III

Disclaimer: As always, it all belongs to JKR.

Hermione stood staring at the cottage. She counted seven windows. She walked toward it, with trepidation at first, and then excitement. Was it...could it be?

She ducked her head to go through the door. "Lumos." The cottage lit up...it was dusty from neglect but the wood was well preserved. Hermione looked around the open space, noting a wood stove and a small table with seven...no, eight...chairs. Eight place settings.

"Oh, gosh," she whispered. She smiled. She's real.

Severus...

Hermione sneezed and shook her head. She could come back here later. Couldn't she? She looked around the cottage once more, soaking in the sight, before heading back out of the door. She had to get the next ingredient. She reached for the next Portkey in her pocket.

"I'll be back," she said to the cottage. She closed her eyes, whispered the passcode into the Portkey, and flew into the night sky.

Moments later, Hermione was standing on a cliff overlooking what she was fairly certain was the Mediterranean. The stars are gorgeous. Everything about this place was beautiful, even in the dead of night. Goodness, at three in the morning, the breeze was warm. Then again, it was the height of summer.

But then again, it could be a mirage. Hermione took in the landscape. To her left, there was the cliff, and to her right, a forest. One of them was not real; one was concealing the second ingredient.

She walked around for a few moments and pulled out her wand, casting a variety of spells to reveal, to unveil, to break. Nothing. She ran her hand across the bark of the trees and walked back over to the cliff, going as close to the edge as she dared. She even threw a rock over to see if it would drop. It did.

Damn it. Everything felt real. Fleur was right.

This intuition, this trusting...nothing about this process was logical. Fleur had told her not to "check" her reality, just to remember. Hermione still had no idea what that was supposed to accomplish.

"Remember a memory that links you directly to Severus, one that is fraught with emotion...soak in the memory...think of as many details as you can. Nature will know what to do."

Hermione sat down on the edge of the cliff. Remember. There were so many memories to choose from ... and then, she thought of the perfect memory. The first one. The first time they met...again.

Hermione walked down the corridor attempting to hide her nerves. It was her first assignment as a consultant for the Department of Mysteries, and she was about to meet her new research partner. She silently prayed that it wasn't the last dunderhead she had worked with in the Department of Justice; that would be most unfortunate.

She glanced at her reflection in a mirror as she strode past the portraits of past Ministers. She looked smart, at least. No-nonsense. Business professional. A gray, tailored Muggle pantsuit with a smart navy blouse and sensible heels. Hair pulled back in a bun with a few loose tendrils in front. Apparently, that showed personality, or so Ginny said.

Here we go. She knocked on Ms. Lee's door and heard the DoM liaison call, "Come in."

Hermione strode to the desk and extended her hand to the petite Asian woman sitting opposite her. "Ms. Lee." She smiled. "A pleasure to see you again."

Ms. Lee nodded, looking a bit peaky, and gestured to the corner behind Hermione. "Your research partner."

Hermione turned around. She didn't know what dropped faster, her jaw or her briefcase. Lounging comfortably in one of Ms. Lee's lounge chairs was a very alive...and very dashing...Severus Snape. Black trousers, white shirt, leather jacket, feral grin.

"Professor..." Hermione started before she could stop herself.

"Snape," he corrected her. He was sipping a drink...whiskey? She blinked. It wasn't even 10 in the morning.

"Whiskey, Ms. Granger? Or is it not quite your style?" he asked.

Hermione bristled, her indignance overriding the shock of seeing him. You want to play? Let's play. She put her hands on her hips and met his glare straight on. "It's Granger."

"Is this the sort of attitude I'm to be met with throughout the course of the assignment, Ms. Lee?" Snape asked.

Hermione held her hand up before Ms. Lee could answer.

"It's not every day one sees a ghost resurrected," she said. She let her arms fall to her sides. "And if you don't mind, I will have a whiskey, thank you."

Snape arched an eyebrow in surprise, but he poured her a glass and levitated it to her. She sipped it and tried not to choke.

"Bold," Snape said, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. "Or stupid."

"Is civility going to be a problem?" Hermione asked.

Snape rose from his seat and came to take one of the chairs opposite Ms. Lee. "As long as you don't challenge me. And try not to interfere."

"Why would I interfere?" Hermione asked, taking the seat next to him. "Incompetence?"

"Quite the contrary," he said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his crisp white shirt and rucking them up to his elbows. "You're a ministry workhorse, and I don't tend to follow their rules."

Hermione cut off Ms. Lee's attempted interjection. She leaned over the arm of her chair toward Snape. "And what exactly makes you think I'm one of them?" she asked, making every effort to keep her tone level.

His mouth twitched. "Are you correcting my assumption?" He looked almost amused.

"I don't work for the ministry...I consult. Like you, I have never acquired the taste for government oversight." She leaned back in her chair.

"Well then." Snape looked rather pleased with himself. "Ms. Lee, I don't think Granger here is going to be a problem."

