The Road to Hell

Summary: Molly, a mirror, and a mistake.

A/N: Much gratitude to Luna305, who did more than beta this chapter.

---

Minerva re-entered her office with a flustered but cheerful Molly Weasley, who was wiping her hands on a patchwork apron.

Hermione looked at one of the patches. It had a large orange and green sunflower on it. She had to look away.

"Hermione, dear," Molly said, coming toward her. "My hands are still wet - I was just finishing the breakfast things. There," she said, opening her arms and enfolding Hermione in a fierce hug. "I haven't had the chance to thank you, dear. You saved my life. I'm so grateful – we all are – Arthur, the boys, Ginny..." she beamed at her.

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"And as for that vile creature," Molly continued, rubbing her hands on her apron once more, a steely glint in her eyes. "I was glad to do it, Hermione. Glad. My brothers – he was one of them - " Her hands kept moving.

The sunflower folded and unfolded as Molly twisted her apron.

Hermione looked at Minerva.

"Tea?" Minerva asked Molly.

"No, thank you."

Minerva gestured and two chairs appeared next to Hermione's. The older women sat, Molly still toying with her apron.

"Hermione, dear, Minerva says your research is going well? We're so proud. And we have absolute confidence in you. Ron was just saying at breakfast - "

"Molly," Minerva began, her voice strangely hollow.

Molly looked more closely at Hermione. "But you don't seem to be eating. I'll Floo you your meals, dear; I'm so sorry, but with one thing and - "

"Molly," Minerva repeated.

" - and another... " Molly faltered, looked at Minerva. "I'm sorry, Minerva. You must have a million things to do." Leaning to Hermione, she finished, "Are you getting enough sleep, dear? You look pale."

"Molly," Hermione said, willing herself not to look at Dumbledore's portrait for help. He'd shut his eyes when he'd heard the Floo. "The Horcruxes. You know about them."

"Of course, dear. That's what your research is about, isn't it?"

Hermione couldn't look at her eyes. She stared instead at Molly's apron, recognizing in a far distant corner of her mind a maroon plaid patch as one of Ron's long-ago shirts. A scarlet and gold patch – an old Quidditch uniform. Charlie, maybe. And the pink square, a loose thread at its corner – the pink square must have blanketed a baby Ginny. Oh, gods, I can't do this.

"Miss Granger has some rather... unsettling... information," Minerva began quietly. "It seems that the destruction of a Horcrux requires a sacrifice in kind."

"'In kind'? I'm not sure I follow," Molly said.

"The murders Voldemort committed to create them follow a kind of discernable pattern," Hermione began, glancing at Minerva, who nodded at her, ceding the floor, but remaining poised to assist. A brilliant teacher... oh, gods... Hermione forced herself to focus. "It seems that each Horcrux demands an Indemnity – a sacrifice – similar in kind or in situation to the victim used to create it."

Molly's hands slowed on her apron, moving slower until she was picking at the loose thread. Then her hands clenched. "Not Ginny," she said firmly. "She almost died once because of that evil diary. Not Ginny," she repeated.

"That Horcrux has already been destroyed, Molly," Minerva reminded her gently.

Molly's hands unclenched, and she smoothed her apron. "Then what - ?" she looked from Minerva to Hermione.

Forcing herself to meet the woman's eyes, Hermione said, "The diary was Voldemort's first – his weakest. Ginny didn't have to - " She couldn't finish. She couldn't mention Dumbledore, either. She shook her head, and took a deep breath. "There is a necklace, a – a locket, Slytherin's locket, that once belonged to Voldemort's mother."

"Who did he kill for that one?" Molly's face was hard.

Hermione's throat was so tight she could not speak. She had to be right about the workaround. She had to. Her own fists clenched.

Minerva saw, and answered for her. "An elderly witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."

The name meant nothing to Molly.

"She had no children, Molly," Minerva said, "and..." Then she could not continue, either.

Hermione forced herself to rally. She spoke, low, barely above a whisper. "The Indemnity sometimes involves a kind of inversion."

Molly looked at them blankly for a moment, and then she paled.

Hermione was by her side instantly. "Mrs. Weasley, there may be a workaround. I think I've found one. Really. It should work - "

But Minerva's hand was on her shoulder. "Give us a few moments, child."

"Of course," Hermione said. "Shall I...?"

"I'll send one of the house-elves to find you."

As Hermione closed the door behind her, she heard a choked sob.

Hermione flew down the spiral staircase, past the stone gargoyle, and into the corridors.

She had no destination.

She just ran.

-----

"Molly," Minerva said. "Molly."

"Oh, Minerva. Arthur - the boys - I never imagined – oh, gods, Ginny, my little girl - and..."

"Molly, dear, breathe."

"I was so concerned about them that I never thought that I might – even after – I – oh, how will they manage?" Her huge eyes sought Minerva's. "Arthur can't cook!" Her eyes were pleading, then they brimmed over. "And... oh, Minerva..." she whispered. "Oh. Oh gods," and she leaned her head against the older woman's shoulder and drew a shuddering breath.

