Chapter Four

To die, to sleep


No more; and by a sleep, to say we end


The heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks


That Flesh is heir to?

At dusk it was too cold to sit outside. Winter began to descend on the Hogwarts grounds, and sunset took on a bleak, blue-hued chill as each night threatened snow. Ron, Harry, and Neville sat indoors by a roaring fire, drinking and laughing. Ron, hoping to abate the images of war that plagued him in moments of silence, sipped on his third firewhisky. Even still, in a long blink he found himself overwhelmed with images of Lavender Brown's bloody, ravaged corpse. He shook his head and drank deeply.

"Ron," Harry said warningly, "take it easy."

Ron winced.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Hermione?" Neville asked.

"To Hermione?" Ron repeated groggily.

"Yeah...about...you know."

"She says she didn't see a ghost. She's hell-bent there wasn't one."

"Fishy," Harry said. "Very fishy."

"I know what I saw," Neville asserted. "That was Snape. I'm sure of it."

"So, what?" Harry asked. "Why was he there?"

"Beats me," Neville admitted. "It must be some kind of mission. There's got to be a reason behind it. People don't just become ghosts for no reason."

"Do you really think Hermione didn't see him?" Harry asked, leaning back in the tattered armchair they'd recovered from the remains of the Hufflepuff common room. A silence passed, punctured only by the sound of Harry nervously picking at the stuffing that burst out of the chair's seat.

"Why would she lie?" Ron grunted. At that moment a sleepy Hermione shuffled into the room, clutching an oversized sweater.

"What are you boys doing?" she asked, smiling a little.

"You look..." Ron began.

"...rested," Harry finished, smiling at her.

"I had a nice nap," Hermione replied. She stood behind Ron and laid the Weasley sweater over him. He patted her hand in thanks, then took hold of it and pulled her into his lap. She looped an arm around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek. He looked at her puzzled, but quickly shrugged it off.

"Amazing what some sleep will do," Ron observed.

"Mhm," she agreed. "Now what are you boys talking about in here?"

"Um..." Harry said, panicked. "You know, just Quidditch."

"Odds for the World Cup," Neville added.

Hermione tilted her head in disbelief. "You're talking about your ghost theory again," she said flatly.

"Well isn't it odd?" Neville asked. "I could have sworn you looked right at it, Hermione."

"I don't know, Neville," she said.

"Well it makes sense, doesn't it?" Harry asked. "For it to be Snape, I mean. It all adds up."

"How's that?" Hermione asked.

"Well he never got the recognition he deserved." Harry insisted, "Who would want to die like that?"

Neville nodded and continued, "Besides, he just seems like the ghost type."

"Is there a 'ghost type'?" Hermione asked, laughing a little. Ron squeezed her and whispered something into her neck. She shot him a smile and then looked back at the others. "Well I've heard enough of these theories for one night."

"But Hermione," Harry protested, watching her stand. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Harry," she said, "aren't you a little tired of solving mysteries?" With that she led Ron by the hand out of the tent and into the cold.

"It's bloody freezing out here, Hermione."

"So, what?" she asked.

"Are you drunk?"

"No, but you are," she said, Eskimo kissing him saucily. Once they reached the outskirts of the forest, she leaned against a tree, eyeing him intently.

"Kiss me," she commanded.

"Here?" he asked, bewildered. "Hermione, I've never seen you like this...you can't just..."

"Run around like a scarlet woman, I know, I know," she yanked him closer. "Let's abandon the Molly Weasley dictums for a moment."

He kissed her, pressing against her and taking. His hand broke off some bark as he pushed closer. She let him crush her, seeming to enjoy the breath being knocked out of her lungs. He grabbed her hair in a fistful, exposing her neck so that he could suck on it forcefully. He didn't notice the tears that swiftly streaked her cheeks. Nor did he notice that behind him floated the ghost of his old Potions teacher. Hermione met the ghost's gaze with apologetic eyes and watched the spirit turn and disappear over the encampment. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brows, allowing Ron to aggressively possess her mouth, relishing the punishment.

