Chapter 7

The moon had risen and the lamps were lit ages ago. Hermione stroked the surface of the leather-bound book, tracing the embossing on the front cover and wondering how many times Severus had read it himself. Wondering how much of his world's history he knew by heart.

"Finished it, then?" His voice teased a bit as the door closed softly behind him

"Hardly," she snorted. "You do know it grows with the reading?"

"I had noticed."

"It's like time," she said. "Infinite."

"Yes," he agreed.

She curled up more securely on the sofa. It wasn't late enough yet; there were undoubtedly people about. It couldn't be time.

"You're back early." She hadn't expected him until after the moon had set and the few souls in the castle had retired to their beds, the corridors empty of everyone except the ghosts.

"Professor McGonagall is patrolling. She will keep the Carrows under control, should they overreach."

Hermione nodded absently. "She doesn't know either, does she?"

"Nobody knows, Hermione."

She nodded, though she knew this already. He was completely alone. Reviled. Trying to overturn a tyrannical regime from within.

There were no words left. None. Nothing that would convince him to keep her here, and even if there were, how much good could she do hidden away in his inner chambers?

She had never, ever, felt so powerless.

All she could do now was this. Silently, watching his eyes as they tracked her path from the sofa to where he stood just inside the chamber door. She tucked her head beneath his chin and wrapped her arms around him, just like that. As if she might fill him with her energy; as if she could tether him to life by holding him to her, arms wrapped around him tightly.

He must have understood because he folded his arms around her, too. Fingertips sketching nonsense on her back and along the contour of her neck. Long strokes and short. Tracing fire into her skin. Leaving his mark.

She untangled her arms and reached for the line of buttons on his robes. He grabbed her hands and shook his head, but she batted him away and continued to undo the clasps one by one, and then the crisp white shirt beneath, until she finally found bare skin. She laid her cheek against him for a moment, measuring the pounding of his heart against hers and then brought her lips there instead.

His moan made her shiver and she lifted her eyes to his. She wanted to see his face, to see what he looked like undone, lost to the moment, to her. Needed to know how it felt to strip him of the worries and the sharp edges he wore like armour.

"What are you doing?" he breathed.

She smiled and traced the line of his collarbone with her tongue in answer.

"I'm not doing this and then sending you back, so if this is some..." He stopped to gasp as she sucked on his earlobe. "Trick to get me to keep you..."

Hermione hummed in satisfaction. She should have thought of this sooner. Keeping his mouth otherwise occupied was an excellent way to stop the flow of completely irrelevant talking.

And, oh, my. When he stopped talking, what happened instead was wondrous.

His eyes blazed, fierce, burning with a heat she had missed the previous night in the tumult of first discovery. They were so deep, a narrow strip of the darkest brown ringing pupils thrown wide, as if to show her the soul she'd already felt with her own magic.

"We're already linked," she whispered into the shell of his ear. "Nothing can change that. It doesn't matter where I am. Where you are."

She felt his body stiffen beneath her hands.

"I never consented to a link," he snapped.

"Oh, Severus," she said. "I haven't taken anything away from you. I've given you something." She traced her fingertips along the line of his brow. "It's up to you, what you give me in return. If anything at all."

"Hermione," he said, struggling to put some distance between them. "You don't understand. I want..." He paused for a deep breath. "This has nothing to do with what I want. The Dark Lord will know. If I give you... If I share with you what I want, what you want to share, he will know, and..."

He will know.

It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured into her veins.

Oh, god. His only protection against this wizard, this monster, had been the emptiness inside him. And now. Oh, god, what had she done?

"And that can't happen," she whispered. "He would destroy you, and the war would be lost."

"Yes," he agreed, wiping away the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks. "And many, many people would die. I told you, Hermione, I don't expect to survive this. I've already counted the loss of my life, but it would all be for nothing if he still won."

The heat had fled from his eyes. Instead, emptiness gaped there, a bleakness at the prospect of so much sacrifice, for naught.

"It won't be for nothing," she said. "But I won't accept that you have to die. I won't."

