Chapter 25

A/N: JKR is wonderful. So are beaweasely2, Clairvoyant and nagandsev. I own nothing and make no money from this. Thank you also to everyone who reviews - I hope that you enjoy this chapter, despite the character death warning it carries (*drops it and runs*)....

*********************

Chapter 25

"Where's she going? She's moving away from him!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. Hermione was separating from Severus, moving towards the edge of the frame. Her expression was hard to read because the image was very dark, but her body language was tense, her arm and hand held outstretched as they parted. For his part, Snape stood apart from her in the frame again, scowling and fierce.

"Hermione?" Poppy shook Hermione's shoulders gently. "Hermione?"

"Is she waking up? Did it work?" Harry felt hope blossoming in his chest. He shot a look across the room at Vector, who shifted her attention from the complex calculations scrawled over the parchment leaves in front of her.

"Hermione?" asked Poppy again, more insistently this time.

There was no response. Harry watched as Hermione's chest continued to rise and fall.

Harry ran his hand again through his hair, frustrated.

He turned his attention back to the portrait. Snape had seemed to withdraw further into the mosaic image, moving backwards towards the impressive Roman building in the background of the picture. The volcano was still belching smoke and fire, and the mosaic sky was almost completely black. A thick rain of ash was still falling, obscuring the figures before them.

There was a faint noise from Hermione's bed. Harry turned to see what was happening.

Poppy was running her wand over Hermione's body once more, her lips unconsciously moving as she muttered a non-verbal diagnostic spell. Pale blue numbers and symbols shimmered in the air above her chest. She frowned as she scanned through them quickly. "She's fighting something," Poppy muttered distractedly, almost to herself. "An infection? These numbers seem to indicate..."

"What's he doing now?" Ron said abruptly, and Harry's attention was drawn once more to the portrait. Ron was hunched forward, peering intently at the image. "He's... Is he fading?" he asked.

*********************

Severus Snape remembered vaguely that he should be unhappy about dying.

It bothered him a bit that he could not think very clearly, but after a while, he found that it really did not matter. His body was awash with soothing sensations. Sabazios' hands about his throat had become a gentle pressure supporting his head; the magical exhaustion weakening his limbs was now a comforting lassitude. He felt like he was floating in the Black Lake, falling deeper and deeper into the depths. Images of his twin lives, this one here in the Roman world and his previous wretched existence, shimmered before him. Rather than tormenting him, the images soothed him: he saw Lily's smile as she had found magic for the first time with him, Marcella and her family laughing at some risqué joke that Restitutus had told, grateful parents from Slytherin House, respectful of their dour Housemaster, Dumbledore's tired trust in him as he had proffered the golden Refectio Potion that would delay Gaunt's curse from spreading, Hermione's face as they had parted.

He took a breath, idly surprised that he was still capable of doing so. It hurt a bit. His mouth felt rusty and dry. He moved his tongue about his mouth, swallowed dryly and unclosed his eyes.

Nothing.

Was he disappointed?

Darkness.

He felt his breath condense in the air in front of him and realised that his upper lip was wet and cold.

He tried to lift his head, only to experience an immediate sensation of crippling nausea, a sickening twist in his reality, and a painful constriction in his chest.

He let his head fall backwards to the stone behind him. Immediately, the pain gentled, and he became calm again.

He allowed his eyelids to fall shut again and drifted back to the peaceful sensation of fading into nothingness.

*********************

...Oh, shit.

Hermione froze, the light from her wand illuminating the rough brick cell.

Beside her, a few paces to the left, the Manticore growled again, and she felt the wash of its rank breath on her sweat-slicked skin. She turned her head to the side and saw it less than a few feet away from her, crouched on the harsh grit of the floor, sniffing the air. She held her breath and watched, terrified, as the animal moved its scarred face from side to side. Even though she knew it was blind, she still experienced a moment of irrational panic, as it appeared to look straight at her.

