Twenty-one for Letting Go

Chapter 27: Twenty-one for Letting Go

Damn him.

The words became her mantra, an angry chant that echoed through her head with every step. Where darkness made the trek to Hogwarts difficult, the rain made it downright treacherous. Propelled by impatience, Hermione hurried along the slippery trail. She ignored the mud that coated her robes each time she lost her footing. As her pace increased, so, too, built her rage. Her mind leapt from the scene she'd witnessed at Arglist to the bloodstained floor of the Shrieking Shack.

Damn him.

Damn him for toying with her love, for crushing her heart as easily as he might smash an ant beneath his heel. Damn him for making her care too much. After what she had seen tonight, the memory of his death should not have caused still more pain. It wasn't fair.

Damn him, damn him, damn him.

She knew rational thought had abandoned her, but by the time her wet boots stomped down the stairs to the dungeons, she no longer cared.

Inside the living quarters, she stopped short at the sight of Snape pacing before the fireplace. Her hands shook. He spun at her approach, but the accusation in his eyes turned to concern when he took in her appearance.

"What the devil happened to you?" he demanded.

A thousand accusations sprang to her mouth, followed by a thousand questions. She voiced neither, yet the phrase that had plagued her seemed to carry both.

"She fancies herself in love?"

His eyes widened a fraction before closing entirely. Then his shoulders dropped, and he whispered, "Dammit."

Fury unlike any she had known filled her, pulsed through her veins, boiling and expanding until it had no choice but to burst forth. She wanted to scream, wanted to curse, wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her, to watch him experience just half the pain ripping her in two.

She wasn't aware of the wand in her hand until she had pointed it at his chest.

Angry red sparks dripped from one end, hissing and spitting and dying their spluttering deaths at her feet. Snape lifted his gaze to hers so slowly she thought their eyes might never meet. And then she wished they hadn't. For the first time since leaving Arglist, her grip on the smooth wood faltered.

He wasn't allowed to look so haunted, wasn't allowed to tear at her chest with his expression alone. He wasn't allowed any pain but the pain she caused.

"Do it, then," he whispered. Disgust twisted his face. He closed his eyes again and waited.

A dam burst inside Hermione.

Wand dropping to the floor, she flew across the room until all at once she was upon him, beating her fists against his chest, crying, "How could you? How could you?" with each small blow.

That he just stood there, hands clenched at his sides, refusing to defend himself, only infuriated her more.

"Bastard!" she shouted, raining her wrath against his chest until her arms shook from the effort. When the force of her assault weakened, when she could no longer find the strength to do more than shove against his robes, she dropped her head and covered her face with her hands.

His arms encircled her, but she summoned enough energy to resist his embrace.

"Don't touch me," she said.

His hands dropped to his sides and tightened into fists. "What, precisely, do you suppose you witnessed tonight?"

"You tell me," she said. "Or is difficult to keep all the lies straight?"

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

"Fine, I'll go first," she said. "You've been using Legilimency to steal my research and sell it to Lucius. Tell me, is he paying you extra to turn me over once it's all said and done? I certainly hope you'll receive a bonus for..."

"Stop it." He reached for her again, but she knocked his hands aside. "How could you think me capable of that?"

"You deny it, then?" she asked. "I was there, Severus. I saw ... I heard ... everything."

"I do not deny what you saw or what you heard," he said. "But I take great issue with the way you have decided to interpret it."

"I suppose this is where you'll remind me you were once a spy."

"How could you require such a reminder after what you witnessed tonight?" he said. "Espionage is the one realm in which I have always excelled."

"Yes, you are quite the master of deception." When his lips thinned, she said, "Let's hear your brilliant plan to spy on Lucius, then. Amaze me, Professor."

"A brilliant plan would be wasted on someone like Lucius," he said. "It is enough to appeal to his avarice and feign an interest in ridding the world of Muggle-borns. Lucius enjoys nothing so much as having his thoughts repeated back to him."

"And telling him I was in love with you?" she asked. "That I was no more than a burden to be borne? That wasn't espionage...that was just cruel."

"What sort of game do you think we're playing here?" His voice rose with his anger. "I can hardly walk away simply because I find the rules distasteful. How would it appear if I took offence whenever Lucius mentions your name, if I cursed him each time he relates his plans for you?"

She wrapped her arms around herself. Although she knew he was right, she wasn't ready to concede him any points.

"It is nothing more than a role." Weariness seemed to infect his body, from the tone of his voice to his deep sigh. "I can only imagine how upsetting it was to hear such things, but you must appreciate the advantage it has wrought. By gaining his trust, I could ensure the safety of your parents."

