Chapters 201-210

Bereft

‘Where are you going?’

‘London—Muggle London, that is,’ Hermione replied, buttoning her duffle coat. She was reaching for her scarf, when she realised that Severus hadn’t moved but still stood in front of her, arms crossed in a forbidding manner.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘I thought you don’t need me this afternoon?’ She frowned. ‘Or did something come up and you need me after all?’ She hoped this was not the case. Tomorrow they would start brewing the Sempiternal Solution again and that meant three days of hard work with barely a break.

‘I don’t think that is a good idea, Hermione.’

She heaved a sigh. ‘I promise I’ll be careful, Severus. I won’t duck into any dark alleys. Or do anything foolish. I’m not Harry, after all.’ Her smile felt foreign on her face.

‘I need to get away,’ she admitted. ‘I need some time in the real world—’ She rolled her eyes at his scowl. ‘—I know very well that our world is real! But I do need a break! I want to spend a few hours browsing in a real bookshop. I want to see that new exhibition at the Tate and then meet with Lois for coffee. I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll stay far away from St. Paul’s and all other churches. I’ll keep my wand at the ready all the time. I just…’ Her voice trailed off. She had to rid herself of the daze that threatened to grip her with a brisk shake of her head before she could hurry on, ‘I need to remember that there’s a world out there. Somewhere. Isn’t that what you meant in Chartres?’

Severus’ scowl deepened. Hermione knew that he was only worried about her and she was very much aware that he had good reason to be concerned, but…during the days since Draco’s funeral, she’d started feeling as if the walls of Hogwarts were pressing closer and closer around her, choking her, cutting off the very air she needed to breathe. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I won’t stay long. I’ll be back for dinner.’

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Very well. I do understand, Hermione. Just please, be very careful. We need to start brewing tomorrow, and we can’t risk more delays.’

‘I know,’ she whispered. Her voice sounded oddly strained. She grabbed her purse and her bonnet and fled from the dungeons.

oooOooo

Severus listened to Hermione’s fading footsteps. Then he allowed himself another sigh and left the room, too, heading for his private laboratory.

If they wanted to begin brewing a second batch of the Sempiternal Solution tomorrow, there was still a lot to do. Thankfully. It was better to work. Much better. If his hands and mind were busy, his thoughts had less opportunity to dwell on—he sighed and leant on the long oak table.

He stared down at his hands, the long fingers. The burn from yesterday’s Advanced Potions class on his left index finger was already fading, although he’d forgotten to reapply the Burn Salve this morning. He needed to cut his nails.

His throat grew painfully tight. He tried to swallow, but it hurt too much as his muscles cramped around the old injury.

Draco was not the first of his students who had died. He would not be the last. During the first and the second rising of Voldemort many Hogwarts students of all four Houses had died; and during the so-called Final Battle most of the dead had been students from Slytherin House. He should be…no, not used to losing one of his own, of course not! But surely one more death shouldn’t hit him that hard!

But it did. It did.

He turned around and buried his face in his hands.

At long last he took a deep, shuddering breath and let his hands sink to his sides. He rotated his cramped, painfully stiff shoulders. He had to go and spend some time with his students now. Many had known and liked Draco; the atmosphere in Slytherin House was subdued this weekend, and spirits were low.

He straightened up and carefully fixed his customary scowl on his face, a thin façade of strength. He could only hope that it would serve to reassure the distraught children.

oooOooo

In her office, the headmistress sat in front of her desk on one of the visitors’ chairs. She was staring at the painting on the wall; its still, unmoving, garish colours, the barely distinguishable silhouette of a familiar figure.

Her cup of tea had long since gone cold.

Albus’ death; Severus’ burden. The attempt to save a young man’s soul from the guilt of murder. Now the young man was dead, too, his soul fled beyond the Veil.

A sense of futility spread through Minerva. For the first time she felt not merely exhausted. She felt old.

Outside the castle, the January drizzle was turning into snow.

oooOooo

A downpour had emptied Diagon Alley and filled the Leaky Cauldron to bursting. Not a chair remained unclaimed and no Impervious Charm was strong enough to keep the windows from fogging with the humidity that was steaming up from damp robes, cloaks and hair in the guestroom.

Hannah’s body seemed to consist solely of hurting feet and ringing ears. She was weary to her bones. If she’d had more than a moment to stand still, she would have been swaying on her feet.

Still, no matter how tired she was, at night, alone in her bed, she could find no sleep. She’d bury her face in the linens and inhale the lingering remnants of Draco’s eau de toilette.

But with each passing day, his scent faded.

Soon she would be unable to detect it. And once she’d change the sheets the next time, it would be gone completely.

Hannah concentrated, cast a Charm that allowed her to juggle twelve bottles of Butterbeer without spilling a drop and hurried back to the guestroom.