The idea had come to her as she remembered Snape's curses bouncing uselessly off Sabazios' magical shield, as impervious as the charmed skin of the creature poised next to her in the darkened cell. But Snape had been able to stab the beast at close range, and Hermione had remembered the Manticore's tail with its cruel, sharp tip. It was a ridiculously desperate idea, but perhaps it might give her the edge she needed to save him.

Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath and visualised the spell that she hoped to cast. Spells had no impact on the flesh of a Manticore, but she had reasoned perhaps the creatures could be contained by a spell instead. She had seen it done before and hoped fervently that she could recreate the sphere that Voldemort had used to protect and transport his familiar, Nagini.

The Manticore growled again, and with a shivering sensation, Hermione felt the hairs rise on her arms and the nape of her neck.

Her mind fought to put the Latin words together.

Capio, she thought, 'to capture'.... sphaera, 'a sphere'.... 'light'... 'light'... What's the bloody word for 'light'? Lumos... lux is the noun... what's the bloody adjective? Lucis! Okay....

The Manticore took a tentative step forward, and Hermione raised her wand. She would speak the words of the spell rather than try to cast it non-verbally. That would give her the maximum opportunity to concentrate on the intent she needed behind it, to focus her determination like the white-hot flame of a welding torch.

However, the noise of her speech would give the creature all it needed to attack her, so if this didn't work, she'd only have moments to Apparate away again. She dithered for a moment, but a sudden image of Severus facing Sabazios and his Inferi alone among the shattered remnants of their battleground outside the Temple pushed her onwards. She had to try. She had to make it work.

She pictured what she was trying to achieve, keeping the image firmly fixed in her mind's eye, and pronounced the words of the new spell. "Capere in Sphaera Lucis!" she ordered, flicking her wand in what she hoped was the approximate motion to indicate the dimensions of the Manticore.

Hearing her words, the Manticore snarled and leapt – but just before Hermione could react by falling backwards to Apparate to safety, a watery like substance erupted from her wand and swept around the pouncing animal, encasing it in a rolling sphere of light. Silently, she levitated the sphere before her, staring numbly at the furious creature within, which was clawing and stabbing at the magical walls of its new prison.

Hermione swiped her wand hand over her forehead, pushing her hair back and out of her eyes.

Now to effect Side-Along-Apparition without physically touching the animal, take it to Sabazios, save Severus, and get back to the portrait.

********************

Bathed in the light of the late afternoon, Filius Flitwick was stirring a cup of tea in maddening circles.

He was sitting on a low settle, his feet barely touching the floor. Before him, the other occupants of the room were watching him in frustrated silence. The small entrance chamber was one of the least used rooms in the ground floor of the castle. The room was dominated by a stone fireplace, the mantel supported by twin pillars carved into the shape of rampant seahorses. Rich green and red tapestries hung on the walls, and a series of high windows allowed the late evening sun to enter, its twin beams of light slanting onto the stone floor.

Filius continued to stir his tea, wondering how long he could prevent Mr Finch-Fletchley and his younger colleague from reclaiming Hermione's body.

He tapped his spoon twice on the side of his teacup and returned it to the saucer carefully. "Now, gentlemen," he said calmly. "How can I be of service to you?"

"Professor Flitwick." Finch-Fletchley was much as Flitwick remembered. Age had weathered the boy he had known somewhat, thickening his frame and whitening his hair prematurely at the temples, but much remained of the young Hufflepuff that Finch-Fletchley had once been. The casual arrogance that his wealthy Muggle upbringing had lent him was still evident as he clicked his tongue and rocked forwards and backwards on the balls of his feet. He gave the impression of a stiffly held junior officer in the Household Cavalry.

"Headmaster," he began. "I wonder if you are aware of the whereabouts of Doctor Hermione Granger? We have been led to believe that Mr Harry Potter and Mr Ronald Weasely have abducted her from St Mungo's and brought her here to take part in an unsanctioned ritual..."

"...A Dark ritual," the younger Auror at Finch-Fletchley's side interjected urgently.

"Abercrombie..." The long-suffering tone that Finch-Fletchey adopted indicated that the younger man's outburst was not an isolated occurrence.

