Thirty One: The Voices That Are Calling You Away

Once again, I cannot thank you enough for your continued encouragement and support as this story moves on. I cannot believe it is up to Chapter Thirty One. I told my beta Jules I figured Twenty five was my limit. Just goes to show you that when DahlraMuse gets the bit between his teeth, I have to just hold on and enjoy the ride.

Please note this chapter contains violence and character death.

Can I pull you through the night with me before the lights have slipped the shade,

Can I tell you that you're stronger that any shadows that you've made?

I will always try to find you through the tangle and the haze, and the mesmerising voices that are pulling you away.

So I'm staring at the pinholes in the cold October sky, and I'm drinking up the starlight to keep from telling you goodbye.

The more you're fading, the more I want to see you clear, the more you're fading, I could never let you disappear...

"Severus! What in the name of Merlin is the matter?" The alarmed voice of Severus' deputy cleared his head somewhat, and he rallied. Then, close on the heels of Minerva's enquiry, Hermione's voice came roaring into his head like the Hogwarts Express.

Please Severus, if you love me, please come now! Please, I don't want to die alone!

Pain ground into his body as if he had fallen onto spikes of jagged glass. He cried out, doubling over. His vision swam, and his stomach lurched sickeningly. What was happening to her?

As he tried to straighten, Minerva gasped. No doubt he looked as traumatised as he felt. "Shall I fetch Poppy?" she asked, trying to steady him with her strong hands.

Wave after wave of nausea and pain slammed into him, making sweat break out on his body in a cold, clammy wash of fear. Think, Severus, think! he commanded himself. He turned away from Minerva, swallowing hard, trying to keep the contents of his roiling gut in place. He reached out blindly, and his Deputy gripped his hands, supporting him. "Minerva," he began, his teeth chattering so hard it distorted his voice. "Hermione... hurt... dying..."

"Gods, Severus! Where? How do you know?" Minerva looked at him as if she feared for his sanity.

Another blast of pain slammed into him, so intense he turned away from Minerva and vomited, bringing up cocoa and firewhisky onto the wooden floor. He retched until he was churning with dry heaves, fear and despair. He now knew the answer to his question. His wife was being Crucio'd.

Severus knew he was the only one who could save her. But following closely on that thought was the voice of Albus Dumbledore, exhorting Severus to swear to stay and protect Hogwarts, no matter the cost. For the Greater Good. Albus had used the phrase so many times it was engrained in Severus' consciousness, like a sliver of glass driven so deep, his body had assimilated it, transformed it into part of his physical being. Severus had sold his soul to Albus' Greater Good. He had pledged to remain at his post until the bitter end, faithful to the Order, whore to Voldemort, the shadow that ever slipped between the dark and the light.

But stronger still was the memory of holding Hermione in that ruined, fire-blackened shell of a house, pledging his life to his witch. "My back will be to yours, always." He remembered promising himself, above all other oaths, including his wedding vows, that before he allowed anything to happen to her, he would take both their lives. And now she was being tortured.

Fuck Albus and his Greater Good; fuck Harry Potter and the Order and even Lily; he had given them enough. If Hermione were to be killed, there was no point to his own life. He thought of what he had lost and what he loved, and knew that to choose one meant the abandonment of the other.

He made his decision.

With a grunt of pain, he allowed Professor McGonagall to help him to his feet. His legs felt like those of a new-born foal's, but he knew what he had to do. Wiping the clammy sweat from his face, he withdrew his wand and aimed carefully at Minerva, chanting the words he had hoped he would never have to recite.

Minerva gasped in shock as she stared down the business end of the ebony wand, but she did not flinch or step back. Beautiful, golden glyphs flew out of the tip, weaving and twisting into the air, and she heard the strong intent, the determined resolve in his sonorous baritone voice. Severus was conjuring forth the spell that would break his, the Headmaster's, protective enchantments over Hogwarts.

