Twenty Five: The Space Between

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

Running over the same old ground. What have you found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.

Severus walked unerringly to a part of the bookcase which held his most obscure tomes. With a whispered spell of self-protection, he removed a slim, brittle text from the shelf. The book's cover always made his flesh crawl; it was made of cured human skin. The volume itself was brief, only about thirty pages or so, and it had cost him a small fortune on the black market years ago when he was only a little older than Hermione. He had bought the book out of insatiable curiosity; he had never used it.

The volume, called Venecarmen Praelabor, contained the brewing instructions of several highly questionable potions, along with the accompanying spells that worked in conjunction with them. They were neither dark nor light, neither good nor evil. They were, instead, transient. They could pull the soul from Between, or send it there. They served the purpose needed at the time; depending on the necessity, each spell could heal or harm, create or destroy, inflict pain or pleasure.

Severus gingerly turned the fragile pages until he found the potion instructions, along with the incantation he needed. It offered several alternatives to achieve the goal he sought. The idea of what he would have to do both exhilarated and frightened him.

He felt exhaustion pass through him like a wave of nausea. He needed sleep; creating the necessary potion was tricky and using it in tandem with this powerful spell would take every iota of his concentration.

He glanced up toward their bedroom and sighed. He should sleep. Their bed beckoned him enticingly, like a lover. He shook his head against his selfish thoughts. Time was precious. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to repair the damage to her soul. He stood, removed his outer robe, and rolled up his sleeves. His wife needed him; she had taken a life for him tonight. He owed it to Hermione to return her own life back.

Hermione felt hands tenderly rouse her from sleep. She rolled over as Severus, dressed in a simple nightshirt, took her in his arms and kissed her. She could not make herself respond; it was as if all of her nerve endings were dead, and the numbness rubbed raw against her. She looked up into his exhausted, dark eyes and saw love and concern, and she wanted to feel grateful, but could not summon that emotion either. "What is wrong with me?" she mumbled, sounding drugged and slurry.

Severus kissed her forehead, and smoothed her hair from her eyes. "Hermione, I want you to listen to me carefully. I want you to be my good girl and obey me in everything I ask. Will you do that for me, lass?" He was looking at her with such uncharacteristically bland patience, she could only think of one thing.

"Do you hate me, Severus?"

She should have been surprised to see tears, if she could have felt surprise. He took her head in his hands and gently kissed her numb lips. "No, my precious girl. I never hated you. We have much to talk about, but first you need to be brought back. You are Between."

"Oh." How disinterested she sounded! She, Hermione Granger-Snape, knowledge-sponge extraordinaire, sounded no more interested in this new information than a Flobberworm. It was horrible to hear her flat, uncaring voice. Her eyes were empty; it was as if she was buried so deeply within herself he would never be able to find her.

Swallowing his fear, Severus rose from the bed. "In your heart, you have murdered Albus Dumbledore. Your soul has been damaged by your anger, and your hatred of him, and your vengeance. It has been sent Between, and now ... you must decide what to do with it." He looked at her with so much guilt and sadness, Hermione knew she would not have been able to bear it, had her soul been intact.

"I've never heard of Between."

Severus shook his head. "You wouldn't have. Some believe it's merely an abstract concept. I believe it's very real, and a soul that has not been exposed to the Dark can find sanctuary there. Your soul is well-balanced enough, Hermione, but committing what you believe to be murder has taken you out of balance. I have been working on a solution, and I believe I can help you."

Hermione sat up and watched as he took something from the bedside cabinet. "Is that why I'm so numb? I can't feel anything. It's as if my emotions have been separated from my body."

Severus nodded. "They are locked away. Remember what we read in Albus' books about creating Horcruxes?" He took a deep breath, as if trying to summon his courage. "A Dark wizard uses Between to push away any feelings of doubt or remorse. It enables him to create the Horcrux without being burdened with his emotions.

"The belief is that, when the soul splits because of -" he hesitated, hating to say the words, "the actions such as you performed tonight, you enter a place called Between, where the soul is sectioned and awaits. You can choose to send that half of your soul, as the Dark Lord has done, into a Horcrux. Or you can find the remorse within you, forgive yourself and be forgiven, and the soul can be restored. It is a painful process, and will take all your strength." He grasped her hand. "You are strong enough to bring it back. And I will help you do it."

She looked at him blankly, uncomprehendingly, and the complete lack of keen intelligence in her eyes made his heart beat sickeningly hard. "There is a spell that can be used to either perform the Horcrux, or restore the soul. Making a Horcrux is a personal event, and needs no assistance. But to restore a soul requires the help of others. Because you can no longer ask Dumbledore's forgiveness or express your remorse, I can act as the receiver of it, and you can restore your balance through me.