Finch-Fletchley cleared his throat unnecessarily and rocked backwards again, clasping his hands behind his back. "We are concerned about the nature of the ritual that Messers Potter and Weasley are intending to perform on Doctor Granger," he began again pompously. "Reports from St. Mungo's have suggested that the ritual invokes Blood Magic, something outlawed by the Ministry of Magic's Decree Against the Use of Dark Ceremonies and Procedures. I'm sure that you would wish to help the Aurory with our enquiries.... The safety of our citizens is our primary concern."

"Quite so, quite so," agreed Flitwick earnestly and then took a sip of tea, rolling the sweet liquid around his mouth. "We are always anxious to provide all aid where and whenever necessary," he added.

There was a long silence.

Filius took another sip of tea.

Finch-Fletchley cleared his throat again pointedly and raised his eyebrows as if inviting further comment.

"I do apologise, Auror Finch-Fletchley," said Filius. "Did you wish me to say something further?"

Before either Auror could reply, there was a loud noise from the entrance hall outside the room, and the door to the entrance chamber was flung open to admit a fast moving woman in a long grey coat holding a golfing umbrella firmly in her grip. Her face was set in a resolute grimace, and her hair was disarrayed. Three Hogwarts' house-elves scuttled in behind her, their arms outstretched as if preparing to catch her should she fall.

Filius jumped to his feet, banishing his half-consumed cup of tea as he did so to prevent the hot liquid from splashing over him.

"Doctor Granger!" he exclaimed. "How lovely to see you again! I trust that the elves brought you here without mishap?" The three elves bowed low, acknowledging Filius' comment. Helen Granger did not say anything in response, but looked pointedly at the two other men in the room.

Filius clapped his hands together. "Please forgive my rudeness! Doctor Granger, may I introduce Aurors Finch-Fletchley and Abercrombie. Justin was in Hermione's year at school, as I'm sure you remember! Euan Abercrombie was in Gryffindor, although he is four years Hermione's junior in the House...."

"I remember very little from those times, Professor." Helen Granger's voice was brusque and businesslike. Nevertheless, Filius detected a hint of irritation in her clipped tones. Of course, he chided himself, Hermione's Obliviate... It was a beautifully constructed series of Memory Charms, which not only removed her parents' memories of their daughter, but also implanted a strong compulsion to emigrate.

"Professor Flitwick. Gentlemen." Helen Granger's voice brought him abruptly back from his reverie. Hermione's mother regarded the wizards with a steely glare. "My husband has been arrested by the wizarding police force, and my comatose daughter is missing." Helen Granger held her umbrella tightly in her right hand, as one might hold a spear. "Your elves have brought me here, Professor," she continued. "And now I would like some answers."

She spiked the umbrella's sharp tip into the rug beneath her feet for emphasis.

"Where. Is. My. Daughter?"

**********************

You have to touch it to Apparate with it.

You have to touch it to Apparate with it.

The phrase reverberated inside her head again and again.

The Manticore writhed and screamed silently within its enchanted cage, its tail thrashing against the confines of the energy sphere, its teeth snapping, its claws raking the walls of the magic that held it at bay. Flecks of foaming spittle ran down the sides of the luminescent orb.

You have to touch it to Apparate with it.

She racked her brains for a solution, her chest throbbing and frustrated tears running down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily with her wand hand. Don't be an idiot! she told herself furiously, you're no good to him being a dunderhead! Think!

As she did so, her forearm grazed over the potion phial lying against her breastbone. It seemed to throb in response to her touch.

Find me.

Had she thought that?

Hermione grabbed the potion bottle in her free hand.

Again, she felt the sense of... recognition... from the thing.

Find me.

And she suddenly knew what to do – so simple!

With all her might, she focused on Snape. Something flared beneath her hands, and the potion phial burned in her grip. Her chest gave a triumphant surge in recognition. She thought of the blood within the little bottle, dried and desiccated, but still present. She thought of the blood on Snape's face and shoulders, his dear face, his fierce expression....

"Portus," she whispered, touching her wand tip to the potion bottle and watching it burn brightly for a moment with a blue glow.

