Instinct

I'm thrilled and honoured to have been voted Best New Author (Lumos) in The New Library Awards.

Care of Magical Creatures won:

Amortentia: Best SS/HG Romance

Diffindo: Best SS/HG Angst

and was Runner Up:

Gripping Charm: Best SS/HG Drama

Engorgio: Best SS/HG WIP

None of this would be possible without the support of two fabulous betas: GinnyW and Leigh-Anne,

and a trio of women who have stepped up and given last minute looks when they were desperately needed: Juno Magic, lifeasanamazon and Chenoah, and for this chapter, deemichelle.

And of course, none of this would be possible without the magical world of JK Rowling and her generosity in allowing us to continue to bring it to life now that her canon is complete.

56. INSTINCT

She knew.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and she knew it in her bones, deeper than her bones.

There had been times when she slept when she'd felt as if he were there, right there....

But this time, this time...

There was no doubt.

She felt him.

And he was afraid. Her professor, her fierce and powerful professor, afraid? The very idea struck terror in her. What could cause him fear, unless...

Unless the Dark Lord was angry.

He had let her escape. She left him to explain her absence, and what if it had backfired? What if he were, even now on this night, suffering the consequences?

Without thinking or reasoning, she snatched up her parchments, her quills, her pots of ink. She would sort them later. Now she just knew an unreasoning need to act and act quickly.

Now, she was infected with his fear.

If he was afraid, if he of all people was afraid, something was horrifically wrong.

Just as she'd earlier been frustrated by her inability to enlarge those items she'd reduced for packing in her rucksack, now she was frustrated by her inability to reduce the parchments. She flattened them as best she could with shaking hands and shoved them in.

Unease thrumming through her, she closed the door to her dressing room. She felt unable and unwilling to take the time to restore it to its previous state, but at least no visual signs remained that she'd been sleeping and working there.

A half hour later she'd returned her mother's things...the Chanel dress, the boots and the rubies. Again, a bolt of fear shot through her, and this time she couldn't be certain that it wasn't her own. This fear was sparked by the memory that even in her frantic preparations to flee Hogwarts, she'd calmly cast a reducing charm that would end at her death.

Just in case.

If her mother were to come to The Grange on the first of November, would she find her things still in miniature?

Or returned to their natural state?

She shoved the wardrobe door shut and stepped back, fighting for air.

Again, driven by instinct she didn't understand and fear that was all too real, she crept from the room and into the hallway. The structure spoke to her in whispers and moans, the same sounds she'd heard all her life, but now they felt so ominous, so deadly....

Instinct.

She, who didn't do anything without research, without study, without lists and charts and much hemming and hawing, was flying blind, running on instinct.

Where were these instincts leading her?

After everything that happened, how could she keep acting on them, trusting them?

The answer to that was simple enough.

Instinct was all she had left.

More than ever before, she felt how alone she was in this draughty old manor. She thought of all those generations who had gone before her, who had fought for Crown and country, and wondered that none had lingered. No ghosts were here to lend her their strength or courage...

But that didn't mean they had left her defenceless.

The armoury.

Generations of Granger males had served England with stouthearted valour, and the weapons they'd carried with them were lovingly stored in the humidity-controlled armoury beside the wine cellar.

She refused to consider how inadequate a broadsword or sabre would be against magic and clung instead to anticipation of the weight in her hands.

She might be driven by fear, but she would not meet the unknown unarmed.

She took off down the stairs.

~*~

He stared down at Avery.

The last one. The last fucking one. He stared at the expression of obsequious submission in his rheumy eyes, at the knobbly wrist and exposed forearm.

He loathed him. Is this how it feels? Do you loathe them even as they fawn over you, because they fawn over you? Is this how it feels to you, my Lord? He touched the wand to the Dark Mark.

And watched the toadying fool fall away in rapture.

Before Avery hit the floor, Severus whirled away and turned his back on the room of bodies, each in their own private vision of euphoria. His mind raced ahead as he flew into the adjoining parlour, the voice in his head chanting, You talk in your sleep. You talk in your sleep. You talk in your sleep.

"Severussss!"

He stopped midstride to find the Dark Lord beside him, his claw-like hand extended.

He stared at it.

You talk in your sleep.

And forced his eyes up to meet the throbbing red gaze.