"To restore the soul, the spell calls for what is called a 'Tria' – the actor, the receiver and the sufferer. The text says that each role should be filled by a separate individual, but we have neither the time nor the persons available to help us. I will assume all the roles myself." In his heart, Severus knew this was risky, not only for Hermione, but for himself, but he pushed his doubts away. He owed her his life; he would gladly do whatever it took to heal her fractured soul.

He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "It will mean that I must enter the deepest recesses of your mind. I will be probing into parts of your soul you have shut off, even from yourself. You must allow me to go where I will, and not fight me or try to hinder me." He sat beside her on the bed, took her in his arms and held her tightly. "Will you be my good girl and do that? Allow me to go to places you've never allowed anyone before?"

Hermione nodded and closed her eyes. "Anything to feel again. Even if it's pain. I don't feel alive anymore." Her voice, so devoid of life, was unnerving, and it stiffened his resolve.

He held up the object he had retrieved from their nightstand. It was vial of potion. "This is Patafamenserum." Hermione looked from the small, innocuous bottle, back to her husband.

Patafamenserum was like a combination of Veritaserum and the Imperio Curse. It was used to open a person's mind; it made them highly susceptible to suggestion. It was also highly dangerous, in that a person under its influence could be commanded to do anything against their will, and their moral barrier would be suppressed sufficiently to allow the breach in their conduct. Unscrupulous witches and wizards could use it to implant all sorts of suggestions in another person's mind, and that person would believe it was his idea all along.

A faint line creased the space between Hermione's delicate brows. "I've heard of it." She shook her head almost reproachfully. "It's illegal to brew it."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Once again, Horace has managed to dismiss the unusual by hinting at the improbable while explaining the impossible. Yes, brewing it for personal use is illegal, but it can be used quite effectively by trained Mediwitches to help those with memory loss or other psychological damage."

She raised her enormous empty eyes to his. "Is that what I am, Severus? Damaged?"

Severus felt this throat go dry. This was his payment, his penance for the death of Dumbledore. Before this night is over. I will atone for this...

"I don't want you to look at it that way, Hermione. We are going to repair the damage, you and I. The Patafamen will open your mind and allow us to be linked as before, and from there, we can make you whole again." He touched her face tenderly. "I can no longer feel you within my mind, lass, and I miss you." He kissed her unmoving lips. "I need you, Hermione. I need you back, love," he said, his voice soft and tender with longing.

"I can't feel you either," she said, nodding. Automatically, she took the vial from his fingers and waited, trustingly. He was instantly reminded of the little swot who had made his classes a nightmare in her childhood. His heart felt as if it would burst.

Gently he took it back from her. "I want this to be the first and last time we ever have to do this." Without hesitation, he uncorked the vial and poured the potion into his own mouth. It tasted absolutely vile, and he grimaced as he counted to thirty. Hermione watched him dispassionately; she obviously remembered what would happen next, and she accepted his kiss as he transferred the enhanced potion from his mouth to hers. She received it all and swallowed automatically, without the slightest indication of its foul taste.

He then instructed her to lie down with him. They faced one another, side by side. He stroked her face gently. Her eyes were dull, like scratched and cloudy marbles. "In a moment, you will want to fall asleep. Don't fight it, and don't fight me... that's right," he encouraged, making his voice soft and lush. Upon seeing her eyelids droop, he crooned, "Just allow yourself to drift... good girl... that's it..."

When her eyes closed and her breathing grew heavy and even, Severus gripped his wand, and with his fiercest concentration, he drew the complicated sigil in the air, softly chanting the incantation, "Investri Mensentia."

As he muttered the spell, the room, the bed, the very air changed, and he found himself walking down a long hallway. Doors marched down either side of the hall in even intervals; all were closed and locked. He noted with relief that he had brought his wand with him. He approached the first door. It appeared no more or less than an average interior door at Hogwarts, and he pointed at it and intoned, "Alohamora!"

The door opened obligingly. Inside, he found Hermione, sitting by a window in a room he recognised as a dormitory room. The red and gold colours of Gryffindor were in evidence on the bed and in the curtains. She was about the same age as when he first met her as a hand-waving twelve year-old, and dressed in her first year robes. She turned to him with a sad smile.

"I told Mum and Dad I hoped I'd be in Ravenclaw, but I was sorted into Gryffindor." She turned back to the window. "Nobody likes me here." He could hear the muffled tears in her voice.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, walking into the room. When she did not answer, he crossed the floor and joined her at the window. Outside was dark; the wind swirled leaves and what looked like sparks from a bonfire down below their range of vision. "What do you hope to see here, Hermione?"

She turned to him with immense dignity. "A friend." A tear fell down her soft little cheek, and she brushed it away with fingers tipped with bitten and bloody nails. "Why don't people like me?" Almost to herself, she asked, "It is because I'm clever? I can't help it." She sighed and faced the window again. "I just wish I was someone that people liked."