"Severus," she whispered, "are you sure you know what you are doing?"

There was a mighty, deep rumble within the castle, as the main defensive wards dropped. With them dropped Severus' authority, his rights, his domain. He nodded to Minerva. Without hesitation, she drew her own wand. She pronounced the counter spell, and the ancient wards juddered ponderously back upward, her authority effectively taking over from him. The protection that was the signature of every Headmaster and mistress that had ever ruled the school was back in place. Anyone awake might have felt the slightest shudder. But most felt nothing, nothing at all.

Severus' voice was strained, his face paper-white. "Hogwarts is yours, Minerva, until I return. If I don't, defend the school, defend the students."

"But Severus, where are you-"

"I have to go to Hermione."

Minerva grabbed him as he turned to go. "Please take care, Severus." On impulse, she reached up and kissed his cheek. He was in too much distress to notice.

He looked down at the bewildered new Headmistress. "Tell them..." He looked away, fighting tears. "Tell them I did the best I could."

As Severus raced away from the school for the final time, he felt a sharp pang of regret. He would have liked to have faced the Dark Lord here, with the full might of Hogwarts' protective power behind him. He had wanted the world to know that, in the end, he was fighting for the light, not against it.

The first Crucio sucked the breath from Hermione's lungs as if she were in a vacuum. She choked out a scream and fell to her knees, with Carrow's laughter sawing in her ears. "Yeah, that's the place for a Mudblood! Hit her again, Bella!" The witch had been only too happy to oblige. Like an artist dabbling in her favourite medium, Bellatrix painted her with the curse, until Hermione was saturated with its many colours and textures.

The curse did not so much hit as pulverised her, and Hermione's scream was hard and high enough to shatter the windows. Her stomach heaved; she vomited on the Aubusson rug, adding another shocking texture of her own.

Black blades, scorpions, fangs, talons, thorns and barbs; Hermione felt them all drive into her body, ripping her apart and sealing the wounds with a coating of gelignite. These were patched over with a layer of laughter and cat-calls. Hermione tried to withdraw deep within her mind, but she could not outrun the pain.

Then the Cruciatus shorted out all thought processes from Hermione's brain. The will to survive was ripped from her, as vital organs were magically pummeled and reshaped. Her heart was beating so hard and fast it hurt her sternum, and her eyes bulged from their sockets, trying to escape the lethal curse. A large set of fists closed around her bowels and bladder and squeezed until she lost control of them, but Hermione was in too much distress to notice her soiled state.

Just when she thought her heart would burst within, Bellatrix gave Hermione a reprieve. She lay on the floor gasping, her vocal chords spasming from her screams. If she could only remember how to speak, Hermione would have begged the woman to kill her. As it was, she could not remember her name, or where she was or why she was being tortured. Nothing and no one existed but the pain, in the guise of the woman standing over her, holding a wand.

Bellatrix approached her, strolling lazily over to where Hermione lay. She did not bother where she stepped, but allowed her trailing robes to smear the mess on the carpet. The sight made Hermione heave again.

Bellatrix squatted down beside the prone woman. She lifted Hermione's chin in her hand, until Hermione was forced to look up to her. In a perfectly reasonable voice, Bellatrix said, "Now. Let's try this again. Which is the real sword?"

Hermione looked up at Bellatrix blankly, her mouth working soundlessly. Sword? What is... sword?

Bellatrix gave her a look of regret. "Well, since you won't tell me, I'm going to start again-"

"No," Hermione croaked. That word she knew. She knew what start meant. She couldn't take start again. She couldn't bear it.

"Yes, I am," Bellatrix answered, almost gently. "But I want you to tell me the truth. Is the real sword here, or in my vault at Gringotts?"

Hermione looked up into the hooded eyes, the lust she saw in them, and a little more of her soul seeped back into her body. She remembered now. She thought of everything at stake, of how easy the truth was, and how hard the next few moments would be. And most of all, she knew that even if she spilled her guts and told Bellatrix Lestrange everything she knew, she would still die on this carpet in the next few moments.

