Chapters 121-130

Unless She Asks Me

Slowly Severus reached out. The dead spirit did not flinch. Instead he met Severus’ eyes in silence. In Death, his speech had deserted him again. But the strange flicker of awareness that had passed through his face before the fire consumed his conjured shell still remained.

‘Hermione doesn’t belong here, Colin,’ Severus said as calmly as he could. Again that spark of recognition in the pale face at hearing once familiar names. ‘Hermione is not dead yet,’ Severus said and prayed that his words were true. Her arm was so thin, so fragile and cold in his grasp.

The river was gaining power around them. Already Severus could see the dark shape of the Gate looming before them blacker than the night. Already he could hear the voice of the water rising to a rushing noise in front of them. Sluggish movements within the gloom of the Gate told him that the presence of two living beings hadn’t gone unnoticed. Soon hot blood and living flesh would draw out the demonic denizens of the river by the droves.

Severus tightened his hold on her arm. Hermione did not react, but remained as she was, drifting helplessly in the water, her eyes closed.

But the spirit did not move.

Severus raised the sword. Just an inch. A hint of a threat. His heart was racing, tumbling.

‘She’s mine. And I won’t give her up. Ever.’

Unless she asks me to, he added once more in silence. His shoulders slumped, his strength deserting him. But Hermione was not here voluntarily. She hadn’t left him.

Suddenly the spirit stepped back. Hermione’s head went underwater. Severus lunged for her, almost losing hold of sword and bells. But he did not let go of her arm. Icy water washed over him, drenched him. Coughing and sputtering, he came up again. He drew her against his body until he held her securely in his arm, her face pressed against his left shoulder.

The first thing Severus felt was her heartbeat. Here, in the river, it was still present, steady and strong against his chest. He was beginning to shake with relief and exhaustion. But he must not let down this guard. They were not safe yet.

He looked back at Colin. The spirit stood in front of him, white arms dropped at his sides, looking at him with quiet expectation.

Severus hesitated. It had been such a long time since he had wielded a bell. But…not only was he not sure if he still had the strength to make it back to the shore without help, Colin deserved better than being left afloat, to be washed back and forth between the shores of Life and Death. Awkwardly Severus transferred the sword to his left hand without loosening his hold on Hermione. His fingers fumbled with the bag. When they instinctively closed around a bell, he experienced a faint sense of surprise. He was still able to recognize the bell he needed by touch alone.

Mosrael. The bell Alina had discovered in the Trophy Room only a few hours earlier. With its seesaw sound the bell would throw Colin back to where he’d been taken from, while it would propel him and Hermione back to the shore.

Severus raised the bell, his gaze trained on the spirit in front of him. From the corner of his eye he caught glimpses of moving shadows closing in on them. His legs were shaking from the strain of holding Hermione and resisting the currents at the same time. It would be close. Very close.

‘The sound of this bell will take you deep into Death, beyond the Ninth Gate.’ For a moment he fell silent. Then he whispered, ‘If you see Dumbledore…tell him…’ He shook his head. ‘No. It’s no use. We’re alive, and you’re dead.’

‘Would it help to know that you’re not forgotten?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Or that you haven’t died in vain?’

Severus didn’t wait for the spirit’s answer, but tolled the bell.

oooOooo

The first flush of dawn shimmered through the fog that obscured the hills east of Hogwarts, when the harsh, strangely cut-off sound of a bell penetrated the silence of the rose garden.

Harry jumped to his feet just in time to see Severus’ eyes flutter open. For a heartbeat his black eyes stared at clouds bright with the light of a new day in disbelief. Then his eyes rolled up in a faint and he slumped forwards, the sword of Gryffindor falling from his insensate grasp.

But Harry Potter hadn’t been the youngest Seeker on a house team in over a century for nothing. He lunged forwards and threw himself down on his knees next to Hermione before Severus was on the ground. Harry caught the sword easily before it hit Hermione, his left hand curled securely around the hilt, but neatly slicing open his right palm with the blade.

He never noticed that the instant his blood dropped to the ground, the circle of frost melted away, leaving nothing but dewdrops that sparkled in the morning sun.

oooOooo

When Hermione opened her eyes, she felt dizzy and confused. Why was she in bed?

She turned towards her husband. Severus lay on his back next to her, unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of his breath. His face was deathly pale. His skin had always been sallow, but now it was nearly as white as snow.

Something must have happened. She tried to concentrate, to remember. But Halloween, the day, the dinner, the feast…Everything felt so far away. As if it had happened a lifetime ago. She’d been in the rose garden, she recalled, doing her rounds. And then…she wrinkled her nose. The musky sweet smell of perfume. A white face. The rushing sound of a river. Her husband’s voice filled with such pain and so far away.

Hermione shot up. ‘Severus! What happened to Severus?’

‘He saved your life,’ Harry’s voice answered her.