"My parents!"

She fell to her knees and scrambled for her wand. The giant silver bat appeared at her whispered incantation. "Find my parents and bring back a report on their welfare, please" she said.

The bat lingered, beating its shimmering wings around their heads faster and faster as if distracted by the emotions in the room. Hermione frowned. Casting a Patronus had always been the one spell she'd struggled with, but she had thought she'd remedied that after the war. At university, she hadn't rested until she had not only perfected the charm but had found ways to manipulate her Patronus that others hadn't considered.

She batted her hand through the air and shooed the flapping wings from her face, whispering, "Knock it off, Toby," beneath her breath. The bat circled Snape once, then left the room. She shook her head and wondered what other quirks had developed when her Patronus had changed. The otter had been tiresome at times, but it was never this contrary.

"Your parents are fine," Snape said, his brow furrowed as he watched the bat's departure. "Lucius has no plans to harm them. He only wished to frighten you."

"And you stood by while he threatened them?"

"Certainly not." His back became rigid. "Had I any knowledge of those photos beforehand, I would have found a way to spare you the images."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," she said. "I'm sure I proved quite the inconvenience when I demanded an audience with the Minister."

His lips pulled back from his teeth in an ugly snarl. "I wonder why you bother to ask questions when you haven't any intention of listening to the answers."

"And I wonder why my parents are being protected by a Ministry guard and enough wards to bar an army of Death Eaters if Lucius has no plans for them."

"I thought it wise to employ every possible precaution," he said. "I believe in being proactive."

He lifted his chin, perhaps subconsciously, and her gaze dipped to his shirt where the scar from Nagini's fangs lay hidden behind his collar. Once again, she was back inside the Shrieking Shack, watching him die. He had struggled for each breath, yet still he had used his final moments to help a boy he had loathed. How could such a man condone the plans she had heard at Arglist tonight?

"What about the Legilimency?" She cleared her throat, dismayed by the catch in her voice. "Were you being proactive each time you probed my mind?"

He shook his head. "I have only used Legilimency against you once, and I am certain you can recall that instance."

"I don't believe you," she said, but her words lacked conviction. "I think you made the session on Christmas Eve more painful than it needed to be, so I'd imagine myself immune and not notice you searching my mind later."

He paled. "I never intended to cause you pain that night." His hand trembled when he reached for her, and because she had no business longing for his touch, she stepped back. He dropped his hand, but the shocked expression remained on his face. "The more subtle forms of Legilimency cannot be used with you," he said. "I discovered this early...the night of my return, in fact...when we were fighting in Minerva's office."

She recalled them bickering, but if he had attempted to learn her thoughts on Halloween, she certainly hadn't been aware of it.

"Your mind resisted," he said. "I could have pushed, but the intrusion would have been obvious. It is one of the reasons I had to cast a strong Legilimens on Christmas Eve."

She closed her eyes. The revelation was filed for later discussion, and she returned to more immediate concerns. "If you haven't been violating my mind, then where did you find the data you gave to Lucius? My former co-workers?"

"No, Lucius eliminated that avenue long ago," he said.

She tried not to think of whatever horrors had been inflicted upon the men and women she had worked alongside. Yet another mistake to regret.

"Thus far," he said, "I have taken the information you revealed on Christmas Eve and corrupted one or two elements to ensure failure."

"You've sold him nothing but modified data?"

A cold smile curled his lips. "He has paid millions for a stack of worthless notes."

Someday, she knew she would appreciate the justice in that.

"The method is far from ideal, though," he said. "I have depleted the information, and Lucius has limited patience. To continue any longer would jeopardise my position."

She nodded. It sounded reasonable, but she had expected no less. "It seems a great deal of time and effort could have been spared, had you simply asked for my assistance."

He looked away...he had to know what would come next.

"It leaves but one question." She refused to continue until he met her eyes. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I had to," he replied instantly.

"Why?" she demanded. "And if you claim it was to avoid a scene like this, so help me, Severus, I will hex your lying tongue right out of your mouth."

He sliced his fingers through his hair. "There was too much at stake," he said. "If Lucius discovered the truth, more than the research would be compromised. I had to be certain I could trust you."

"It was my bloody research!" She stamped her foot, but the thick carpets muffled the sound. "Of course you could have trusted me."

"It's not that simple," he said. "I have made it a rule to trust no-one, and doing so has served me well. Far too many have died after placing their faith in the wrong person."