Severus' heart ached. With a start, he realised that, at her age, he had felt the very same way. Even as Lily went leaping from the sorting stool to the Gryffindor table, leaving him to fend for himself with the elitist Slytherins, he remembered that aching, longing wish just to be liked and accepted. Once again, he was reminded just how much alike he and Hermione truly were.

He held out his hand. "I will be your friend, Hermione. And if you come with me, we'll find other friends for you."

The little girl looked up at him in absolute trust and placed her hand confidently in his. She smiled up at him with her large, rather protruding teeth. "Thank you," she said, and proceeded to pull him toward the door. Bossily she added, "Let's not dawdle about, Severus. We have things to do."

Surprised, he said, "You know me?"

The little swot rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, Severus; I'm married to you." She stopped, and looked uncertain. Looking up at him with large, worried eyes, she said, "I'm sorry I set fire to your robes. I thought you were trying to hurt Harry. I thought I was helping. Do you forgive me?"

He had forgotten just how precocious she was at this age. "Of course I do. I told you I did, remember?"

She smiled, and he could see relief in her eyes. "I remember. I just wanted to make sure you meant it." She tugged impatiently at his hand. "Come on, Severus, I miss you."

Severus allowed himself to be led out of the room. Once they were in the hall, the light changed, grew darker, and instinctively the little girl moved closer to him. "Something's coming," she whispered, holding onto his hand tighter. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

The next door had a reflective surface, like a mirror, and the two of them looked solemnly at themselves. Seeing his reflection, he found he was wearing a long, almost formal wizard robe. His feet were bare; he had not been aware of it until now. He looked like an Ancient - a Druid, perhaps, leading the faithful to the light. Of course, he thought. I am the receiver of her remorse. It was to him that she would ask for forgiveness. What was it the book had called them? The receiver, the actor and the sufferer. He would play all the roles as the recipient of her repentance.

As he and the young Hermione examined the mirrored door, they soon found the door could not be opened with a spell. As they tried to discover a way in, Severus saw something reflected over his shoulder. The two of them cried out as a huge snake reared behind them. Hermione screamed and Severus threw himself over the young girl to protect her from the blow - which never came. The reptile simply plunged through the door, over their heads, and disappeared into the reflection. Severus reached out and touched the door. It gave under his hand like the rippling surface of a vertical pool of water. He looked down at Hermione, who gave him a little nod of encouragement, and the two of them silently stepped through the door.

It felt to Severus as if he was stepping through a wall of icy water, and beside him he heard Hermione gasp with the same shock of cold. They walked through the freezing wall of water to the other side, but once there, they were completely dry.

They found themselves in a vast tunnel, with great stone viaducts on either side of them. Their footsteps echoed as they walked toward a figure at the far end. Here, an older Hermione stood with her back to them, holding a mirror in front of her face.

"Mudblood. Dirty blood. Filth. Trash." Her voice sounded angry, repulsed, and she spat the words from her mouth as if they disgusted her. She addressed Severus and her younger self through the mirror's reflection, refusing to turn around. "Inferior. No business being here. Unworthy. Mudblood. Dirty blood. Filth. Trash."

"You are none of those things, Hermione," Severus said firmly, and he felt the younger girl release his hand. She walked to the older version of herself.

"I don't have to be alone now," she declared, as if taking up a conversation with her older counterpart. "You don't have to be humiliated anymore."

"And what if I'm not good enough? What do I have to do to prove myself here?" The voice rose, defiant, shamed. She turned back to the mirror. "Mudblood. Dirty blood. Filth. Trash." Then, her eyes flicking to meet his in the mirror, she added softly, "Thief." She began to chant the words again, this time adding 'thief' to the chant.

"No!" Severus' voice rang through the cavernous chamber. "You know in your heart none of those names apply to you, or to any Muggle-born witch or wizard, Hermione. You have every right to be here." He cast about for something to reach the chanting girl. "I am prepared to forgive you for stealing Polyjuice ingredients from me."

She stopped chanting, and slowly lowered the mirror. For the first time, she turned and faced Severus and her younger incarnation. Severus recoiled at her grey, ashen face. It was the same ghastly pallour she'd had when petrified by the basilisk, lying still and frozen in the Hogwarts Infirmary.

Her younger self, however, had no qualms about the condition of Hermione's face. She simply said, "We have to go back with Severus. Say you're sorry and we can go on." She sounded so imperious and matter-of-fact Severus could not help but smile ruefully.

As the elder girl stood facing Severus, the grey, moldy cast of her face faded back to the peachy complexion of her normal self. She looked at Severus with the same look of pain and regret. "I'm sorry I stole from you. But I needed to know that we were safe from the Heir of Slytherin. I'm sorry you were disappointed in me."