She spat in Bellatrix's face.

Carrow sucked in his breath. "Ooh, very recalcitrant, Madam Lestrange. I think a lesson is in order."

Wiping the spittle from her cheek, Bellatrix rose. "I think you're right. She needs a little more incentive." She looked down at Hermione with a look of pretended respect. "Impressive, though. Most don't have enough juice left to spit. Then again, I have been going easy on you, so far."

She grinned at Hermione when Carrow laughed, then gestured toward the door where Harry and the boys had been taken. "Amycus, why don't you go downstairs and see what you can find that will help jog Madam Snape's memory? We have quite a little party down there now." Carrow pushed himself from the desk and ambled through the same door everyone else had been pushed through. His ugly laughter floated down the hall, and Bellatrix turned her attention back to Hermione.

"Well, well, well. Alone at last." She walked around Hermione. "I'm going to cast the curse again now. Get ready," she said, as if she were going to give Hermione a present. Hermione began to moan, rocking back and forth. "Get ready," Bellatrix cooed, her laughter soft and sensual. Hermione began to keen, feeling weak with humiliation.

But when Bellatrix laughed at her pitiful state, something galvanised Hermione, filling her with a grim resolve, and she felt the rest of her self-awareness snap back into place. She would not die like some pitiful worm crawling around in her own filth, on this ruined rug. She would die Hermione Granger-Snape.

"Fuck. You," she managed, and dragged herself upright.

There was a scuffling motion, and she heard a man's voice, shouting, "Take your filthy hands off me!"

She knew that voice. She must be more delirious that she thought. Perhaps she had been driven mad, just as the Longbottoms had been rendered insane by this very same woman. Shivering, she whispered, "Severus... I don't want to die... I'm so scared..."

"Oh, my God! Hermione!"

The anguished female's voice sang through the room like an arrow. Hermione glanced in the direction of the sound, and stared in stunned, choked silence. She was mad.

It was her parents. They were standing there, just as if they were alive.

They were dirty and thin and frightened, but they were desperately fighting to go to her. Greyback and Carrow held them back, but just barely.

Hermione moaned pitifully, and tears streamed down her fevered cheeks. "Mummy? Is that really you?" she whimpered, and tried to rise to her feet.

"Let her go, you sick bitch!" her father bellowed, nearly wrestling free from the werewolf.

Bellatrix turned her attention toward the Grangers and extended her wand again. Hermione wailed as the witch almost casually Crucio'd her parents. They writhed on the ground in agony, screaming for mercy, calling her name. Hermione cried, "Stop it! Stop it! I'll tell you what you want to know! Just leave them! Stop hurting them!"

Bellatrix was having none of that. Swords were forgotten; vaults were forgotten. All that mattered were the screams, and the power to elicit them. As Hermione's parents fainted from the pain, Bellatrix laughed a high, shrieking cackle, and shouted over Hermione's screams, "This is more fun than shooting pixies in a barrel! Crucio!"

Through the mind-splitting pain, Hermione's body contorted, twisting painfully, until her upper torso was turned in almost the opposite direction from her legs. Hermione had thought the previous pain was unbearable. This was so far beyond 'unbearable' as to be out of the realm of physical science. She could no longer breathe, as her body turned in opposite directions, wringing itself like a washcloth. Bellatrix was slowly twisting her body apart.

"The trick is not to break the back too soon. If you do, the fun's over. You have to be very precise," Bellatrix gloated, rotating her wand, cranking it with her wrist in a slow, corkscrew motion. "I practiced on house-elves until I got it just right." Her voice was breathless with demonic lust.

Hermione's spine twisted until she was blinded and had no other thought but to please, please die. She begged her body to stop struggling. She begged Severus to kill her. She dimly heard laughter, and realised she was screaming her pleas into the room.

