Chapters 121-130

A Coin for the Ferryman

The river was strong and swift where he entered it. Its deadly cold slammed into his body with a welcoming shock. The pain cleared his head and set his senses on edge.

For a moment Severus swayed when the currents gripped his robes and wrapped them around his knees. Then he found firm footing. He ignored the eddies that greedily whirled around his legs and the cold that was draining him of life. Instead he stared ahead into the darkness, trying to see, to hear…

It was a quiet spot in the river. In the distance he could hear the water rushing towards the Second Gate, but here everything was calm. No cries, no splashing. No half-hidden figures crouching just outside his field of vision.

He took a deep breath and waded deeper into the river. Still nothing. He turned towards the Gate. His progress was slow, laborious. His legs were so cold they felt like separate entities, no longer connected to his body.

Was that movement? Just a few feet ahead? Yes. Not far. But already closer to the First Gate. Too close. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. If she passed beyond the Gate before he could reach her, it would not be the Hermione he knew that he’d be bringing back.

oooOooo

The tableau before her reminded Minerva McGonagall of 19th century Gothic novels.

The dark figure of a man loomed over the prone body of a woman. In his hands, he held a silver sword beset with rubies. Blue witch-light illuminated the scene. Its glow made the tiny crystals of hoarfrost that covered the bodies sparkle in the darkness. The grass around them was frozen in a circle of at least seven feet in diameter. Only the sword was free of frost, its rubies blazing as brightly like the rising sun.

On the path that led up to the patch of lawn at the end of the rose garden a wisp of smoke curled up over a heap of oily dark ashes and broken bones.

Neville Longbottom was kneeling just outside the circle of rime, his arms wrapped around Alina Petrel, who was weeping hysterically.

Dazed, Minerva turned around to Madam Hooch who’d been as usual the quickest teacher to arrive on the scene.

‘Contact the Aurors. Just in case the call of the tattoo failed. And we’ll need Poppy,’ Minerva requested, though she doubted that a healer could help with what had happened here tonight.

Still the Headmistress straightened her shoulders and turned back to the frozen figures on the lawn.

oooOooo

There! Severus recognised her hair first, a mess of wet tangles floating on the dark waters. A white arm had grabbed her around the throat. Severus leapt forwards. He swung up the sword. Just a heartbeat before he brought down the sword, he realised that the white figure was not dragging Hermione towards the Gate. In fact, it was barely moving at all.

The creature was cradling Hermione carefully in its arm so that her face remained above the water. With feeble jerks of its body the dead being resisted the currents that were pushing them closer and closer towards the First Gate. Every now and again its other hand drifted up and smoothed wet tendrils of hair from Hermione’s face. With each caress, her face grew paler as more colour, warmth and life drained out of her.

A moment later Severus reached them. So close to the Gate the currents were almost irresistible. His left arm was painful and frozen, he could barely move it. So terribly weak. The desire to sink into these dark waters and to float with the flow was nearly overwhelming. It would be so easy. The rushing of the river was a lullaby now. The water was buoyant. The cold wouldn’t matter. He was so weary. His limbs were so heavy. But here was Hermione, his Hermione. A memory stirred, of the night when she’d become wholly his. And with that memory a little warmth returned to him.

oooOooo

Harry arrived at a run. Together with the other Aurors on duty he’d Apparated to the secluded spot just beyond the gardens, where they’d arrived after retrieving Snape from Azkaban. Just outside the grounds, it was the Apparition point closest to the grounds and gardens of Hogwarts. But he still lost precious seconds weaving through vegetable beds and berry bushes.

When Harry finally reached the rose garden, there was nothing he could do besides confirm what Alina said and Minerva suspected: Both Hermione and Severus had entered the Realm of Death—Hermione dragged by the Inferius’ powers, Severus of his own volition.

The other Aurors crowded around the grisly remains of the Inferius. Maybe the spell that had animated the Inferius could still be traced. But Harry rather doubted it. His quick diagnostic spell had revealed nothing. There was simply not enough left of the creature.

At last Harry stepped behind Neville, who was still holding a shaking Alina in his arms, both to comfort her and to keep her away from the still shapes in front of them. Harry put one hand on the little girl’s shoulder, the other on Neville’s arm and drew them backwards, away from the circle of frost.

‘There’s nothing we can do but wait. You should go inside.’

oooOooo

Severus stared at the creature before him.

It was even whiter in Death than in the realm beyond the river, almost blending with the fog that danced above the waters. A wild hunger and a desperate thirst burned in the eyes of what once had been a bright smiling boy and—he grudgingly admitted—an enthusiastic, diligent student.

Like all Dead it was drawn to the living. Demons and evil spirits fed off their energy or devoured their souls. Others would still be attracted to the presence of life in the river, to the sudden light in the midst of their darkness.

Would he give up on the life he had captured?