Severus held out his hands to the two girls. "I know, Hermione. And I forgive you. You wouldn't have done it unless you had no other choice."

He saw a painful hope rise in her eyes, and as one, the two Hermiones took his hands. The three of them turned and walked back out of the Chamber of Secrets of Hermione's mind.

The next door was one he knew painfully well. He remembered so clearly standing outside this door four years before, waiting for the perfect time to dash in and get the drop on Sirius Black. It was the door to the bedroom of the Shrieking Shack.

Without hesitation, Severus kicked open this door and the three of them ran in as if they had planned it together. A third Hermione, about fourteen years old, stood in the center of the room, training her wand on Severus. She looked terrified.

"I hexed a teacher. I hexed a teacher!" she exclaimed, breathing so hard she was on the verge of hyperventilating. She looked at Severus with barely concealed fear, her eyes rolling in panic.

"Please don't expel me, Sir. I was so frightened. It's been horrible," she wailed, and hugged herself, fighting tears. She pointed to a space on the floor. "Sirius and Remus were there and they explained everything. Sirius was innocent of betraying the Potters and I was confused and frustrated! You were so angry and I was afraid you'd hurt him and I panicked and I hexed you."

She looked up at Severus. "I haven't done anything right," she whispered, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I made you so angry... and still, you protected us from Professor Lupin." She looked away, as if too fearful of his wrath.

Severus hesitated. He had to be very careful here. "Hermione, listen to me. I was very angry at you for hexing me. I was angry with you for letting Black escape. You were very wrong to attack a teacher. But," Severus swallowed, hating to have to say the words, knowing another door would soon prove him wrong.

"Black was innocent. You prevented an innocent man from being sent back to Azkaban." And he repaid you by trying to rape you two years later, Severus thought grimly. This is where things are going to get complicated.

Hermione looked at him doubtfully, but she was at least listening. He ground out, "And you saved Buckbeak." Who tried to kill me tonight. Gods, what a mess.

He put that aside as irrelevant. He smiled at the witch he remembered so well, a girl growing into her beauty and power, yet still innocent enough to believe that she should campaign to free house-elves. "Hermione, you were a loyal friend, and so clever. Remember how you solved my puzzle? Remember how you figured out the Basilisk in the Chamber? Remember how you realised I was trying to reveal Lupin as a werewolf?"

The youngest Hermione beamed. Her fourteen-year-old counterpart looked uncertain, but took the little girl's hand. Before the four of them could leave, the eldest looked at him expectantly. He nodded.

"I forgive you, Hermione." The relief in the girl was palpable. He smiled down at the three witches, all Hermione, all trusting him to get them out of this prison of doors and memories and emotions. They held onto him like a life line. Together the four of them left the room.

The fourth door opened into the Great Hall, where the Yule Ball decorations hung quietly in the silent, empty room. In the middle of the dance floor, fifteen-year-old Hermione danced alone in her lovely peach dress. She moved slowly, as if in a dream, and her eyes were dark with barely-controlled fury.

The three younger Hermiones watched as Severus walked to their oldest incarnation. He took her hand, drew his other arm around her waist, and began to dance with her as if there were actual music playing. She would not look at him; instead, she focused her gaze on one of the black buttons on his chest. Muttering, she growled, "'What does he see in her? Who does she think she is?'" she hissed under her breath. "Bloody Rita Skeeter; the shit-stirring bitch!"

Her voice was spiteful. In an ugly, mimicking tone, she said, "Oh, I'm good enough for doing their homework and helping Harry figure out the Triwizard puzzles. Oh, Hermione's a walking Encyclopedia Magicka, but when it comes to taking someone to a dance, Hermione's not girly enough to be considered a suitable date."

"You were the prettiest girl there, Hermione," Severus said, meaning it.

As if she hadn't heard him, she continued in a voice seething with barely controlled rage, "Oh, sure, Victor Krum asked her out but she only went with him to make the Great Harry Potter jealous. She's fraternising with the enemy. She's the Mata Hari of the wizarding world, don't you know?"

Severus gave her a little shake, and she finally looked up at him, her eyes flashing with anger. He remembered seeing her that night. He himself had been angry and sick with fear, having had his pointless and hackle-raising conversation with Karkaroff about the Dark Lord's return. All during the previous month, he had felt his Dark Mark bubbling beneath his skin, not knowing that a few months later the damn thing would flare back to life while he was sitting in the stands of the Triwizard Tournament. It had taken all of Severus' strength not to run from the pitch, weeping in desolation. He had sat, still as stone, surrounded by cheering and laughter, wanting to die so badly he seriously considered throwing himself from the stands.

On the night of the Yule Ball, he had been cornered by Karkaroff, pissing himself with fear and calling a stupid amount of attention to himself. Severus had finally shaken the Bulgarian's clutching fingers from his robe and fled from the fool. As Severus passed Hermione sitting on the steps, her angry and indignant expression reflected his own feelings so closely he could not prevent himself from acknowledging it with a terse nod. She had returned an equally curt nod of her own.