The air was filled with the odours of her voided body, the sounds of her torture, the taste of the scream in her mouth as it filled with blood. And as the pain abated, as she drew in desperate, ragged, gulping breaths, Bellatrix struck again, the expression on her face like a happy child's.

Just as Hermione felt her body shutting down, a voice bellowed, "What the fuck are you doing to my wife?"

-o0o-

Severus flew into the room, a vengeance-filled angel in black. "Stupify!" he roared, slicing his wand through the air like a whip. The force of the spell knocked Bellatrix off her feet with such force she was thrown against the wall, dazed.

Hermione looked up toward her husband with sightless, staring eyes, unable to focus. "Severus?" she gulped, her voice garbled and fading. "Please make it stop..."

He whirled around to face Hermione. "Finite Incantatem-"

"Incarcerous!" Severus cursed as several thin ropes shot around his body, pinning his arms to his sides in a crushing bind. A stunning spell rammed into his temple like a fist, and he staggered to his knees. He felt the Crucio drive into his body before he heard it cast, and could tell from the signature bite of the curse that Bellatrix had not cast it. The duration of the curse was curiously brief; Severus lay on the floor, panting, trying to conserve his energy. He had lost his wand when the Cruciatus hit, but he could still free himself with wandless magic if he had enough respite to concentrate his energies.

As he lay still, the temperature dropped around him, and he felt the familiar rush of dread that heralded the arrival of his one remaining Master. Severus immediately rose to his knees before the Dark Lord, just as another gut-churning wave of pain seized him.

"Severus?" The high-pitched, dangerous voice seemed to pull Severus' face upward, and he saw the robed pale figure of the Dark Lord.

"My Lord, why is my wife being tortured? Have I – have we displeased you?" He tried not to grunt as a fresh wave of the Crucio was sent deep into his tissues. Agony warped around him like an iron band. He swallowed back the scream that rose to his lips, and kept his eyes on Hermione. She was fading.

Voldemort looked from Severus to his wife and back. He smiled, a hideous, happy, angry smile. Severus met Hermione's eyes. It will be over soon, my love. It will be over soon-

"On the contrary, my dear Severus; you've served my victory up on a silver platter," the Dark Lord said, his anger at odds with his words. "I should have known you would have discovered the Hallows, but choosing to share the knowledge with your students and not me? I'm hurt," he said, a false tone of petulance in his voice.

Severus looked at the Dark Lord's unholy visage. His confusion must have been obvious to a blind man. With difficulty, he rose to his feet, swaying with the effort. "My Lord, I truly do not know what these 'Hallows' are. You must believe me when I tell you I have withheld nothing from you."

From the edge of the room, Carrow snorted. "Of course not, Snape! You only showed Lovegood where to find them-"

"Enough, Amycus!" Voldemort stepped close to Severus until they were almost chest to chest. He pawed through Severus' memories, leaving the stain of his corruption behind, like old grease slathered on his frontal lobe. "My former Headmaster is not lying." He looked deeply into Severus' eyes, then smiled again. He began to laugh, and the sound made Severus' testicles crawl in their sac. "You truly don't know! Oh, but my dear Severus, this is delightful! You didn't give the book to Miss Lovegood, she gave it to you! Oh, this is poetry, sheer poetry!"

Severus looked desperately at Hermione, as the room echoed with laughter. She was dying. He could feel her bright signature fading within, and in that moment, he made peace with himself. He had pushed her away; she might die believing he had rejected her. But at least he would die with her. He turned back to the Dark Lord. "I am glad we have afforded you entertainment, my Lord," he said, through gritted teeth.

Voldemort sobered. "Oh, but you have done much more than that, my beautiful Severus." He turned to the others. "Leave us."

Bellatrix's face fell, as if she had been denied her favourite toy. "But my Lord-"

"Leave. Your time will come, Bellatrix."