She held the potion bottle by its chain and swung it towards the glowing magical sphere. As it struck the edge of the cage, she grasped the bottle itself with her other hand and held on.

***

"Can't we just Obliviate her?"

"Do be sensible, Abercrombie – she's Hermione's mother! How far do you want to take this?" Finch-Fletchley asked in a bored, but authoritative, tone. Abercrombie was very keen, but his naturally bullish character frequently got in the way of actually seeing the bigger picture.

Flitwick was leading the way up the great staircases towards his office with Dr Granger in his wake stomping upstairs behind him. The two Aurors were following about twenty paces to the rear.

"But... but... She's a Muggle! She shouldn't be here!" Abercrombie spluttered, clutching on to the side of the stone staircase as it suddenly swung out from underneath them.

Finch-Fletchley looked up as he felt the staircase move. He could see Flitwick locked in deep conversation with Mrs Granger, standing about three steps higher on the staircase above them, both arms and hands waving enthusiastically in the air as he rode the lurching stairs effortlessly.

"Oh, do wake up, you stupid sod," Finch-Fletchley snapped irritably. "How long do you think that Flitwick would have delayed before taking us to her without mummy Granger turning up? Believe me, she has saved us a huge amount of time. If there's one thing I have learned in this job, it's to take your opportunities when you are offered them."

The staircases gave another lurch as they settled into place, causing Abercrombie and Finch-Fletchley to rock alarmingly over the banister.

Flitwick and Dr Granger strolled easily onto the landing and strode off along the top corridor. Scrambling, the two Aurors gave chase, but before they could reach the top , there was a low rumbling noise as the stone staircase disconnected itself once more, and the two Aurors tried helplessly to scramble up the last few remaining steps as the stone staircase began to swing away.

*********************

"I couldn't see anyone on the streets." Conviva gratefully took a generous slug of water from the goblet his wife offered him as he sank onto the wooden bench in Severus' bathroom. Marcella was sitting on the floor in front of him, and his brother was perching uncomfortably on the lip of Severus' bath. The wall sconces were alight, but the trembling of the ground beneath them was causing the lamps to send flickering shadows onto the painted walls of the barrel-vaulted room. He coughed and patted his tunica once more, dislodging more ash flakes from the thin woollen material as he did so. The ash whitened his hair, and his face was streaked grey with dirt and debris. He drank deeply again, feeling the soothing water slip down his gullet, washing away the harsh, gritty taste in his mouth and throat.

"They must be sheltering like us," Marcella suggested.

"Or they have already got away," Restitutus offered snidely. "We need to go, brother! There must be a boat that we can hire... or horses. I have gold – look!" He held up his bulging leather purse, the indentation from coins clearly evident through the supple leather.

"NO! Hermione told us to wait here!" Marcella argued, her hand on Conviva's arm.

"Brother, there is not much time! From what the witch told me, the mountain will soon start to bury us alive! She spoke about flows of burning air – air that scorches whatever it touches! I say she's dead already – we have to look to ourselves for our own salvation!" Restitutus was practically shouting in the close atmosphere of the bathroom.

Conviva closed his eyes and leaned back onto the cool wall behind him. He was so tired! He had walked out into the streets, tripping and skidding in the slippery ash covering the uneven pavements. He had not encountered anyone. From inside Stephanos' fullery, he had heard the donkey that was used to power the machinery inside the workshop crying piteously. He had shouted for anyone, but there had been no response. The ash had been falling thickly, and he had been forced to cover his head with the rough wool of his cloak to prevent it from getting into his mouth and up his nose as he breathed. He had gone as far as his own home, noting with a savage sense of loss and anger that the remaining household slaves had long fled, taking much of his portable wealth with him. He had found a few coins still in the bottom of his great money chest, but pretty much everything else had been looted or stolen.

He had not much more than the clothes on his back and whatever his brother still had in his purse. He knew that they could not get far in the maelstrom of swirling, choking ash that filled the air outside. At least here inside, the air was breathable, and the atmosphere cool. Marcella clutched again at his hand. He opened his eyes and looked down into her beautiful green gaze, feeling his heart swell with affection at her loyalty. He swallowed one more gulp of water and placed the goblet down on the bench beside him.