For a moment, Severus had felt strangely vindicated, as if someone had understood him and his feelings. It had been short-lived, when he reminded himself of exactly who she was, after all: Hermione Granger, Potter's little hanger-on. He realised now just how much she truly had mirrored his thoughts throughout their association together.

She was now regarding him with a mixture of hope and anger. "Everything is coming apart. Harry says Voldemort has come back. I believe him, but no one else does." She glowered. "No one wants to accept the truth."

"You were right to believe Potter," Severus said, deftly leading her off the dance floor toward her other three selves. "You tried your best to protect him." He gave her hand into the grasp of the youngest, with a smile.

But the eyes of his companions were not fixed on him, but on a spot behind him. He turned and beheld his Hermione, standing before him. She looked exactly like the Hermione he had lain beside before he began this arduous journey inside her mind. She was dressed in a robe identical to his, and her feet were bare.

The room changed around them, growing narrow and dark, and he recognised it as Grimmauld Place. Hermione put her arms around herself protectively. She looked up at him with anger. "He touched me today. You were here. Remus was here. Nobody stopped him."

The reproach left her eyes. "I thought he was just being nice." Shame scorched her cheeks. "It excited me. I was-" She turned away from him and whispered, "aroused by it. But then he wouldn't stop when I asked him. Now he makes me want to vomit, but I have to be nice to him."

The room grew dark, and suddenly the other girls were gone. Severus frantically looked around for them. He looked back at Hermione's face, and he knew why they were now alone. Her innocence was gone. Everything she had been before had been absorbed in this sixteen year old, untouched witch. Sirius Black, in the course of one hot summer afternoon, had removed the scales from her eyes and made her see herself not as a young girl, but as a burgeoning woman. Severus ground his teeth in anger. He wished Sirius was here so he could hex him all over again...

Then it hit him, and the air left his lungs in a harsh gasp. "Oh gods. It was me." He looked down at her tired face, and shame flooded him, and for a moment, he forgot where he was, and why they were here; in that second, he changed them forever.

"All this time I've blamed Black, but it was me. I did it, Hermione."

She looked at him, puzzled. "I don't understand. Did what, Severus?"

Severus sank to his knees under the weight of sudden realization, too weary and heartsick to go any further. He clasped his hands before him, as if praying to the devil. "I was the one who corrupted you, not Black. I desired you so much I told the Dark Lord about you." He looked down at her.

She was watching him perplexedly, and he forced himself to continue. "I lied to you and Albus, you know. Remember the night in Grimmauld Place, when I'd been so badly injured?" When she nodded, he said, "I always claimed that the Dark Lord saw you in my mind, and that I hastily made up a lie that you were in love with me in order to cover my tracks." He shuddered. "But in truth, Hermione, I volunteered the information. What he saw was my lust, my jealousy, my desire for you. I didn't have to manufacture it."

The shock in Hermione's face almost killed him. He knew he was deviating treacherously from the script he should follow, but he couldn't leave her here, thinking he was blameless for all of this. "I was being tortured, and I kept thinking about you, and how I wanted to keep you away from Black, and all I could think about was making the Dark Lord stop. I thought, 'Just for once, why can't I have what I want?'" He closed his eyes. "So I offered you up like a sweetmeat to him. He never saw you before I invited him to see you."

"But you protected me – "

"I seduced you," he interrupted harshly. "Oh, I told myself I was protecting you, but I wanted you more than my own life! More than my Hogwarts letter, more than my wand, more than my first set of fine dress robes." Through clenched teeth, he added, "More than Lily." He laughed, a harsh, joyless laughter that echoed in the room. "You would still be innocent if not for my selfish desire. I promised to protect you."

Hermione edged closer to him, as if approaching a wounded animal. "Severus, you have protected me."

He shook his head. "From everyone but myself, lass. The only real difference between Black and me was that I enticed you to eat from the tree of knowledge willingly, instead of trying to force you." Impulsively, knowing he was stepping off the map, Severus moaned, "I'm sorry, Hermione." He looked up at her beseechingly. "Please forgive me," he entreated, and put his head in his hands. "I was the one who took your innocence. I didn't keep you safe. I didn't protect you from Black, or Dolohov's curse, or the death of your parents, or my own failure to kill Dumbledore. Forgive me."

For a few moments the room was silent but for his sobs. Finally, they spent themselves, and he gathered the courage to look at her. She was crying as well. She held her hands out to him, and helped him to his feet. He pulled her into his arms and held her to his chest, and she held him in return.

"I don't feel that you wronged me, Severus." She brushed the tears from his face. "I have had access to your heart, remember? I already know you love me more than your Hogwarts letter and your wand and your robes. Even more than Lily. Those are truths, aren't they?"