"But my Lord, Harry Potter-"

"Will be mine soon enough. Leave!"

Bellatrix, Carrow and Greyback sullenly left the room. Voldemort turned back to Severus. He reached up and lightly stroked Severus' cheek, laughing mirthlessly as revulsion flashed over the dark-haired wizard's face. His voice was ugly. "There was a time when you would have grown hard from my caress, Severus."

Severus didn't dignify the remark with a reply. The Dark Lord glanced at Hermione's prone body. "This is war, Severus. And in war, sacrifices have to be made. But now I shall be generous. Heal your wife."

Severus turned to him, afraid that, in his fear, he had actually misheard the command. "M-my Lord?"

"Heal your wife, Severus. Attend to her wounds. Ease her suffering. She is very close to death. Save her."

Severus felt the magical bonds melt away, and he snatched up his wand with a shaking hand. Kneeling before his wife, he chanted every healing spell he knew, over and over, his wand and his voice trembling with effort. Gradually, some colour seeped back into Hermione's face, and her breathing eased. Groggy eyes opened and trained on him.

Severus?

Severus clasped her hand. It was cold. Hermione, my love, forgive me. Forgive me, please-

She looked at him in stark, blank confusion. What is happening?

Frantically, he took her in his arms. Hermione, lass, please, you must forgive me! I cannot bear it, please!

She grasped his robe, and closed her eyes. Make the pain go away... She fainted.

"Oh, no," Severus said, unable to prevent himself from speaking aloud. He looked up at Voldemort, ready to beg, ready to betray everything, if he could just get her out of the Manor. "She urgently needs a Mediwitch my Lord. I cannot tell, but she may be bleeding internally."

"All in good time, Severus, my dear boy. All in good time."

As Severus held his dying wife close, the Dark Lord circled him. "Many did not approve of your choice of wife, Severus, but I had great plans for her. And true to form, she exceeded all expectations. Even with you. She restored you.

"Oh, come now," he chided, when Severus did not reply. "Did you honestly think your Lord would fail to see the youthful bloom on your face, the renewed strength in your limbs? Of course, the potion you have been imbibing to keep up with the demands of your child bride was no doubt going to be a gift to me, once you had perfected it." The words were spoken as a question, but the implication was pure demand.

Severus swallowed. Let him believe it, please, anything to get us away from here- "Yes, my Lord. I have only just perfected it. We have been working on it for months now. I could bring it to you-"

"I don't need it. You have provided me with a much more potent fountain of youth." Voldemort preened, enjoying this moment so much. "Albus Dumbledore's wand is no ordinary wand, did you know that?" At Severus' stunned look of confusion, he continued. "No? Then allow me to enlighten you.

"Your pupil, Miss Lovegood, has been my guest lately. She very graciously explained the legend of the Deathly Hallows. She was understandably reluctant at first. No doubt, she didn't wish to betray your wife."

"My wife? Why-"

"The Elder Wand, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Resurrection Stone. The Deathly Hallows – three artifacts that, taken together, ensure power over Death. Immortality, as explained by Beedle the Bard, within a children's fable. Surely you remember your Beedle the Bard, Severus?"

Severus had a fleeting memory of Luna picking up the book in his study, telling him to give it to Hermione because she would enjoy reading it. He had never asked Hermione if she had actually read it. Lately, he hadn't asked her anything of import, including if she still loved him.

The Dark Lord, warming to his subject, continued. "I shan't bore you with the details, Severus, but once your darling pupil explained the story, I knew. Albus' wand must be THE Elder Wand." Almost to himself, he added, "How could I not have known? How could I not have seen? Of course, Albus would have the Hallows. He would do anything to keep them from falling into the hands of others. He would want them for himself."

Severus stilled, a growing thought making his stomach clench. "What has this to do with Hermione?"

