Chapter Two

Macushla, Macushla your white arms are reaching

let them find me, and bind me again if they will

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Severus opened his eyes, and he gasped as awareness flooded his senses. There was excruciating pain, and there was blood. He could feel it trickling down the side of his neck and the throb of his veins pulsing as they pumped his life from him. His fingers probed the wound a little, and he squeezed his eyes closed, panting slightly. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and upper lip, and with strength he didn’t know he had, he started to drag himself from the room and down the narrow tunnel.

It took him almost twenty minutes before he reached the entrance, and he paused to feel the air caress his cheeks. He could hear the sound of battle in the distance, but he knew he could do nothing to help in his current state. Trembling, he dragged himself to his feet, swaying for a moment, before taking a slow, deep breath. He focussed all of his energy on his destination and Apparated directly into the bedroom of the cottage.

Quickly, with trembling hands, he removed the stoppers from the potions he had lined up beside the bed and swallowed them. He sank down onto the mattress gratefully and rested his head on the pillow. His nostrils picked up the fragrance of Hermione’s shampoo, and as he closed his eyes, her face swam in front of him, and he smiled sadly. He hoped he would be able to wake from the sleep washing over him. And he hoped she would be there if he did.

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They stood in the Shrieking Shack and stared at the place his body should be, and Hermione wanted to shout with joy.

He’s alive, she thought. Alive. Alive. Over and over, the mantra chanted in her head.

She needed to get to the cottage, but before she could run and Apparate there, Ron and his decidedly sweaty hands were pulling her back to Hogwarts. Her eyes glazed over as she went through the motions, the only reality being her grief at the loss of her friends.

‘Drink this,’ someone had said, pushing a steaming mug of something into her hands. She had sipped obediently, not tasting, not feeling, her mind a pool of chaos as she tried to find a way of escape.

Being one third of the Golden Trio made her more conspicuous than normal, and where one was, the others were expected to be also. She cursed Severus for making the cottage Unplottable. She couldn’t even owl him and check on his well-being. Damn it, she didn’t even know for certain that he was there, but she had to check. And if he wasn’t there, she would wait. He would come. She knew it.

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The funerals took place, even for the missing, presumed dead. Two days after the final battle, she attended his funeral without knowing the truth. She didn’t grieve, for in her heart she knew he was still breathing. She almost imagined that she could feel him close to her. But she still felt numb because of her absence from him, and the knot in her stomach was growing larger and more persistent with each hour.

‘Harry,’ she touched his arm softly, and he turned to her, his face pale but calm.

‘You’re going?’ he murmured under his breath, his eyes casting sidelong glances towards Ron, who was standing close to Molly.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she started to stutter. ‘I, em, well. Space. I need some space,’ she said in a whisper.

‘Thank him for me,’ Harry said softly.

Hermione stared back at him for a moment. Now was not the time for explanations. She nodded and slipped away quietly around the back of the gathered throng and heard Harry’s voice rising slightly as he distracted the others with a memory of Fred. Silently, Hermione made a mental note to thank him for covering for her.

The realisation that she was free at last made her break into a sprint, and she Apparated as soon as she was beyond the castle gates.

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