"I know, Molly. I know. Shh..."

-----

Hermione ran.

The look on her face scared Peeves.

-----

After a while, Molly's hands smoothed her apron once more. The thread holding the pink square had come loose under her worrying fingers and a small gap had appeared in the seam. She placed one fingertip on it and rubbed the edges of the cloth against her skin.

"Who else?" she asked, finally.

Minerva said nothing.

"Who else?" Molly demanded.

Minerva, who had been kneeling by Molly's chair, stood stiffly and reached behind her for the chair Hermione had vacated.

"One of them is me," she said simply.

Molly looked up, horrified.

"I failed my daughter, Molly. Tom killed her for a Horcrux. The connection is failure of protection."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"Then I should have died with them, Molly," Minerva said, her tone absolute.

No mother would argue. Molly was no exception.

"But I've been thinking," Minerva said, her tone brightening, brittle, but stronger. "I think perhaps I failed Tom, too."

Molly looked at her in amazement.

"He was two years behind me in school, Molly. I could, perhaps, have - "

"You were a child, Minerva," Molly interjected.

"So was Tom," Minerva countered firmly, her voice growing stronger. "So is Potter. And so is she," Minerva gestured toward the door.

-----

Hermione stopped running and walked determinedly three times past the same blank patch of wall.

A door appeared, and she went through it.

The room was empty save for a large mirror.

She didn't hesitate - she stepped up to it and looked, and saw -

Severus, of course. No surprise... He had wrapped his cloak around her shoulder and pulled her close. The pair in the mirror faced her, unsmiling. Not pretty. Well, no, of course; it wouldn't be. Hermione-in-the-mirror's eyes darkened as she pulled aside her collar. The cloud there was still billowing, the circle not quite full. In the mirror, Severus put a fingertip under Hermione's chin, and she turned to him, brushing his hair softly out of his eyes. They shared one stark kiss, and reached for their wands.

Never dropping their gaze from each others' eyes, unblinking, as if each moment spent in each other's eyes were precious, too precious to squander, as if each sight might be the last –

Hermione held her breath.

Unblinking, gazing at each other, they drew their wands in unison, aimed directly at each other, and –

"Miss?"

Hermione's head turned in reflex. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of green before the mirror went dark.

"Dobby is being sent to find you, Miss. The headmistress is wanting you in her office."

"Thank you, Dobby."

-----

Darkness.

His arena.

His ally.

His recourse, his only safety.

His prison.

Everything he touched, marked by Darkness.

Lily.

Hermione.

(He'd turned her tears to black.)

Even Tayet.

He ran his finger down the blackened feather, and she sang a long, low note.

A seduction of darkness, getting darker.

Every Unforgivable, one step nearer a line -

And tonight, another.

Far, far better him than her.

It would cast a shadow on her anyway.

His shadow.

How dare he?

We all make choices.

What's one more?

Light casts shadows.

Darkness just is.

Unforgivable.

Not inevitable. Necessary.

Without darkness, light would need no name.

Neither can live where the other survives, but they cannot exist without each other.

He was certain of that now.

Faith in the face of uncertain justice was the purview of darkness. A faith reserved for thieves, spies, and murderers.

The innocent had no need of faith. They embodied it.

Fools couldn't see it.

Had he been a fool?

And the rest – those who lived on the periphery of the real, lives of quiet assumptions and platitudes – they might mouth the word, but were ignorant of its meaning until forced there by stupidity or necessity. In their hands faith became a defense, a shield – which they often mistook for a weapon.

They sometimes called it "Harry Potter."

You could, he supposed, be bludgeoned to death with a shield.

Still.

Only those who felt the edge of the real on their throats could know faith.

He'd seduced her to within cutting distance.

She'd taken another step on her own.

Tayet was looking at him with eyes of endless night.

Push it further, you think?

She leaned closer to him, her eyes not leaving his.

I presume that's a "Yes"?

Faith.

An arbitrary set of sounds.

Only the unforgivable had any real need for faith. Real faith.

The unforgivable were why the word had been shaped from a set of meaningless sounds.

Faith. The word had been created because of situations like his. Because of...

More... He knew there was one more thought coming. One step, if he would but take it.

Because of Darkness.

Which marked everything he touched.

It was necessary.

Unforgivable.

His eyes widened slightly.

Faith.

The word had been invented for him.

Tayet sighed and rubbed her head on his cheek.

Arrogance, Snape, he thought wryly, reaching for his coffee.

But in the depths of his broken soul, he knew it was true.

She – woman, phoenix; did it matter? – had seduced him to within healing distance.

He'd taken another step on his own.

Tayet spotted a firefly and was off like an arrow. Memory became motion, and the time for thinking was past.

-----

"Two o'clock," Hermione said, coming into the library.

Severus placed a bookmark and sat up on the couch. He raised an eyebrow. "Not midnight?"

"Minerva thought it too symbolic."

"Hm."

"And Molly pointed out that there's a shift change."

Hermione sat in one of the armchairs and started a fire.

"Hermione, it's blazing out."

She nodded, drawing in upon herself as he watched.