Voldemort produced a long, dark wand. Burl knots marched down its length, like little bulges in the wood. Severus had seen it hundreds of times, grasped in Albus' slender fingers. It was the ultimate profanity to see it twined possessively in the spindly hands of the Dark Lord. "Amazing things, wands, aren't they?" he said. "You can take a wand, any wand, away from its owner, and it will still work for you. Not with the same precision, but it will work. But not the Elder Wand. It will only give its full, true power to the one who defeats its previous master. Only then will the victor be able to use it to its full potential."

Severus swallowed. Oh, gods...

"I see you are finally on the same page as I, old friend. You see, your dear wife killed Albus for you, which has cleared the way for me to take full control of the Elder Wand without losing my Headmaster and loyal servant." He gestured at Hermione dismissively. "Bella may play with her all she likes, but in the end..."

Severus looked from Voldemort to Hermione. His voice was hollow. "You're saying when you kill the Elder Wand's current owner, it will transfer its allegiance to you."

The Dark Lord tilted his head almost coquettishly. "How like you, Severus. No fuss, no theatrics. You always knew how to get the job done with a minimal amount of drama. Yes, once your wife is dead, I will be invincible. Think of the glorious sacrifice she is making. This generation's bards will no doubt write stories of her. She will be revered as the witch who handed immortality to your Lord. She will be immortalised as well. And you have me to thank for it."

He made a little moue of regret. "Such noble sacrifices are lamentable, but I'm sure you'll get over it in due time. When I come into my kingdom, you shall have any witch you desire as a reward. Narcissa, perhaps? You always panted after her when you were younger. Lucius is certainly in no position to argue. Of course, both Amycus and Alecto Carrow have expressed interest in paying you court, so I am sure your nights would not be lonely."

Severus carefully lowered Hermione to the floor, then stood and turned to Voldemort. "You honour me, my Lord." He looked down again at his wife. "Forgive me, Hermione. Forgive me, my precious, precious wife. But I'm afraid you'll have to hang on a little longer." He turned his wand on Voldemort. "Expelliarmus!"

When it happened, it all happened at once. Severus' spell was quickly executed, but his words, spoken with a blood-thirsty need for vengeance, uncharacteristically tipped his hand. Voldemort skillfully blocked the spell, but before he could retaliate, there was a commotion in the ante-chamber, and Bellatrix, Carrow, Greyback and the three Malfoys came galloping back into the room.

Lucius gasped at the sight before them. "My Lord," he stammered, determined to be the host of the manor. "You honour us. Had I but known you were here-" Lucius' unctuous declaration died on his lips as the door to the Manor's dungeon flew open, and six people burst into the room: Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, Griphook the Goblin, Mr. Ollivander, the wandmaker, and Harry Potter. For a moment, the entire room was silent, as friend and enemy alike stared at one another in disbelief.

Harry broke the stunned silence by lunging at Draco and wrenching the blond's wand from his hand. He pointed it at Severus and shouted, "Snape's MINE!" He threw a Sectumsempra, which missed Severus' head by a mile, although it took a huge chunk of Amycus Carrow out on the way. Carrow went down, cursing, blood spurting from several wounds.

Voldemort bellowed triumphantly, and sent a curse flying toward Harry, but Severus staggered against the Dark Lord, throwing him off balance, and the curse impotently blasted a hole in the back wall, just over the heads of the two unconscious Grangers.

As a barrage of hexes and curses flew through the air, Severus dropped to the ground to protect Hermione. He bent over her, peering about to find an escape route, when he saw Bellatrix taking aim at them both. Without thinking, Severus charged her with a roar that would have made his Muggle progenitors proud, and he plowed into her at a dead run, knocking them both off their feet. Her surprise at his physical assault gave him the precious seconds he needed. Pinning her to the floor, he wrestled her wand from her grasp and cold-cocked her with a right cross. Behind him, there was a thunderous CRACK!

Harry and the others had disappeared.