He nodded, and wiped his eyes. "It is the truest thing about me, Hermione."

"I know. I don't know what you all saw in me when I was younger that caused this, but I don't blame you for it."

"And you mustn't blame yourself either, Hermione. You were innocent." He felt the words, bitter as lemon, drop from his lips. "You were innocent until I took it away from you. You were too young."

Something like a smile touched the corners of her mouth. "I probably was too young, but we are at war, and I don't believe things like age are that important anymore. I lost my true innocence the moment the Dark Lord came back to life. We all did.

"But my emotions are real. As real then as they are now." She touched his face, and the gentleness and love in her touch caused him to make a soft sound of yearning. "Severus, look at me."

With a supreme effort, he looked down at her, and his heart cramped to see the confident love in her eyes. "I forgive you. I forgive you for needing to be wanted, for needing something to live for. You didn't take my innocence any more than you took my virginity. Those were always mine to do with as I saw fit.

"On our wedding night, I asked you to make me a woman, not to take away my girlhood, remember? It was mine to give, just as my innocence was mine to discard, because I needed to see the truth." She gently brushed his hair from his face, and wiped the tears that streamed from his eyes. "Sirius Black was a predator, and he tried to rape me. And the only reason he didn't was you, husband. Lover. Friend."

He sagged against her, suddenly feeling as old as Dumbledore. "My precious girl," he murmured into her hair. "Thank you," he said simply. No other words were needed. "Thank you." He could feel her lips against his throat, and numbly he thanked the gods for her once again.

He reluctantly pulled away from her with a groan. "I have been self-indulgent enough, Hermione. We must return to the path, and I must return to my proper place."

Hermione nodded, and when he took her hand, she threaded her fingers trustingly in his. In a voice laced with regret, she said, "All those things I did to you. I never allowed myself to think of them in any way except means to justify an end. I never told you I was sorry." She looked up at him. Sorrow dulled her tear-filled eyes, and her tone became bitter. "I hurt you. Physically and emotionally. And in my arrogance and my thirst to prove myself, I made no room to consider your feelings."

She brought his pale hand to her lips and kissed it reverently. "I am sorry, Severus. I could use up hundreds of excuses, but the fact was I thoughtlessly hurt you. I am sorry."

Severus considered. "Perhaps that is why you are struggling to feel remorse for Dumbledore. I have never thought of it that way, but you may have found the –"

A bright light shot from Severus' wand, which had been pointing to the ground, and the light was followed by a metallic clink. He allowed himself a smile as he picked up the object that had fallen from his wand.

" – key to the final step. Literally," he added, wryly. He handed Hermione the silver key. "It's almost the end. Can you feel it?" She nodded, and Severus led her out of Grimmauld Place.

The corridor seemed endless. From a distance, they could make out the most remote door in Hermione's mind, and Severus knew it would lead inexorably to the last event they would revisit. No matter how quickly they walked, the door never seemed to grow nearer.

Hermione opened her mouth twice, as if to say something. Finally, she confessed. "I made a pact with Dumbledore the night he asked you to kill him."

Severus pulled up short. As if her admission had been the last piece of the puzzle, they found themselves standing before the final door. Hermione's key fit securely in the lock, and when she tripped the tumblers, the door opened invitingly. Severus took Hermione's hand, and together they stepped through the door, onto a familiar landing. It was the base of the Astronomy Tower.

They both sighed and looked upward. It was a long way to the top, seemingly longer than the actual tower. For a moment, Severus didn't think he had the strength to ascend it one more time. He was so tired... he looked over at Hermione and he knew he must. She was depending on him, and no matter what, he would not fail her again. Holding hands, they started up the stone steps.

As they walked, Severus asked, "What sort of pact did you have with Dumbledore?"

After a moment, Hermione began. "The day Dumbledore charged you with killing him, you went back to your rooms and got drunk, remember? I found you and made you go to bed after you told me what had transpired." Severus nodded, too winded to answer, but it was apparently enough for Hermione.

"I marched right down to Dumbledore's office and confronted him. I was livid. I told him he had pushed too far, and that I would not allow him to use you this way. He told me you were bound by oath to help him, and I called his bluff.

"I made a deal with him; I told him that I would do it when the time was right, if you were unable to. But I made him promise that you wouldn't know. I didn't want to burden you with it. He told me he would try to distance you from discussing it, but of course, he lied. He was supposed to keep you innocent of the proceedings, so that your name would be clear of any involvement with his death."

She shook her head, and paused. It was still a long way up, and Severus' legs were trembling from exhaustion and the many steps. "I don't know if he was simply delirious, or if there was another reason why he sent for you today before he left with Harry, but I think it was to weaken your resolve, so it would be too difficult for you to kill him."

Severus nodded sadly. "I had thought as much."