He was up and kneeling beside her chair before she could crumble completely. "What?"

Drawing a ragged breath, she said, "Severus, I looked."

"What?"

"I looked. In the Mirror. Oh, gods, Severus."

He pulled her to his shoulder. She was shaking.

Tayet appeared on the back of the chair and peered at Hermione. "Squirp?" she asked Severus.

"I went to the Room of Requirement. I wasn't thinking. I just ran. And then I thought, 'Show me,' and it was there. The Mirror of Erised."

"Shh... Hermione. It doesn't show the truth." He stroked her hair.

She shook her head out of his hands, her eyes blazing madly. "Severus," she said, her voice rising in panic, "I don't want to kill you. I don't."

His hands froze midair.

"Squilp!" Tayet insisted.

"Tayet," Hermione moaned, drawing the phoenix to her.

"Squerk!" Tayet protested, wings rustling.

"Hermione..."

Hermione's hold on the phoenix tightened as she interrupted. "I can't kill you, Severus, I can't. I can't mean it. It's all going to fail because I love you! You and your damned buttons!"

"Squeep!" Tayet craned her head to glare at Severus.

She loves... Damn it, Snape, think. Fast. "Hermione, do you see buttons on this shirt?"

Startled, she looked at his shirt. It closed with a small tie at the throat. "N-no..."

"Would you have thought it possible?"

"N-no, I – oh, don't. I know what you're doing."

"Distracting you, yes, so you can think properly. Until you can, I can't."

Hermione's hold on the phoenix loosened slightly. Tayet squirmed out of her grasp and perched on her knee. Hermione rubbed the back of her hands across her cheeks.

Oh, Hermione, he thought, through the pounding of his heart. "Tell me what you saw."

"You. Me. Together."

His heart jumped.

"We weren't smiling. We kissed, and..."

"Go on."

"And we pointed our wands at each other, and – oh, the look on your face, Severus."

Tayet crooned a few curious notes.

He touched her hair. "It wasn't real, Hermione."

She looked at him. "Don't lie to me now, Severus," she snarled.

He gripped her shoulders so hard that she gasped.

"Damn it, Hermione, I'm not lying. Forgive me if I don't want to hear about how I look when I kill you. I would rather not know. Just tell me what happened next."

She nodded and his fingers relaxed slightly on her shoulders. "And then..." she stopped. "Oh. Then Dobby came in. I saw a flash of green as I turned away."

"You didn't see yourself cast the Killing Curse?" His irritation was vanishing as quickly as it had flashed to life.

"No."

"Hermione," he said, exasperated, running his hand roughly through his hair.

"Um... I suppose I may not have to kill you."

He exhaled. "No. That timing wouldn't make sense, Hermione."

"Oh. Right. Timing," she said, her voice growing sharper.

Tayet leapt to the back of the chair again. Severus stood slowly and backed away to the fireplace.

"How could I forget? You kill me, but I don't kill you, because of the timing. Excellent. I feel ever so much better now."

"SQUEEP!" Tayet shrilled at Hermione.

"Oh, WHAT?" Hermione said, rounding on her.

"SQUEEP!!" Tayet was worrying at her feathers with her beak.

Hermione looked at Severus, confused, and he took a cautious step closer. He shook his head. He didn't know either.

"Perhaps you bent one of her feathers, just now?"

They inspected Tayet's plumage as she continued her urgent grooming, but saw nothing out of place.

"I don't think so. Perhaps it's growing pains?" Hermione suggested.

His mouth twitched at the irony. He couldn't help it. "Perhaps."

Tayet finished her grooming, clicked her beak at them, and zoomed out the window. She was hungry.

Hermione turned on Severus, her anger still sparking. "How can you be amused, Severus? With everything we're facing?"

"I should have thought that was obvious, Hermione," he drawled.

Her eyes flashed.

"It takes light to create darkness, and light to cast a shadow. But without the shadow of darkness, Hermione, nothing would ever be funny."

"You find Tayet's growing pains funny?" her voice was ominous.

"Not hers, Hermione."

She looked at him steadily, and backed him slowly toward the fireplace. Drawing one hand up to the V of skin at his collar, she traced along the edge of his shirt.

His eyes narrowed.

She continued to trace, the lightest of touches, moving her fingertips to his skin.

Severus jumped as the fire grew suddenly enormous and roared behind him. His hands flew to his trouser legs, patting out the sparks.

Pocketing her wand, Hermione smirked. "How very amusing. I do believe I see your point."

His eyes narrowed suddenly. "My cloak. At the Quidditch match." He knew when he saw her expression. "That was you."

"Of course it was," she smiled sweetly.

"Hermione," he said, half-choking. "You were eleven."

"Twelve, but who's counting?" The corners of her eyes crinkled. "Oh, right. You are. Sorry."

He growled something incoherent at her, then winced as a spark burned through his trouser leg.

As he reached down to smother it, Hermione turned and left the library, laughing darkly.

Severus scowled. I am on the road to hell.

Sitting weakly in the armchair, he Summoned a brandy. Then his lips twitched.

No matter. I'll die before I get there.