Those remaining looked around, wands raised, shouting useless orders and accusations to one another. In the brief silence, Voldemort turned his fury-reddened eyes to Severus. "I had him! You fool, I had him!"

"Severus!" He turned, and saw Hermione - alive, awake - struggling to stand. In that moment, Voldemort turned his rage away from Severus and back to his original target. He swung his wand arm toward Hermione.

"NO!" Severus bellowed, and leapt in front of her, blocking her with a hasty Shielding spell. Cast with Bellatrix's wand, it was weak and unstable, and in those last precious seconds of his life, Severus knew it had not be enough. The Dark Lord's wand was pointed at his chest.

Just as something clutched his torso and spun him away, Severus saw and heard the scream:

"Avada Kedavra!"

Severus was slammed onto his back in a world of bright moonlight and cool breezes. He opened his eyes and saw a beach, smelled the ocean, heard mournful sounds of death and sorrow. It was like watching a Muggle film in slow motion; everything and everyone moving slower and slower, until the scene before him halted down to a freeze frame.

The last thing he saw was a frozen group of horrified faces. Then his vision faded into white nothingness.

They landed on the beach with an unceremonious thump - a discarded bucket and spade thrown like a petulant child's least-favourite toys. Hermione struggled to sit up and reach for Severus as he lay on his back near the water's edge. His face was turned away from her. She crawled painfully to him. "Severus?" she rasped, her throat raw.

There was nothing. No echo of him within. No movement of his body. Fear clamped a cold hand around her heart. Hermione gazed down at his face, and she knew.

Severus was dead.

"No!" she cried, and painfully pulled his head into her lap. "No. You can't. You promised. You can't be gone. You cannot be dead, Severus!"

But Death had already laid its possessive blanket over them, drawn on the air, over the swelling currents of the ocean that surrounded this little spit of land. Hermione, surrounded by her parents, her friends and family, cradled the lifeless body of her husband, Severus Snape.

He looked so peaceful in repose, as if he was sleeping. If Hermione could have spoken, she would have asked for a wand to Rennervate him. Anything to not feel this complete, silent, still death she held in her arms. Anything to not watch the color fade from his already-pale skin; to not have to feel the heat bleeding from his still body.

With a scream, Hermione's magic flew around her in circles, unfettered, spoking in all directions. She rocked him in her arms. "Severus," she wailed, clutching his still form, mad and wild in her anguish. "You can't die – I forbid it!" He had been her life for so long – how was she supposed to live without him? "You promised I wouldn't have to face this alone," she sobbed.

Finally, gentle hands pulled at her. She heard her mother's voice. Oh gods, her parents were alive. Her husband was dead. "Hermione, we need to get you inside-"

"I'm not leaving him out here alone in the dark," she wept, holding on to him. "He'll be cold. Oh, Severus, wake up, wake up!" she sobbed, shaking him. She gently pushed his tangled hair from his face. It was dusted with sand, and she tried to brush it away. It would distress him to be seen in such an undignified, disheveled state. "Please wake up," she pleaded, staring into his angular face, looking for any signs of her husband there. Death made him seem stern, severe. This is how they would remember him, she thought. Haughty, cold and implacable. Not her Severus.

Someone crouched beside her and put a large arm around her shoulder. It was Bill Weasley. "Hermione, we need to get you both inside. I'll carry Severus myself," he said softly.

Hermione looked up. A small band of friends were gathered around her: Luna and Ron, Harry and Neville, Fleur and Bill, her parents. They gazed at her silently, and something about their stricken expressions caused Hermione to draw upright. Her voice sounded strong to her own ears, like an enchantment. "This man was a hero. He fought to keep you safe, even when you belittled him, and ridiculed him. He was a great wizard. He was a great man." She closed her eyes. "He was mine, and now he's gone."

Her strength left her, and she sagged. Tears streamed from her eyes, and Bill said quietly, "I'll carry him, Hermione. I promise I'll do it carefully. Now, I'll take over. You can walk beside him, and hold his hand. Okay?"