"We stay here," he said shortly, smiling at Marcella's relieved response and Restitutus' snort of frustration. "We stay here," he repeated. "And wait for the girl with magic to return." His smile flickered briefly as he thought of the horrific conditions outside. If she returns, he added grimly to himself.

***

Hermione arrived at her destination in almost-darkness.

She stifled a cry as she stumbled to the floor, barking her knees on the stone floor of the Temple's inner sanctum. For a terrifying moment, she thought that the Portkey had failed. She had thought she would arrive back in the Temple of Apollo's precinct – the courtyard littered with votive statues and altars outside the Temple building itself.

The dim, starry light from the cage that encircled the Manticore shed a cold radiance on the scene before her, and she quickly made out the hunched figure of Sabazios facing away from her and leaning closer and closer across the prone body of the man within his grip. The roaring from the exploding volcano was barely audible from outside the walls of the cella, and the light from Sabazios' shield illuminated the immediate area with a sickly yellow glow. All the god's attention was focused on the man beneath it. Hermione watched with horror as Sabazios' familiars, entwined about the mutated form of the god, seemed to be joining Sabazios in wrapping themselves about...

"SEVERUS!" she bellowed.

The god jerked backwards in shock at her voice, rearing up on his great tail, hands in the air, head twisting around to see the cause of the interruption. As it moved, Snape's lifeless body dropped to the stone floor with a dull, hollow sound.

"Finite Incantatem! Oppugno!" Hermione screeched, gesturing with her wand in a savage motion.

At once, the Manticore was released from his enchanted sphere and thrown violently across the room. It hit Sabazios full in the chest, screaming in fury at its recent hunger and captivity.

Sabazios was born backwards, away from Snape's body, towards the back wall of the cella, his fingers scrabbling ineffectually on the harsh, matted fur of the animal's pelt. The Manticore bellowed, a harsh trumpeting sound, and Hermione saw the muscles bunching on the back of its neck and shoulders as it dipped its head to feast. The snakes surrounding Sabazios were twining frantically around the Manticore's body.

Hermione heard Sabazios scream, but she could not spare the writhing bodies at the rear of the cella too much attention as she was running and skidding across the floor of the room towards Severus' still body.

Oh, God – Severus! Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no, no....

She half-fell, half-slid to the ground beside him, cradling his body in her arms, searching frantically for signs of life.

She hardly heard the frenzied, desperate sounds of the fight between Sabazios and the Manticore or the roar of the volcano outside.

Blood was running down the side of Snape's face, and his head lolled to one side. He looked truly terrible. Hermione had read about magical exhaustion, but even after everything she had witnessed during the war, she had never seen it.

He looked like he had lost half of his body weight. His skin was pulled taught over the harsh bones of his face, and it had taken on a dreadful pallor. She ran her hand over his face, head, and shoulder, desperate for any sign of life at all.

Ahead of her, the Manticore shrieked, its voice a harsh, twisted harmonic that seemed to centre itself somewhere on her spine. Hermione glanced up, her wand raised defensively.

Sabazios was pouring energy into the Manticore, raking his hands and feet along the belly of the animal. His familiars were also striking at the Manticore with their fangs, sinking them through the thick pelt and driving venom into the Manticore's flesh. In turn, Hermione could see viscous black liquid spurting from Sabazios' neck and upper body as the god flailed about under the Manticore's teeth. She shuddered and swept her attention back to Severus.

Her shaking fingers found his jaw, and she nearly fainted with relief as she detected a faint pulse still beating in his neck.

Oh, thank God!

She convulsed with emotion, grabbing him to her chest, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, sobbing and laughing with relief. As she pulled away, she saw his eyelids begin to flutter. He was waking up.

***

"It's fucking cold in here," muttered Restitutus, folding his arms about himself.