He brushed his lips against hers again, so gently. It felt like goodbye.

"No. No, no, no," she whispered.

"I'll never forget," he said softly. "You have no idea..."

She buried her face on his chest and let the tears fall, each one brimming with words unsaid and memories yet to be shared.

"Maybe," he whispered, as he brought his lips to hers one last time, "there is another world in which you and I are together."

The last thing she remembered from their final moments in his rooms was the sensation of his cheek against hers, warm and slick with tears.

The corridors were deserted as they made their way to the Great Hall, and Severus sent a silent thanks to the ghosts who had ensured the way was clear. It was one thing to keep Hermione alone in his quarters. Those rooms were enchanted to a level even the Dark Lord couldn't penetrate. The corridors and common rooms of Hogwarts felt dangerously vulnerable in comparison, especially with the woman he had Disillusioned at his side.

"It's uncanny," said Hermione. "It's almost exactly as it is in my world." They reached the bottom of the central staircase and stopped for a moment in the entrance hall. "Except for that. What is that?"

Severus smiled. "Only the most important artefacts in the castle," he said. "The hourglasses that measure House points. Do you not have them at your Hogwarts?"

"Houses compete with one another?" she asked.

"They do."

"I can't even imagine. There is no such thing in my world. There is competition, of course, but it's not something anybody would foster."

No wonder, thought Severus, that Muggles could live side by side with witches and wizards, as hard as that was to imagine.

"One day, you should do a study of the different worlds. How they evolved. How they differ and why," he said.

Because I can't do it. You must do it for me..

"We, Severus. We will study the worlds together," she said tightly. "You may have decided you're going to die, but I've decided no such thing."

He really shouldn't feel a warm flush in his chest from her declaration. Really, her insistence meant nothing for his ultimate survival. And yet...

"So you've said." He smiled, knowing she couldn't see him in the dimly lit corridor.

"Mark my words."

They were nearly at the doors to the Great Hall.

He reached for the handle and swung the enormous doors open, grateful for the house- elves who kept the hinges well-oiled.

"After you," he said softly, following the whisper of her movements in the dark.

stand in front of the windows, side by side. They have promised themselves they will not touch, but they do. His hand is interlaced with hers, and that calms them both. It pleases me to see that they do not deny themselves this. At least, this.

"Master Slytherin," says Snape. "I have brought her."

"She who has crossed over?" I confirm, though I already know. It was she who began to wake me.

"Yes," she answers. "I am the one." Her voice shakes.

"Do you seek return passage?"

She glances at Snape and he nods. She doesn't want to go back to her world; wants instead to stay with this man, this wizard whose work here is not yet done.

"This witch must return to her own world," Snape says. "For her safety and for the safety of those I am pledged to protect."

Indeed.

I reach out my hand, glass and iron, shed of the layers of grime that hid us for so long.

"Godric?"

I feel him before I hear him. He always did take his time waking up.

"I am here." His voice is rough, and I chuckle to myself. He is made of glass, as are we all. Glass and magic. Perhaps one of the elves chipped him.

"Stop thinking, Salazar," he grumbles. "I have a headache already."

The witch is looking at Snape, astonished. Perhaps they expected pomp and circumstance? Flashes of magic and bubbling cauldrons? I must ask him later how we four have been remembered in this world.

"Godric," I say. "We have company. It has been a long time since we have had company."

He rubs his eyes and lifts his head. He is still so beautiful. All red hair and blazing green eyes. I wonder if he will feel warm when I touch him, or if he will be cold and smooth as glass.

"Are the women here?" he asks.

"I have been awake for hours," says Rowena.

"Some things never change," mutters Godric.

"Welcome," says a soft voice, and we all turn to see Helga, wide awake and smiling.

"Thank you," says the young witch. "This isn't quite. I mean to say... I suppose I didn't know what to expect." She looks at Snape again.

"Nor did I," he adds. "It is an honour to meet you all," he says, bowing his head. "I had the privilege of meeting Master Slytherin yesterday. Thank you for your help in this matter."