She thought of James and Lily Potter and wondered how many others he had seen lose their lives for making that fatal mistake. Having lived through two wars...playing both sides...would only have magnified his distrustful nature.

"I can understand your initial hesitation," she said, "but surely, once Lucius began to threaten me..."

"His threats merely served to highlight the risk," he said. "Lucius proved how easily he could get you alone the day he interrupted your lunch with Luna. And then you proved a great deal more when you agreed to Side-Along Apparate with him to an undisclosed destination."

She flushed. Hearing Lucius speak of her tonight, she realised just how dangerous that decision could have been.

"I would rather have you alive and feeling betrayed than ... the alternative," he said. "And after your excursion to Arglist, you left me no choice but to keep the truth from you."

"You have the perfect answer for everything." She brought her fingertips to her forehead and rubbed at the ache behind her temples. "But then, even your lies are perfect, aren't they?"

He folded his arms. "No more so than yours."

Now her head throbbed in earnest. "How many times would you have me apologise for what I did with your memories?"

"Not the memories...the lie I refer to is far more recent."

"What lie? I have been completely honest with you since..."

"You never told me Lucius kissed you when you accompanied him to Arglist."

"I ..." Her mouth snapped shut. Bugger.

"No, I had to listen to his filthy insinuations and search his mind to see precisely what had transpired. Do you think I enjoyed learning of it in such a way? Do you not understand what torture it is to see you in his arms?"

She didn't know what to say.

"Why didn't you tell me he had assaulted you?" he asked quietly.

She had believed him better off not knowing. "I ... I didn't want to fight about it," she said. "You were angry enough just knowing I'd gone to Arglist. Telling you what he had attempted would have served no purpose."

"I see."

By the arch of his eyebrow, she suspected he didn't. "Can you blame me, considering the way you overreacted when you saw us at the Christmas Eve ball?" she asked. "After your behaviour that night, you left me no choice but to keep the truth ... from ... um ... you."

Double bugger.

She wished her phrasing hadn't matched his so precisely. The logic couldn't excuse her omission without exonerating his in the process.

He sighed and shook his head. "We are, both of us, fools."

"One of us is, perhaps," she said. "The one who was foolish enough to fancy herself in love."

His eyes narrowed. "You know nothing of love."

"That's rich, coming from a man who has spent the past thirty years pining for a ghost." She clutched her wand when he stepped closer.

His gaze flicked to her hand. "You claim to love me, yet you still refuse to believe me. What sort of love loses faith so easily?"

"You dare to question my faith?" Her temper built until she could no longer stand still, and she paced to the fireplace and back. "Let's consider this, shall we? Do you have any idea what kind of faith is required to love someone who will never return your love? To stay with a man who is forever determined to draw first blood, lest he risk his blasted heart again?"

She whirled on him. "Do you know what it's like to live each day being compared to a ... a memory? If she were flesh and bone, perhaps I'd stand a chance. But how could anyone compete with a spirit, much less a spirit who is more fantasy than reality? I've tried, Severus, truly I have. Until now, I've ignored all the doubts, and I've found a way to excuse everything you've thrown at me."

Her shoulders were suddenly too heavy, so she let them roll forward. "If I'm a bit short on faith, it's only because I've had to use so much to come this far."

He stared at her for several minutes, his brow so wrinkled she wondered if it would ever smooth. The room was silent, save for the fire crackling in the grate. Such a comforting sound. And so much safer than the words that needed to be said. She folded her arms and tried to remember if she had ever before felt this cold. Fatigue wrapped its bony fingers around her limbs and tried to pull her down, down into the ground where darkness would chase the dreams from her head. The fireplace beckoned, but Snape's words stopped her before she could cross the room.

"You're wrong," he whispered.

She turned. Her heart stopped when his hand reached inside his robes.

"There is truth in what you have said, but you are very much mistaken about one vital element."

He pointed his wand towards the kitchen, and silver mist shot from its tip. She closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to see was his doe Patronus, the very embodiment of his love for Lily.

"Look at it," he hissed.

She shook her head, eyes still closed. He crossed the room quickly, too quickly for her to raise her wand and stave him off. He spun her around and forced her to face the kitchen. His arms held her fast, twin vices that pinned her to his chest. Heedless of her struggles, he offered no more than a grunt when she kicked the heel of her boot into his shin.

"Look at it!" he said again.

The fight melted from her body when she raised her head. Standing just inside the kitchen, its nose buried in the bowl of fruit on the breakfast table, stood a small silver mare. Sensing their gaze, the mare shook her mane and fixed Hermione with steel-coloured eyes.