Neither Conviva nor Marcella responded immediately. They still sat together: Conviva on the bench to Restitutus' left leaning against the wall of the bath chamber, his eyes closed; Marcella on the floor at his feet, her head resting against Conviva's thigh, her arm wrapped around his brother's leg. Conviva was stroking his fingers quietly through her tousled hair.

Restitutus shivered again, rubbing his hands on his upper arms roughly. The action was jittery and nervous. The noise from the volcano was an ever-present reminder of their desperate predicament, and even the quieter atmosphere of the bathroom, with its eerie lighting and the grinning fractured skeleton on the floor, bothered him immensely.

"I hate this house," Restitutus said suddenly, rising to his feet and scuffing some of the broken tiles on the floor with the toe of his sandal.

Conviva cracked open an eye to watch him, then sighed. "Calm down, brother," he said. He shifted slightly on the stone bench to ease his position. "It's just a picture."

Restitutus ran his hand through is hair, rubbing at his scalp in frustration. "I know," he snapped. "I just don't like it. This..." he indicated the grinning figure "...upsets me. It reminds me of what we found here when we first looked around the place with Severus."

Conviva grunted in agreement, but shrugged. "It was nothing... an old man's superstition... witchcraft and magic to frighten children! Nasica was mad. Severus kept this because he has a strange sense of humour."

"It was blasphemy," countered Restitutus. He kicked at the raised, yet broken, mosaic floor again.

At that, Marcella opened her eyes fully and sat up. "What do you mean? What are you two talking about? Who is Nasica?" she asked her brother-in-law.

The two men shared a guilty look between them. "It's nothing, dearest," Conviva soothed, trying to stoke her hair again. "Barbarian superstitions, nothing more. Myths and monsters. The man who lived here was mad."

Marcella pulled away, shooting a look of irritation at her husband. "Don't lie to me, Conviva," she said baldly, staring hard at Restitutus. "I've had enough of lies and deceit to last a lifetime. Monsters and ghosts are real; I've seen them."

"This is hardly the occasion, woman," Restitutus snapped, but his brother shook his head and held up his hand, appealing for calm as Marcella bridled before him.

"We have time to tell the tale, Restitutus," he said placatingly, shifting his weight once more on the hard stone of the bathroom bench. Restitutus sat back down on the edge of the bath and glowered at his brother. Conviva turned back to his wife. "When Severus was looking for a place to live, Marcus suggested that we bring him here," he began to explain. "The house was partially destroyed by the earthquake of 52, but with some repairs here and there, it was possible to see how one could make a good house here." He paused, as if searching for words. "The old man who had lived here had fled. Gone to Egypt or somewhere in Persia, some said. Either way, the neighbours were glad to see the back of him. The same for his son – he couldn't wait to sell the place to us for next to nothing."

"Why?" Marcella asked in a small voice.

Conviva shrugged and looked away. Restitutus, too, dropped his eyes to the floor. He seemed uncomfortable.

"The old man was mad," Conviva repeated. "Everyone around here was! His neighbours said that he kept a giant snake here and that he talked to it. They said that he used spells and witchcraft to fuse himself with the creature." He snorted derisively, releasing a fine mist of ash powder from his clothes into the air as he did so. He waved his hand to dispel it.

"Go on," said Marcella quietly.

"Marcus had heard about the man who lived here; an Aedile hears about anything unusual that happens in the city. He told us about the old man when he learned that Severus had come to us here and that he had survived his injuries, thanks to your care." He squeezed her hand. "When Severus needed a place of his own as his business grew, Marcus suggested that we show him this house, broken down as it was. He was highly amused by the idea and very persuasive." Conviva's face twisted into a grimace at the memory of Marcus' persuasion. He cleared his throat. "It would cost money to repair of course, but Marcus thought it would have properties that Severus would approve of...." Conviva looked thoughtfully at the remnants of the broken mosaic floor before him.

"What else?" Marcella asked, her voice edgy and tense.

Conviva shifted in his place again. "Well, there's nothing more to say, dearest." he said soothingly.

But Restitutus laughed – a harsh, dry sound. "There bloody is more to say!" Restitutus' jaw jutted out aggressively at his older brother. "Tell her what we found here... about the sacrificial animals, the bones, and the blood. Blood everywhere, as if he were trying to bleed out his own body and take on something else...."