"It has been many hundreds of years since we had visitors," says Helga. "We are pleased. We have been waiting."

The witch twitches a bit and wrinkles her brow. Snape looks at her as if he, too, has forgotten. It doesn't matter. They will remember again. They must.

"Are you ready, Hermione?" Snape looks uncomfortable; he is listening for movement behind him, and I remember again how much danger he is in. It is not hard to recall.

She looks as if she might say she isn't ready, but then she squares her shoulders and nods. He brushes his hand against her hair for only a moment, and then she steps forward.

"I am ready."

Helga reaches out her hand. She holds the mirror, the portal through which all universes can be accessed.

"It may need a bit of polishing. Miss Granger, would you do us the honour?"

"Of course."

She steps forward and with the edge of her robe, gently sweeps away the dust that covers the mirror. It glistens, and she gasps.

"It's so beautiful."

"Possibilities always are, are they not?" asks Helga.

"Yes," says the witch, breathless. "They are." Their eyes meet, and Helga smiles.

The witch turns back to Snape, but he shakes his head.

"Be safe," she whispers.

"Remember me," he answers.

She doesn't say it aloud, but we can all hear it.

Always.

And she is gone.

The first time Hermione travelled through the portal, she had been far too surprised to pay much attention to the experience itself. Focused instead on the hand that had grasped hers and the sensation of falling, she'd been so quickly distracted by Severus and the actuality of multiple universes that the reality of the portal faded in comparison.

The second time, through, she noticed everything, hoping to find the scrap of information that would allow her to come back, to find him again. In the meantime, she was grateful for the distraction from the agony of leaving.

This time, four voices guided her through the tunnel, its branches trailing off in every direction. It was dizzying, seeing how vast the possibilities were, all laid out in front of her. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope, infinite colours and patterns dancing like light through a mosaic of stained glass.

It was only as she approached the end of the tunnel that the light began to coalesce into more orderly colour. Leaving behind the orange tones of Severus's world, the chaos again resolved itself into strains of yellow and green with the comforting indigo and blue tones even further to her right.

"You're nearly home," said the voice. Helga Hufflepuff's, she thought.

"Will I find him again?" she asked impulsively. Did they even know? Could they say?

"Not unless you look for him," she said.

"Well, of course, I'll look..."

But that was just it, wasn't it, she thought. Even those living alongside him didn't really look; otherwise they might have known the truth, no matter how hard he worked to hide it. Occluding cut you off from others because it made it so much harder for them to find you.

"Remember him, Hermione," said a male voice. Deep and sad. Slytherin, she thought.

"How could I ever forget?" she whispered into the softly moving air.

"Focus that energy on working out what to do, Hermione," said another female voice. "Remember so that you can understand."

"And then act," interrupted another. Gryffindor, she decided.

Connection. Memory. Understanding. Action.

Oh.

Oh!

"I understand," she said. "The four Hallows. Act in accordance with each of them. Each one in their right time."

"That's right, Hermione," said Helga. "Well done."

"They're not just for protection, then, are they?" she asked. "The Hallows."

"Protection?" echoed Slytherin. "Only the cloak was meant for protection. Each of the Hallows represents one of the four qualities essential for a witch or a wizard to possess. Qualities we all must cultivate in ourselves."

Well, then, thought Hermione. She would have to propose some major revisions to Hogwarts: A History when she got home, not to mention changes to the Founder's Tale.

But all thoughts of revising or even communicating these shiny new insights flew right out of her head as she exited the tunnel, only to tumble directly onto the floor of Greenhouse Two, bang in the middle of a special lesson on Flowering Midnight Monkshood with Professor Sprout's N.E.W.T. class.

He'd expected silence once she'd gone. The hum that had so quickly become part of the background, reassuring him he was truly alive...like his breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat...he'd braced himself for it to disappear when she stepped through the portal. Gone, along with her and her open smile and fierce indignation on his behalf. Evaporated, like the memory of her lips against his skin.

He hadn't been prepared for it to surge and throb before settling down to what had become, in seven short days, its usual steady (and surprisingly reassuring) thrum.

