus tighter.

The mad bitch, never one to be ignored, came skipping around to where she could crouch down in front of her, "I gotta say, death suits him. Looks much better than he ever did alive."

Hermione snatched her wand from the floor and pointed it directly between Bellatrix's cold, lifeless eyes.

"Whoopsie, looks like I hit a nerve," the dark witch cackled gleefully. "Look on the bright side Mudblood, at least now you won't have to suffer through spreading your legs for the ugly sod anymore!"

The Killing Curse was on the tip of her tongue. She certainly held enough pain and hatred in her heart at the moment to cast it without missing a beat. But even though she had just witnessed her soulmate being murdered, even though Bellatrix would likely kill her the moment she was done taunting her… Hermione's hand trembled around her wand.

She wasn't a murderer.

She couldn't do it.

She lowered her wand.

A lazy smile spread across Bellatrix's weathered face, "I always knew you didn't have it in you, Mudblood. Honor was always so important to you lot."

Her wand clattered to the floor and she pulled Severus closer.

"The Dark Lord wants the most talented by his side," Bellatrix whispered, leaning closer. "He's willing to overlook your disgusting blood status because of the things you can do with Arithmancy. He has my wand, Lucius' money, and Fenrir's bloodlust. Come join us, Hermione. You won't even remember this ugly bat's name when it's all over."

Hermione' knuckles whitened with the strength of her hold on Severus. Her stomach roiled with the very suggestion that she could ever join Voldemort, that she could ever forget her soulmate whose words were etched into her arm. She looked up at Bellatrix, the witch who was once so beautiful but now had every year she was in Azkaban clearly engraved upon her face, and shook her head.

"Never."

The farcical kindness dropped away from Bellatrix's face like an ill-fitting mask as she rose to her full height and pointed her gnarled wand down at her, "Then we're done here."

Hermione didn't move. She simply tightened her grip on her husband's body and closed her eyes.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then, there was nothing.

x-x-x

When Hermione opened her eyes and saw the crisp, cloudless, cerulean sky above her, she scrambled to her feet with no small amount of surprise. She was certain that she was dead. Hadn't Bellatrix used the Killing Curse on her? Surely, she couldn't have missed. She had only been a few feet in front of her after all. No one had ever survived the Killing Curse, and certainly not at point-blank range.

No, she must be dead.

But then, where was she?

There was a slight rustling and she turned to see...

"Dad?"

The man before her did, indeed, look exactly like Richard Granger. But that was the rub: he and her mother were tucked away in an Order safe house in Austrailia- she had checked in on them only an hour before the battle. So what in all the Hells was going on?

"Ah, no I am not your father," the man said softly in her father's warm, congenial voice. "I simply thought this form would be most comforting to you and you might be more receptive to me this way."

"More…" Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. I thought I was dead?"

"You are," he agreed. "But you do not have to be."

Her eyes widened.

"It is not often that I offer someone a second chance," he continued, moving closer to her. "But it would seem, however, that you are to be my second exception today."

She was dumbstruck. Was he trying to say that he was… Death? The Death?

The man grinned, "I sense your confusion, so allow me to make it a little simpler. Yes, I am Death and I have many, many names. You may call me whatever or think of me however you wish- whatever is easiest for you. Does that help?"

"I…" Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes."

"Now then, shall we get down to business?"

"W-wait," she stammered. "Did you… did you say that I'm the second exception today?"

He nodded, "I did."

"Was it Severus? Was the other one my husband?"

The man, Death, sobered and he shook his head, "No. It was a young man by the name of Harry Potter. I believe you know him."

"Harry Potter?" He was one of her students- Lily and James' son. "And he's alright?"

Death nodded but did not speak again.

"Why Harry?" Why not Severus? Her traitorous heart cried.

He seemed to know what she was truly asking and his expression softened, "Severus sacrificed himself for you and in doing so, he accepted his fate. Harry fought it."

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest and she wrung her hands for a moment, "You said… did you say I don't have to be dead?"

"That's right."

"And… how does that work, exactly?"

The man who looked like her father surveyed her, "There is something about you, something pure, that I cannot touch yet. You were taken before your proper time and so, I am offering to send you back."

"Send me back where? To the Final Battle?"

He came to stand in front of her, completely stoic and unmoving once he reached his place. Her father's eyes looked down at her, "I cannot send you back there. That life is gone for you now. I can, however, send you somewhere else."

"Where?"

"To a different time, further back," he said. "You will still be yourself, with most of the same people, but there will be certain… changes. Changes that I have no control over. Should you choose to accept my offer, it is imperative that you understand that."

"Changes…" She could feel the panic threatening to grip her again at the single word. "Will I… will I still have Severus?"

For the first time, Death hesitated, "He will be there, but things will be different for you both."

She choked back the tears, the finality of the situation gripping her, "And if I choose not to return?"

Death smiled at her warmly with her father's face, "Then I will take you with me and you can be at peace."

Hermione's head was spinning. She was heartbroken over the loss of their life, but there was no way to go back to it. That life was, as Death said, over for her now. She could go with Death and allow her soul to rest in peace…

Or she could return to life, a different life, and find Severus again.

The choice was almost foolishly easy.

"I'd like to go back," she said softly.

"You are certain?" He asked. "Once you make the choice, I cannot undo it and I will not be able to offer this to you again. If you accept, the next time we see each other will be for me to take you home, for the Neverending Sleep."

Hermione straightened her back and looked into her father's eyes, "I'm certain. Please, send me back."

Death brushed a lock of almost violently curly hair from her eyes and smiled down at her affectionately, "Then I wish you well, Hermione."

Everything went white.