Afternoon of the 8th of February 2020

21. Afternoon of the 8th of February 2020

Severus woke with a start, panting from the stress the nightmare had induced. It hadn't been the ordinary nightmare though where Nagini struck out at him, drowning him in blood and pain. This one had been different. It had started out the same way as always. The Dark Lord set Nagini on him, but then it changed. He wasn't the one being attacked, instead Hermione was. And Nagini wasn't Nagini. The snake had morphed into a house-elf and offered Hermione five o'clock coffee, and when she had smiled and recieved the offered cup, the elf had bared its fangs, and just like Nagini had done that day, the elf had dislocated its jaws and attacked, tearing chunks of Hermione's face away, turning it into a bloody mess.

Severus swallowed hard, remembering. The images in his head made him wonder about his mental state sometimes.

He looked past Phineas, who was sitting in an armchair beside his bed, soft snores escaping him. Behind him was the window where the colours of the sky ranged from a warm yellow, over orange, ending in different shades of pinks and lilac. Dusk then, and a beautiful afternoon. He'd been sleeping for a while.

He sat up, and gingerly put his feet on the floor while glancing at the clock on his bedside table. A quarter to five. Five. The number stuck in his mind. And why would it do that? Five? Five o'clock. What was the significance? What was happening at five o'clock? He didn't have to keep appointments any longer. The only time he bothered was when he had an opportunity to spend time with Hermione.

Hermione.

A house-elf attacking—offering coffee and then attacking Hermione.

Damnation! Not Hermione! He couldn't let it happen. No matter how much he wanted her dead.

Ten to five. It wasn't too late. Not yet. He threw himself from the bed and ran through his flat to the window looking onto the Headmistress' office.

Hermione was sitting in front of the fire holding a cup in her hand.

Too late! He was too late. Just like that other evening long ago.

"Don't drink it!" He heard his own roar; his shout startled Hermione, and she flinched hard enough for her to drop the cup.

The cup landed by her feet, rolled and then stopped as its handle met the plush carpet. Nothing stained the carpet. Nothing at all. The cup had already been emptied before it fell.

He struck his hand against the hard surface of the canvas.

"Did you drink it? Answer me! Did you drink it?"

Hermione got to her feet, staring at him as if he'd gone insane. Looking so very much like the frightened schoolgirl he used to teach.

"What on earth is the matter with you? Calm down." She wasn't upset at all. She looked incredulous, but nothing more.

He needed to get through to her, so he took a steadying breath and tried again.

"It is of the utmost importance: Have you drunk anything a house-elf has given you?"

She nodded.

"Yes. Winky brought me coffee a while ago." She gave him a tentative smile. "And very nice it was too. I think she is pleased about the fact that the rest of the house-elves are being set free. She seemed much more relaxed than usual."

He caught himself pushing at the unyielding canvas with both hands.

"Listen to me: she fed you poison to stop you from setting the elves free. Go to the cupboard containing the Pensieve. You need to get the Bezoar from the emergency—"

"No! She wouldn't do a thing like that. She might be a tiny bit strange, even for a house-elf, but she wouldn't—"

"She would, and she has!" He was roaring again, and Hermione took a step back from him, and worse, from the cupboard. "Please Hermione! The Bezoar will not harm you either way. Take it! If not for anything else, then for your children."

Her eyes widened at that, and then, in a flurry of vine-coloured robes, she ran for the cupboard, opening it with shaking hands and then, just as he let out a relieved breath, she staggered. She held on to the doors, and for a moment she stayed upright, but then her knees buckled and folded. As she fell on her knees, she put one hand on her throat, throwing him a desperate glance.

"Get the Bezoar!" He banged at the canvas as hard as he could.

In the corner of his eye he saw Phineas' shocked face.

Hermione lifted a shaking hand and fumbled inside the cupboard.

"Good girl. That is it."

The words left his lips at the same time as she gave him another glance—one of abject despair. Then she fell over.

She fell between the open doors of the cupboard and at first, the only thing his mind manged to take in was the Bezoar, lying on the floor beside her, close to her small white hand.

"Get it!"

Nothing happened. He banged at the canvas again. He noticed smears of blood on it, but didn't care.

"Get it and put the Bezoar in your mouth, Hermione."

"Severus. Stop it!" Phineas pushed his way between him and the canvas. "It's over. She's dead."

"Get out of my way." He tried to push Phineas away, but he had put both arms around Severus, leaving him no leverage to push or even hit.

"That was why you ran." It wasn't a question, Severus could hear that. "You found out somehow. And you have been wanting her for a while now."

Severus was on his knees in front of Phineas without knowing how he had got there.

"Yes."

"And then Cadogan struck you."

"I should have warned her at once."

Phineas was hunched down in front of him, patting his shoulder.

"You couldn't have known. Come. Get up." He helped Severus to his feet. "I saw Minerva run past. I'm sure she went to fetch help. Maybe it isn't too late, after all."

As if the whole thing was staged, the office door banged open at Phineas' words, and Madam Pomfrey and Longbottom burst through the door. In the end, Severus had to turn his back at the bedlam that broke out after that. Portraits shrieking, more people gathering in the office. Longbottom trying to take charge, even as tears were running down his cheeks. Poppy sobbing while trying to revive Hermione.

"I think it best if we leave. There is nothing we can do."

"It was my fault." Severus felt as if his body weighed a ton, and he had to concentrate to put one foot in front of the other.

Phineas, walking on his right side, put a hand on his shoulder. "The blasted house-elf is to blame, no one else."

"You tried," someone else said. Severus looked to his left. Albus was walking beside him too. He wondered when he had arrived. He hadn't noticed.

"I should have told her at once."

"Maybe. But we aren't perfect. And temptations are present in all of our minds much too often. We should know, you and I." Albus gave him a smile that looked tragic to Severus' mind. "And you did try."

"I was too late."

"Yes. You were. I'm so sorry."