She nodded numbly. As Bill hooked one arm under Severus' legs, and the other beneath his shoulders, Hermione put her hand on Severus' chest. Bill looked up at her, waiting. "Be gentle with him," Hermione whispered. "He's had little enough of that in his life. Carry him like someone you love."

It took Hermione a moment, but she made herself step away. Bill carefully lifted Severus into his strong arms, and bore him away.

"Come on, love. Let's get you both inside." Hermione looked up into her father's tear-filled eyes.

"Oh, Dad. Mum, they told me you were dead!" She sobbed as her father took her into his arms.

"It's alright, Hermione darling," her mother soothed. "We're alright, your dad and me. We're alright."

"He killed my Severus," Hermione moaned, and her legs buckled. Her father swept her up into his arms. The little party walked toward a cottage over the ridge; they were silent except for the sound of Hermione's grief. Her father carried her, alongside Bill, who was holding Severus in his arms like a child. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the still figure, his head lying in the crook of Bill's arm. Severus looked so pale and beautiful. And young. He looked... young. But she would never hear the sound of his voice, nor see the love in his black, liquid eyes ever again.

Darkness overtook her, and she was grateful for its numbing emptiness.

Severus opened his eyes, and blinked at the warm, glowing sunset that came from everywhere. He could not look away from it; it was all around him, even on the ground.

It was the world of his desert dreams, but unlike the dreams, there were no soft, silken robes on his back, or succulent fruit, or sweet cold wine, or his deliciously gravid wife feeding him grapes as they lolled on plush cushions within a cozy nomadic tent.

He slowly pushed himself from the desert floor onto his feet, and looked down at his naked form. He was limned in bright, golden light, and he felt at once ancient and young. He swayed slightly, and looked around at the bright, barren world around him. He saw nothing but sand, and dunes, and unbroken, shimmering nothingness.

If this was death, it was going to be fucking boring.

He gradually became aware of sounds around him, like swishing, rushing wind through dry leaves. He could hear snippets of voices, and laughter, and weeping. Every age, every language, every emotion was represented in the lush currents of sound. He could not hear individual words, just the emotional charge that came with their energy. The sound pulsed with life; it ebbed and flowed, drawing near, fading back. It was as if he was in some nexus between life and death, and could hear evidence of existence all around him, but he was unable to touch, or see, or participate in it.

"Can anyone hear me?" he shouted, then shut his mouth quickly, stunned to hear his voice go no further than inside his own head. And, really, apart from that, he had no idea who or what might answer.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the glaring sunset, he could see an ocean of sand all around him. Everything was stark and still. He was the only person there. His heart began to pound sickeningly. Was this his punishment – to be resigned to this solitary, sandy hell for eternity? A whimper sounded in the vast landscape, and it frightened him – because he was the one who had made it.

"Hermione," he whispered like a prayer into the arid wasteland. "Are you alive? Oh, where are you, lass?" Fear gripped him. He felt so empty now without her warmth to fill his heart. Would this be his penance for hurting her so; to be forever denied her glorious company?

In the distance, he saw an approaching figure, its outline shimmering in the heat of the eternally dying day. Though it approached with a steady gate, it seemed to take ages for it to draw closer. Severus turned in a slow circle, his keen eyes squinting into the golden horizon. Just as he was almost at full turn, he saw a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of his eye. The figure was very close now. Severus didn't know whether to be joyful or afraid.

"Who are you?" he said, shamed at how terrified he sounded. "Identify yourself!"

From the dark figure, Severus heard a strange sound. It took him a full ten seconds to recognise it as laughter. It was a laugh he had not heard in years. It hit him with the force of a bludger and almost drove him to his knees. Tears filled his eyes as the dark figure drew close enough to recognise, and Severus cried out.

The figure held out its arms.

The More You're Fading – Randall Bramblett, Rich Someday