Marcella gasped.

"And there was more," Resititus continued, warming to his theme. "There were strange implements and machines – don't you remember, Conviva? Like that golden thing that Severus carried around his neck. Wheels that spun within themselves without seeming to need any power to move, perverted visions of the universe – barbarian gods and their uncivilised..."

Abruptly, there was no more time for talking as the floor began to rumble and the room began to shake. Dust swirled up from the floor, and Conviva jerked upright on his stone bench, slapping his hands uselessly against the cool bricks of the wall behind him. Marcella screamed and clutched onto his legs for support, and Restitutus covered his head with his hands, slid from the bath's edge onto the mosaic floor, pulled his knees up to his chest and waited for death to claim them all....

***

"Hermione..." Snape's voice was a ghost of its former glory, but it was heaven to her ears. Hermione pulled him into a sitting position and clutched him to her heart.

"Severus. Oh, Severus," was all that she could think to say as she buried her face in the side of his neck and revelled in their embrace. Slowly, she felt trembling arms come around her and hug her back, and a crazed snort of laughter escaped her like a sob.

"Stupid... woman," he whispered in her ear. "Why did you come back?"

She sniffed and pulled away from him to stare into his ravaged features. "Would you have left me for good?" she challenged him, then darted a look upwards at the fighting creatures at the end of the darkened room. Sabazios' shield was stuttering, its brightness reduced to a sickly glare under the onslaught of the furious animal.

Snape pulled at her arm. "Sabazios... what about Sabazios?" he hissed.

The Manticore suddenly emitted a shrieking noise, and both it and Sabazios crashed to the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs. She watched as Sabazios and its familiars wrapped themselves around the twisting, bucking animal, trying the squeeze the life out of it. It seemed to be working – the Manticore's movements were becoming increasingly hesitant and jerky.

"He's busy," she replied curtly. "Come on," she added, grabbing him roughly under the armpits and heaving him further upright. "We are leaving."

Snape grimaced as he struggled to his feet and leaned heavily on her. She swayed under his weight. Even though he was painfully thin and wasted, he was still too heavy for her to carry him.

Snape twisted around to see what was happening for himself, and she felt his bony fingers dig into her shoulder.

She looked again and realised with horror that Sabazios was sluggishly trying to disentangle himself from the twitching limbs of the Manticore.

"Finish them," Snape croaked, sagging against her again. She had to strain her ears to hear him over the noise of the volcano and the furious creatures. "Use your wand... Use Fiendfyre...."

Hermione panicked, but he gripped her shoulder even more painfully. "Do it!" His voice was cracked and desperate.

Sabazios was on his feet now, turning slowly towards them. The noise from the volcano appeared to be increasing. Just Apparate! she thought to herself frantically, watching Sabazios slowly, slowly unfurl himself to its fullest height. His shield flickered still, and she could see deep tears and gashes in his flesh, the black blood pooling at his feet, staining his skin and the remnants of his clothing. His great tail coiled and shifted about him. She began to back away, half-supporting, half-dragging Snape with her.

"But... but... I can't control it!" she babbled. "Gregory Goyle damn near destroyed Hogwarts with Fiendfyre! It took months of reconstruction to repair..."

"Granger!" Snape's voice was a hoarse shout. "Remember where and when you are! Cast the fucking spell, woman!"

Sabazios had begun to advance on them, dragging his injured body forwards, fire burning in his inhuman eyes.

"Witch!" the god spat, his voice magically amplified. "You tried to kill me!" Blood was flowing in surges from the largest of the wounds in Sabazios' belly, pulsing out of the god as it moved. Hermione recoiled in disgust as she saw his intestines beginning to spill out from the gash, hanging obscenely down the dead grey scales on his belly.

Slowly, Hermione's sluggish thoughts began to catch up with the logical element of her brain. Why is he bleeding at all? she wondered. Do gods, bleed? Aren't they creatures of the supernatural? What on earth is happening here...?