"Where's the doe?" she asked.

"Where's the otter?" he retorted.

Having studied Patronuses extensively, she already knew the answer. But all she said was, "Gone."

"Why?" His breath was warm against her ear, and his lips brushed her skin when he asked, "Why did it leave?"

She ignored the resolution she'd made to stop biting her bottom lip. "It's not ... uncommon for a Patronus to change. The phenomenon typically occurs between adolescence and adulthood, although trauma and ... other factors ... can stimulate a transition at any point in time."

"Why did Nymphadora's Patronus change?"

"I have no idea," she lied.

"Do you not?"

She bit her tongue when the question hung in the air. The answer demanded to be spoken. She had to respond...to remain silent went against her very nature and would have required far more strength than she could summon.

"It ... it might have had something to do with Professor Lupin." Now she was stuck. She could no more tear her gaze from the mare than she could stop herself from filling the silence with facts. "A Patronus can represent many things, though. They do not necessarily refer to a specific person. Most often, they're indicative of the qualities and characteristics valued by the caster."

In her youth, the joy and wild abandon of the otter had appealed to her, had spoken to a part of her soul that had longed to be free from responsibility and structure. As she had matured, her Patronus must have, as well. She wondered when she had begun to favour private, unfairly maligned creatures. Had it happened after Snape had re-entered her life, or had it begun much earlier, when she had first viewed his pilfered memories?

"Why did your Patronus change?" he asked. "Trauma or ... other factors?"

She shook her head.

"Why?" His fingers dug into her arms.

"Love," she whispered.

"Yes!"

Why had he made her confess it? She'd already told him she loved him; it was hardly a revelation. "What is the point of this?"

"Love." His whisper was fierce. He pulled her tighter against his chest.

She frowned. "You cannot mean..."

"Can I not?"

"You don't love me, Severus," she said. "You have told me time and again it's impossible."

"Do you think I haven't tried to convince myself it was?" He spun her around to face him, his gaze wild. "I have attempted every means I know to deny it, yet it persists, never waning...growing stronger with each passing day, although that, too, ought to be impossible." He searched her face, as if she were a puzzle whose solution defied him. "No, it must be love. Nothing else can cause this ache."

"But you love Lily," she said. "Always."

He winced. "If only that were true."

Once again, his logic escaped her. She frowned and shook her head.

"There is great benefit to loving a ghost," he explained. "They cannot leave you, they cannot hurt you. And they are incapable of lies."

"But they can never love you in return."

"That is only an issue for those who are worthy of requited affections."

She looked away. It was not safe to linger in his gaze, to allow his eyes to distract her.

She could accept that his dealings with Lucius had been an act...he was, after all, a brilliant spy. And a part of her could even understand why he hadn't told her of his endeavours, especially after her unplanned visit to Arglist in April. But love? Could she believe he loved her, that he had relinquished his bond with Lily after all these years?

A blur of silver mist answered her question. For all the time she'd studied Patronuses, for all the mysteries that still remained, there existed one undeniable, indisputable truth. A Patronus could not be altered. It could be manipulated, to be sure, but the form it would take could neither be controlled nor counterfeited. Many had tried, but like a wand choosing its wizard, the base magic was unalterable. Which meant one thing:

The doe was truly gone.

The idea of love settled over her slowly, like sunlight melting through layers of fog. She had fought against it for so long that being loved in return was a possibility she had not dared to entertain for any length of time.

She watched the compact mare stroll through their kitchen and wondered what traits she might share with such a creature. It was a shame, really...she would have much preferred to be likened to a wise owl or perhaps a ferocious lion. She supposed she ought just be glad his Patronus hadn't changed into a mule.

"This doesn't have anything to do with my old horse teeth, does it?" she asked.

He stood behind her and exhaled slowly, as if he'd been holding his breath. "Only inasmuch as that hideous bat reflects my mannerisms."

"Toby isn't hideous." She spun around, hands on her hips. "I happen to think he's rather cute."

"You ... you named your Patronus?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

His expression revealed the answer. "What was the otter's name?"

"Billy." Her face grew warm.

"I see."

She turned back to watch the mare. "I suppose she does look a bit regal."

"Indeed she does." He stood behind her again, closer this time, and lifted his hands. She saw them hover over her shoulders, as if he wasn't sure whether he'd be permitted to touch her just yet. Finally, his fingertip brushed along her arms. "She's magnificent," he whispered. His hands slid around her waist, and when she offered no protest, he pulled her against him. "She is strong and beautiful. Courageous, intelligent. Loyal."