They resumed their endless climb. Severus was now supporting his weight against the wall as they continued. Hermione was also struggling, breathing hard as they doggedly pushed upward. "I was so angry when I realised you were there, facing the Carrows and Dumbledore alone. By the time I arrived, the Death Eaters were egging you on, and Dumbledore was taunting me and calling you coward, and –" She stopped, and swayed on the stairs. Severus grasped her hands to steady her.

She looked up at him with haunted eyes. "And I cast the curse. It felt good to do it. Just to shut him up!" she turned from Severus. "He was goading me, wasn't he?"

Severus held her and stroked her hair soothingly. "Yes, lass. He was already dying from a poison he'd ingested. He was in agony, and I was prolonging it because I couldn't kill him. I couldn't do it." Severus lowered his head. "I am a coward."

"That's not true!" she said fiercely, clutching the front of his robe. "You're the bravest man I know." Her eyes flashed. "If anyone was the coward, it was me; I should have told you about our agreement, but I couldn't."

"Why didn't you, lass? We tell one another everything."

She lowered her head. "I was afraid you would stop me. And Dumbledore was right. Soon the Dark Lord will take over the Ministry, and the school will become either a prison or a war zone, and I knew he would appoint you as the Headmaster." She looked up at Severus, and cupped his face in her hands, as if he were the one in need of comfort. "I was not about to let them call you a murderer."

Severus shook his head, and touched her soft cheek. "No, but you would be willing to shoulder the name yourself. All to save me." His lips pressed against her forehead. "No one has ever stepped between me and death except you, my love. And you've done it over and over."

He put his arms around her and held her as she cried. Her emotions, now rising to the surface with each step upward, were less controlled and harder to predict. When she felt she could, Severus helped her walk up the last steps to the top of the tower.

They stumbled out onto the landing, into the freezing night air. They saw ghostly, almost transparent shapes of the three Death Eaters, Draco and Severus. Instinctively, Severus knew the shadow-figures were waiting, like mannequins, for Hermione and him to assume their positions for this final scene. He could even see smoky plumes of breath blooming from their mouths into the cold air. Dumbledore, however, was as still and unmoving as a statue.

"Why isn't his breath showing in the cold?" Hermione asked.

"Because he was already dying, lass," Severus explained. He put his arms around her and held her. "Listen to me carefully, Hermione. Dumbledore wanted you to cast the curse. Remember the first Horcrux – the ring? That was already killing him. When he and Potter went to retrieve the Horcrux, Albus had to ingest a poison to get to it. He volunteered to do it because he was already dying. By the time he returned, he was in unspeakable pain. He forgave you before you uttered the Killing Curse because he wanted you to do it. You were doing nothing more or less than putting a suffering animal out of its misery."

"No! He treated us so wretchedly before that!" she cried, but he could hear her weakening, her righteous anger shriveling, growing uncertain.

More confident, Severus gave her a little shake to gain her attention. "Hermione, everything he did was to goad us! Taunting me about Lily. Forcing us to withhold information from Potter. Threatening to expel you. He said and did those things to burden our guilt so that we would take care of Potter and continue to perform the way he needed us to perform.

"You have to remember, Hermione, that Albus had gotten a good ten years' head start on me before you came along. He was terrified my feelings for you would make me lose sight of Potter and that damned prophecy. He had a lot of catching up to do to bring you in line with me."

Severus looked around at the ghostly figures frozen in time around them. With a gesture to them, he said, "But this was about me, Hermione. Albus knew the Dark Lord was losing faith in me. Oh, he wanted this. He was in pain. He was suffering horribly. In a few hours, he would have been screaming in agony. You saved him from that." He kissed her trembling hands. "And you saved me from losing my place at the Dark Lord's side."

"It's true, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, weakly, and both Hermione and Severus jumped to hear his voice. He smiled at them. "You did me a kindness. You saved an old man from losing his faculties, his control over his body, and his mind. But you also saved Severus from the Dark Lord. He no longer felt that Severus was important as a spy."

Severus turned to Hermione. "Now, lass, save yourself." He glanced over at the Dumbledore figure. "He forgave you before you stepped onto this tower. Forgive yourself, Hermione."

She looked at him, and nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. She stepped up to her place in the tableau. She turned to Severus. "I don't have a wand."

He nodded, and handed her his wand. It shook in her hand, and she took a deep breath, and when she spun away, it was the twelve-year-old Hermione who appeared and raised Severus' wand toward the old man on the tower.

"Nobody liked me!" Magic swirled from his wand, and Severus could feel the buildup of its power.

Hermione's shape changed, and the pale, petrified second-year gripped his wand and the power increased. "I am NOT a Mudblood!" she cried, and the magic began to hum, and the figures beyond Hermione shimmered, like a mirage on a hot pavement.