It was more like a feeling, actually, if he'd taken the time to describe it. Somewhere between the sensation of a whisper against bare skin and the vibration a cat makes when it's especially pleased.

Which only reminded him that he didn't know if his Hermione had a cat just as Granger did here, in his world.

Oh, bloody hell.

Occlumency shields gone to pot in seven days.

Bloody fantastic.

The moments after her trip through the portal blurred together; anxious flutters sliced by the sharp edge of questions not asked.

Professor Sprout shooed the students away with the efficiency of a mother hen, but Hermione couldn't help but hear their nervous whispers as they filed out of the greenhouse and made their way back to their dormitories.

"We've been worried," said Sprout once the greenhouse was empty.

Hermione met the older witch's warm eyes and before she knew it, she was wrapped securely in her arms. Grateful (so grateful) that Professor Sprout wasn't peppering her with questions, Hermione let herself relax just for a moment, comforted. Safe.

She lifted her head and let her eyes wander to the expanse of glass lining the greenhouse walls. Was he there? Could he see her? Was he safe.?

Hermione buried her head on the professor's shoulder and squeezed back the tears that threatened to spill out.

It wasn't that she didn't want to tell her where she'd been. But where, exactly, should she begin?

She had the eerie feeling of déjà vu. Sitting on the comfortable chair by the fire, Headmistress McGonagall across from her, sipping her tea, sharp eyes watching.

Waiting.

"I'm sorry to have worried you," Hermione said, finally, placing her cup back on its saucer. Such mundane movements. Familiar and comforting. And yet, the world she knew had changed forever. What she knew had changed irrevocably.

"Worried." The headmistress paused. "That's one word for it. Hermione, you vanished. Vanished behind a stained glass window that is one hundred feet from a pile of jagged rock at the foot of the castle. Terrified is a bit more accurate."

Hermione rose and sat next to her former teacher on the sofa. The older woman's usually stoic expression had cracked, the fear she must have borne for the last seven days finally finding purchase in the wrinkles around her eyes and the tension in her jaw.

"I was safe," Hermione said as she put her arm around the headmistress's shoulders. "I'm afraid you won't believe me when I tell you where I've been, but you must."

The headmistress blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

"Tell me," she demanded.

Hermione took a deep breath and reached into the pocket of her robes, pulling out a large, leather-bound book.

"First," she said, "you might want to have a look at this."

The headmistress picked up the book and turned it over in her hands.

"Hogwarts: A History? Where did you get this?" There were only a handful of copies in the library.

Hermione reached over and found the strip of parchment she had slipped between two pages a million years ago. In Severus's office.

"Albus Dumbledore? Headmaster of Hogwarts?" She looked up, alarmed. "Hermione, what is this?"

"It would appear that our world is only one of many," she said. "I've just spent seven days in a parallel universe where there's a war raging amongst wizards, and where non-magicals don't even know of our existence."

"Hermione, perhaps I should call Matron Pomfrey and she can..."

"The proof is right here, Headmistress," Hermione interrupted. "It's true. It's real." She squared her shoulders and reached for the book. "And I'm going back."

headmistress's office is dark, the fire long extinguished, and the tea cleared away.

It is odd to be awake after so many years of slumber. I can feel the echoes of each world's rhythms ripple across the surface of the glass that allows this piece of my spirit to travel into each and every one.

"Did she believe her, do you think?" asks Godric, running his hands through long red hair.

"I believe she did," said Rowena. "Despite her reservations."

"What will it matter?" asks Salazar. "Will the world streams not continue, regardless?"

They always do. They always will.

And yet.

"It will matter to Severus," I say, and Salazar's eyes soften.

"Yes," he acknowledges.

I think about the loved ones he's lost and the ones he hoped to shelter. Each one a spark of light on the water. I think of something we discussed long ago, he and I. About the value of each and every one of those precious sparks.

"Remember, Salazar," I say softly, "what you told me just before we set the foundation to the castle?"

He nods, and his eyes are bright.

"When someone saves a single soul," he whispers, "it is as if she saves an entire world."