Perhaps a mare wasn't such a bad Patronus after all. "You forgot incredibly, unbelievably forgiving."

He stiffened, then buried his nose into her rain-soaked hair, his breath hot against her frozen neck. "I feared she might be too wilful for that."

"I would have thought so, as well."

She relaxed into the warmth of his chest. His arms tightened, and for the first time since her conversation with Draco, she felt safe. It seemed Dumbledore had been correct...love was more powerful than any magic she had encountered. Nothing less could have silenced her doubts.

Arms entwined, they watched the shimmering mare for several moments. A scroll of parchment lay unfurled upon the sideboard, and the horse's wide nostrils flared when she sniffed it. Hermione recognised the coloured paper at once...the missive from Mexico.

"Remy has offered his assistance," Snape said.

The mare vanished.

Fingers of fear slid around her throat, until her reply was a barely audible, "Oh."

She pulled from his embrace and retrieved the scroll.

Remy had summarised the process he would follow for altering her memories, and although the majority of work would be performed in Mexico, the preliminary tasks he'd assigned were more daunting than she had anticipated. Her old memories had to be removed beforehand, and she would need concise ideas for how each new memory should look. He would then guide her through a series of re-enactments, and once she had removed the memories of these new, faux scenes from her mind, he would combine and edit both sets together, performing his unique magic that rendered the splices undetectable.

Although it had to be done, the thought of removing her memories still made her head spin. Her stomach soon followed.

"We must act quickly," Snape said. "The team at Arglist will soon discover the notes are useless."

She nodded. If they had any hope of stopping Lucius, of ending this nightmare once and for all, they would need the altered memories. Without them, the Ministry would never have enough time to build a case against Arglist.

"All right," she said. "After exams, we can..."

"No," he said. "We cannot afford to wait, especially after what you witnessed tonight."

"Why should that make any difference?"

"If Lucius finds out what I have..."

"I'm not going to tell him!"

"You wouldn't have to," he said. "It is written all over your face. We cannot risk him discovering the truth...we must proceed immediately."

"Exams start on Monday," she said. "We can't just disappear."

"I shall speak to Minerva in the morning," he said. "I am certain I can convince her, given the circumstances."

"Right," she whispered, and then shivered. "Tomorrow, then."

He pointed his wand towards the bathroom, and the sound of water rushing from several taps filled the living quarters. "You are chilled to the bone," he said. "A hot bath, then sleep, if you are able. We can start fresh in the morning."

She followed him into the bathroom and stripped off her mud-encrusted robes while he dumped oils into the tub. The scent of jasmine made her sigh. He fiddled with the taps and cast uncertain glances her way, watching her every move from beneath a shock of hair that had fallen across his eyes. When the last of her clothes had been dropped onto the floor, she slid into the pool of scalding suds and moaned. Finally, the warmth she had craved. She rested her head and closed her eyes as little by little her limbs thawed. When at last she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Snape hadn't budged from his position beside the taps. She met his gaze, and a different sort of warmth spread through her body.

The fact he had waited for her invitation made it easier to issue. She held up a sponge and said, "Wash my back?" Her pulse quickened when he removed his robes and tunic. He walked around the tub and knelt behind her, surprising her again when he poured soap into his hands and began to quite literally wash her back.

His fingers slid along her spine. He kneaded the tension from her shoulders in ever-widening circles until nearly all her muscles had turned to liquid, and she thought she might just sink beneath the bubbles, a pile of melted goo. But then his fingers moved around her ribs to tease her breasts, and she found the strength to pull him into tub, trousers and all.

The water had grown cold by the time the last of their cries echoed through the living quarters. Whispers of love followed, timid and unpractised, where once there had been silence. Neither could muster enough energy for a particularly effective drying spell, so they fell into bed with hair still damp from the bath.

The nightmare would soon return, but Hermione refused to dwell on it. She memorised the feel of his arms around her, the scent of his skin beneath her nose. Outside, she knew the horizon had already been painted by the first blush of dawn. But daylight was for other creatures. She dwelled in the dungeons, where darkness always reigned and where she could pretend the night would last forever.

I apologise for not responding to very many reviews, but I have challenged myself to complete this story by Halloween. Meep! I truly appreciate receiving the feedback, so please do not mistake the lack of reply for a lack of enthusiasm. I look forward to answering them very, very soon!

Grateful hugs, as always, to Karelia and Little_Beloved for being lovely betas, and also to Melenka for reading with sharp alpha eyes.