As if in a dream, she watched Sabazios raise his arm and point his outstretched claws in their direction.

"GRANGER! Brenna Illa Eldinn! Cast the fucking spell, or we are all dead and the rest of the world probably too!" Snape's fractured voice ripped through her, and he shook her shoulders with desperate roughness.

She cried out at his coarse handling, but raised her wand, drawing on her magical core and forcing her intent through the focal point of her wand. "Brenna Illa Eldinn!" she bellowed, her voice sounding strangely thick in her own ears.

At once, she felt a great pulsing power uncoil within her. The magical fire flowed through her body and from her wand, forcing itself through her as if her body were a conduit. She shook with the power of it. It was intoxicating, thrilling, frightening. Dimly, she could feel Snape's hand gripping her shoulders, anchoring her to reality.

The fire was white hot, burning with a terrifying intensity that lit the cella brightly, sending dancing shadows across the walls, ceiling and floor. She could not look at it without half-closing her eyes. She could feel it. It filled her with elation and a savage sense of her own power. She gloried in it. This was power! This was supremacy! Her eyes narrowed further as she stared at Sabazios before her, surrounded and engulfed by the storm of her own creation. The Fiendfyre danced and contorted, curling and twining around the figure of the monster before her. How dare he stand against her? How dare he try to kill her? How dare he hurt those whom she loved?

Sabazios screamed – an inhuman sound of pain, frustration and despair. She watched, glorying in the sensation as the god began to undulate and thrash against the impact of the cursed fire. She saw him recoil away from the flames, trying to escape them by rising on his tail almost as high as the ceiling itself, but his body was on fire. Now the god was burning, burning, and Hermione laughed, sending the fires hotter and higher and wider and fiercer than they had been before.

The energy exploded out from her. She was panting with the effort of keeping any sort of control and direction over it now; it was taking over, questing tendrils of fire spreading even more widely around the room. The Manticore's body was consumed and burning. The flames licked up the walls of the room, destroying everything in their path, every decoration and design – the carefully drawn paintings of Apollo and Mercury on the walls of the inner sanctum – scouring the images of these petty human gods clean from the walls, leaving a blackened signature behind. The magical fire flowed from her wand in great gouts, washing over the dying creature before her, bathing him with a torrent of devouring fury until Sabazios was seared into nothing but a blackened wreckage of twisted destruction. She felt a fierce sense of satisfaction as she watched the blazing pyre before her obliterate the false god. Slowly, however, as the flames consumed the body, she began to be aware of the wider scene before her.

The fire was growing and spreading, pouring out from her in an uncontrollable torrent, and Hermione grew frightened. She could not find a way to control the power now; it had become too strong. She could not stop this now! How could she banish this power?

"Enough!" She felt Snape in her mind. "Klárað Galdur!"

Abruptly, the flame stopped flowing out of her, and she staggered with relief, barely remaining standing. Had she said the incantation? Or had it been the man in her arms, sagging against her?

But there was no time to think. She had only stopped the fire from erupting from her wand – the Fiendfyre that she had summoned already remained, growing and feeding on the fuel in the cella. The heat was unbelievable; the noise of the flames was deafening... Even the floor beneath them felt as if it were shaking. They had only moments before the conflagration turned towards them. The hairs on her eyelids and eyebrows began to crisp under its intensity.

Time to leave.

She tightened her grip on the man she had come to save.

Destination, determination, deliberation, she thought savagely and turned into nothingness.

*********************

A/N2: (I hope that none of you thought that I was actually going to kill off someone we cared about...? Okay, it was a bit evil of me to tease like that. Sorry. *Wiggles eyebrows*.) I follow convention by utilising Latin for most of my spells, but I was keen to mark out the Dark Fiendfyre spell by using a different linguistic root. I chose Icelandic for my incantation, as it has a similarity to Old Norse. Apologies to any Icelanders out there – I hope that I got the translations right. "Brenna Illa Eldin," should translate as, "Burn, evil flame!". "Klárað Galdur!" (I am hoping) is a good enough translation for: "Complete the magic!"....