"Wonderful. If we can continue..." Ms. Lee started.

"One more thing," Hermione interrupted, turning to face Snape again. "I will challenge you whenever I damn well please."

Snape snorted.

After they received their assignment, Hermione walked out of the door without another word to Snape, ran to the bathroom, and promptly threw up.

Suddenly, Hermione felt her palm burning. The rose was coming alive...no, not alive. It was glowing a silver color. "Pointing the way, are you?" Hermione asked to no one in particular. She got to her feet and held her palm up toward the cliff. Nothing. She walked toward the forest and held her palm up and...

It dissipated into a mist, a fog that hung in the air for a few moments before it sank into the ground. Hermione shielded her eyes as a silver light flashed. When the light dimmed, Hermione found herself standing before an acre of land, bare but for the coffin standing in the middle of it. The light was emanating from within the coffin.

Freaky.

She approached the coffin and put her hand over her heart. "Oh, my goodness." The coffin was glass but each pane was edged with gold filigree, inset with rubies and diamonds. It was empty, save for a stunning silver tiara that rested on a purple pillow.

The tiara was lighting the entire field.

"Wow," she said, leaning in to examine the coffin. She found what looked to be an inscription in the gold, so she knelt down, feeling the dew of the grass soaking her trousers. She crawled along the edge of the coffin as she read the inscription aloud:

Here lay a princess,

Fairest of them all.

Felled by direst cruelty,

Raised by true love's call.

Well, that's anti-climactic, she thought, and sat back on her bum before she remembered that the ground was wet. Oh, well.

"True love's call," she mused, plopping her hands on her lap. She supposed that Snow White...if the Grimm's tale was to be believed...had been raised by true love, in a way; it was only because a prince desired her body that the coffin was lifted, and then dropped, in the first place. Hermione much preferred resuscitation through accidental dislodging of the poisoned apple to Disney's "true love's kiss" remedy.

She rose to her feet. Her eyes widened when she saw that words had appeared above the coffin, written in the same silvery mist as she had seen when the forest had disappeared.

Though long departed from this world,

Her essence still lives on.

If ye be here upon a quest,

Fear not the fair one's song.

"Do you know what saving the essence means?"

Hermione turned around and saw what she was sure was a Veela walking toward her. The woman was tall and graceful and moved slowly, her hair floating gently in the breeze. She approached Hermione, eyes not kind but not cruel either, and extended her hand.

"Give me your palm."

Hermione offered her hand. The Veela traced her finger along the lines of the rose. She closed her eyes and began to sing words unintelligible to Hermione, but that must have meant something because Hermione's palm started glowing silver again.

At this, the Veela smiled and folded Hermione's fingers into the palm, letting her hand go. "You were sent here by Fleur."

"Yes." Hermione found that she had no more words. Logic did not apply in this place.

She watched as the Veela twirled a hair around her finger and pulled. She offered the golden strand to Hermione. "A Veela hair, freely given," she said. "The second ingredient."

"All right." Hermione took the hair and started to press it to her palm when the Veela stopped her.

"I asked you a question when I approached you. Have you considered what you are saving?" Her eyes were kind this time.

"I'm saving my research partner," Hermione said.

The Veela smiled. "Yes, you are saving him. A very brave man, Severus Snape."

"You know him?" Hermione asked, taking a step forward.

The Veela continued. "You are saving him, to be sure, and you are also saving your future together. But so too are you saving a story for millions of children, magical and Muggle, human and non-human...children in whom these stories have instilled dreams, desires, and hopes."

Hermione looked at the empty coffin. "Because the stories are real?"

"It is more than that. Myth, legend, fairy tale...you know as well as I that there are aspects of magic, powerful and unseen, that cannot be explained, parts that are incomprehensible, the importance of which is only written on our hearts."

"This entire scenario," Hermione started. "It's unreal. I feel like I'm in a dream, like I'm not even myself..."

"I imagine that to a fine logical mind, this would be disconcerting. Open your eyes, Hermione. See beyond this...beyond the symbols, beyond this night. There is a story and a history, and it is one that you and your lover have already become a part of."

"He's not my..."

"Send the ingredient," the Veela said. She turned and started to walk away.

"Wait!" Hermione called. "How did you know my name? I don't know yours."

"You're not meant to." The Veela smiled once more and, with a graceful wave of her hand, disappeared into the night air.

Hermione did the only thing that made sense. She pressed the hair to her palm, and just as with the apple, it disappeared.

Suddenly, she felt a pressure bearing down on her. She had difficulty catching her breath and she sank to her knees. Fight it, fight it. She resisted the pressure with every ounce of her being, gritting her teeth, digging her fingers into the wet earth, fighting, fighting. The pressure began to lift. Thank Circe, she thought, but then she felt the inexorable tug in her gut...the feeling of being transported, only it wasn't a Portkey, it was...

Everything went black.