"I am the brightest witch of my age!" Fourteen-year-old Hermione shouted, spinning on the Tower, and Severus' eyes began to burn at the sheer intensity of the magical buildup. The air felt as if it was filled with metal, and so heavy that birds would drop, unable to fly.

"I'm not ugly! I'm not some whore to be pawed at! I'm not a child!" She was changing, growing older and more powerful with each spin, and the howling, rushing wind of magic was so strong that it caused Severus' eardrums to bow inward, and he felt light-headed.

Sobbing, Hermione cried, "I am Hermione Granger-Snape, and I will protect my husband from you, and ANYONE who would harm him." She was wailing, her grief an awful thing. She sobbed, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I had to do this! I didn't have a choice!"

She turned to him, her wild hair standing in all directions, her eyes blazing. Magic swirled around her; it was her acolyte, her slave, and she was holding it in check, waiting to unleash it. Severus thought of all those times their magic had manifested itself during their coupling, and wondered if this is how Hermione felt on those moments: trembling, in the moment, on the brink of this cataclysmic release of power.

Suddenly, Severus understood exactly what he needed to do. The actor; the sufferer. Without a word, he quietly approached Hermione, and took the wand from her hand. He could feel it shuddering with unleashed power.

Hermione was breathing like a sprinter, and tears were streaming down her face. Severus did not honestly know what would happen, but it did not matter. He had done all he could to bring her back together. It was enough. There were no more secrets, no more unspoken guilt between them. He closed his eyes, and said quietly, "Hermione, please. I didn't give you a choice." He waited, feeling her magic pressing on him, testing him, trying to determine if he was worthy to bend it to his will.

Severus felt tears slip from his closed eyes. The wand burned his hand, like a throttle, and he held onto it until it commanded him. He opened his eyes and brought the wand around in a slashing arc toward Dumbledore's chest.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And just as suddenly, Severus was Dumbledore as well. The actor; the sufferer. Bright green light bathed him, and the magic swooped down on him, stealing his breath and his senses. It picked him up like a doll, and he felt pulled forward, then let go, sling-shot into space. As Severus felt himself blown like a leaf from the tower, he heard her pleading, "Forgive me! Oh, gods, forgive me..."

He closed his eyes and fell down, down, down...

Severus opened his eyes with a start. Weak December sunlight filtered into the bedroom, showing that he and Hermione were hopelessly tangled in the bed clothes. He had a terrible kink in his neck, and he felt indescribably dirty. As quietly as possible, he shifted. Hermione, laying half across him, took a deep breath. She was wrapped protectively in his arms; his muscles were cramped from holding her so tightly. She, too, was clammy, and her hair was damp, as if she'd had a fever that had broken during the night. Tears streaked her dirty face, and her eyes were swollen.

Severus could smell them both; they were covered in a slick, almost greasy sweat, and the potion residue gave off a musty, metallic stink that made him grimace. He looked carefully into Hermione's sleeping face. She was slightly flushed, but her expression was peaceful, and he knew when she opened her lovely warm brown eyes, they would be full of sadness and sorrow. And beyond that, hope.

Silently, he rose and padded into the loo. As the battered tub filled with warm water and fragrant healing potions, he returned to their bedroom. Hermione had not moved, so he quietly levitated her into the loo, and once he'd seated himself in the old bath he lowered her between his legs, so that she reclined with her back against his chest. She stirred as he tenderly bathed her, but he shushed her back to sleep, whispering comfort and healing spells. His body yearned for her, and he knew that later she would wake and need him as well.

But for now, she needed to sleep, to know he was there, and that was enough. He would later insist she eat something nourishing. It would feel good, after all these months of her domestic carping, to turn the tables and be the one nagging her about eating well. He found that pleased him.

Perhaps their love had begun in extreme and questionable circumstances. It had become everything they needed. Severus would see to it that Hermione would know she was loved. She would know she was protected and cherished and desired. Tomorrow, they would have to think about the next, awful days. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself for now.

To her sleeping form, he whispered, "I'm sorry you were forced to do what I could not. I was so angry with myself," he said, hating to say the words but knowing he must. "I was ready to do it, but in the end – "

"There is nothing to forgive that hasn't been forgiven," she whispered in return, and her voice sounded sure and serene, even half asleep as she was.

He smiled as Hermione tucked herself against him in the warm bath, trusting and relaxed. It made his heart swell to know that he had instilled this trust and respect and love. She was beautiful, and she was his. In spite of the sadness he felt, the grim, future that awaited them, he was not meeting it alone. He had brought her back from Between. She would never have to go there again. Severus Granger-Snape had unlearned how to be a coward. He had been the actor, the sufferer and the receiver. He would learn to be her hero.

Opening words - The Space Between - David J Matthews, Glen Ballard

Wish You Were Here – David Gilmour, Roger Waters