Earlier that day, the inhabitants of the camp held a general meeting. The professors sat along one end of the table, Order members along another. Hermione sat in a cluster of former Hogwarts students, chatting with Ginny about the amazing sleeping draught she'd used the night before. Professor McGonagall called the meeting to order and all chitchat ceased. They waited with bated breath for her address of their greatest concern...the growing cold and its impact on the work of reassembling the castle. After a routine update on the progress they'd made...the Hufflepuff dormitory was almost completely assembled, as was the Kitchen and some of the dungeons...she delivered her decision on the project's status.

"It has been decided," she announced, "that those who are interested in staying on to help with the resurrection of the castle will be consolidated into a small team. The rest of you are encouraged to return to your homes for the remainder of Winter and to return in the Spring once this taskforce has decided on a course of action for rebuilding the rest of the castle. If you are interested in joining this taskforce, kindly speak with me after we've adjourned. And now on to Molly Weasley with some more announcements."

"Blimey," Ron whispered, looping his arm around Hermione, "has it really been this long?"

She shrugged, pretending to listen to Molly's speech about proper use of the newly installed fireplaces. But really, she was considering how she would break the news of her ultimate decision to Ron. She longed to stay at the castle and join the taskforce, but felt she had probably been discounted as an option due to her engagement. Harry and Ron had spoken at length about moving into Grimmauld Place, and she knew they were eager to begin careers. Hermione, on the other hand, longed to stay at Hogwarts. Not simply because she was determined to finish her N.E.W.T.s, but because she, as yet, wasn't ready to abandon her blossoming friendship with her old Potions professor.

She watched Professor McGonagall make her way through the crowd toward her end of he table. Hoping she was coming to speak with her, Hermione stood. But McGonagall simply gave her a curt smile and breezed past, to where Neville, Harry, and Ron had clustered. Hermione edged closer to listen to what she had to say.

"Boys," she said, "the Minister is waiting outside. He would like a word."

They exchanged a few astonished glances, shrugged, and then went outside. She rolled her eyes and then approached Professor McGonagall.

"Professor," she said, "may I have a word?"

"Of course, dear," she replied, opening the tent flap and stepping outside. "Now, what is it?"

"I'm hoping to stay here."

"Here?" she asked, surprised. "My dear, whatever for?"

"I think...I think I would like to join the taskforce."

"But, my dear, you're on the verge of becoming a newlywed!"

Hermione suppressed a groan. "I would really like to see this project through. Hogwarts means so much..."

"Say no more," she said. "I'm glad to have you on board."

"Thank you, Professor!"

"Minerva, please," McGonagall replied. Hermione smiled. The older witch went inside as the three boys approached. Ron picked Hermione up and spun her around, kissing her hard.

"What, Ron? What's going on?" she asked after he'd set her down.

"We've been hired! Kingsley wants Harry, Neville and I to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters."

"Harry, Neville, and me," she corrected.

"Right, right," he said. "But isn't this great!"

"Yes, Ron, wonderful," she replied, preoccupied.

"Oh, don't worry," he said. "You won't be alone for too long. It'll just be a few months."

"Of course," she said. "Right." Now was her moment to tell him. "Ron, I think I'll actually be staying here with the taskforce."

"Well, that's great news!" he said, picking her up again. "Everything is wonderful, isn't it?"

Almost, she thought.

About half the group resolved to start packing immediately, and as people dispersed to their respective tents, Hermione walked away from the camp and toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She hoped Severus would arrive, as he usually did when she needed him. But she spent a quarter hour in the mist, wondering what would happen when Ron came back from the hunt. At least she'd won some thinking time.

"Hermione," said a voice from behind her. There was Severus, advancing towards her from the forest.

"Severus," she replied. She was trembling. The moment they locked eyes one of her knees gave way and she grabbed a tree for balance.

"If only I could catch you," he said. She panted with desire. Why couldn't they have begun this involvement a few months ago? A few years ago?

He came closer, running a ghostly finger down her arm, causing her to shiver from the cold. "You look tense."

She breathed deeply in response.

"It's cold," he said, watching the air falling in misty bursts from her lips. "You should go inside."

"I don't want to," she told him.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She wanted to press against him. She wanted to rip open the buttons that shielded his chest and run her hands over his naked torso. She wanted to bite at his neck, suck on his lower lip, tousle his hair. She wanted to discover what made him gasp, what made him moan, what made him groan her name. She wanted him to love her, and hold her, and whisper in her ear. But he couldn't...never could. She said nothing.

"Look," he said. "Go warm up inside. And I'll be out here when you're ready to see me."