"My wand, Severusss..."

He released the wand, watched it land in the open palm and then reached for his own. He looked past the Dark Lord to the door, the door that led to the corridor, and the corridor that led to...

He pushed forward and flew down the corridor, past closed doors, into the entry hall.

You talk in your sleep.

A half step into the turn...he was struck in the back with a force that sent him flying against the wall.

"You will not leave!" the Dark Lord's voice echoed from the walls.

Severus spun to face him. "I did as you required," he snarled. "I accepted their puling vows, vows from your weak, disgusting Death Eaters, so spineless they got on their knees before me and vowed to obey me, even though they despise me! And I gave them their pleasure and watched them succumb to their lusts and now, now I am finished, and I am going to find my wife!" He ended on a roar, not caring that the creature he faced was frozen in rage, not caring about any of it, except that she needed him, she needed him, she needed him.

The bolt of red hit his left forearm, and for one frozen moment, he felt nothing but shock.

And then...

Agony screamed through his body.

~*~

On the floor.

How did he get on the floor...?

The floor was for the bodies, the writhing bodies, the disgusting bodies....

Agony.

Red eyes.

"You cannot leave." This time, the voice was soft. "Severusss..." The hand stroked his hair and caressed his cheek, and he wanted to pull away, to shove it away from him. Yet, despite it all he felt soothed wherever it touched.

"Do you think I don't know what you're feeling? Do you think I ever receive obeisance that the power doesn't tempt me to go that very moment, that moment when I seethe with it, to go that very moment and find the Potter vermin and crush him?"

Severus lurched to his feet, attempted to stagger forward.

"Look at me, boy!"

He tried not to...refused to...but felt himself turning despite it all until he was staring into the Dark Lord's eyes.

"This cannot happen again. I won't have my second in command distracted in this way, whether or not you can help it. When you find her, you will bind her to you in such a way that she will not be able to leave you again. But..."

His grip on Severus's elbow tightened, but all Severus could think is, Bind her to me... yes. Yes.

"...you're in no state to leave. You cannot function. You received more than their vows. You drew magical power from everyone in that room. It's racing through you, and if you leave, not only will you be incapable of rational thought but you'll waste it, you'll dispel it." The Dark Lord grabbed his elbow and forced him to retrace his steps back up the long corridor...

He fought it, he fought it with everything he had, but was unable to do anything save put one foot before the other...

You talk in your sleep.

"You must complete the process, Severusss. You must absorb it, for her...." The voice was a quiet hiss in his ear. "Remember what I told you, Severusss, your strength strengthens her...."

"Bella..." he managed to say. "I talk in my..."

"And what if you did? Could you tell her that which you didn't know? Think, Severusss. Think!"

He didn't know. He didn't know where she was....

Bella didn't know.

The Dark Lord led him into a room he hadn't seen before, as opulent as a king's chambers. "You will sleep. Nothing can harm you. But you must sleep...."

Severus sank onto the bed and reached into his robes for the phial of potion, and as he drained it, he heard the sibilant hissing of an incantation he could no longer understand.

Bella didn't know.

Hermione was safe.

He lifted the phial to his nose and inhaled and tasted and for a moment, she was there with him.

And then, the comfort, sweet comfort of the thought...

Bind her to me. Bind her so she'll never leave again....

~*~

In her dream, he needed her.

In her dream, he cried out to her.

And she responded with a frantic ache deep in her chest, a need of her own to find him, to reassure him, to touch and hold him.

It started as a strange floating; she found herself hovering above a small body in a foetal curl with its back pressed up against a cold, hard wine cellar wall.

She'd learned quickly that sleeping on the floor provided comfort a soft mattress could not. The wall bracing her back could...in her imagination and dreams...become his body pressing against her. Even without his arms to embrace her and his breath warming her neck, she could almost, almost feel him there....

From her strange vantage point hovering above, she saw with a small lurch in her heart that he most assuredly was not there.

But his voice was.

She didn't hear it with her ears but felt it with her body; he murmured her name and sometimes called out to her, and so she must find him, because surely he was near, if she could feel him so strongly in her bones, her blood, her sinews.

Because it was a dream, she suddenly knew that she had merely to clutch the small phial of shaving soap to her nose and she could find him, soar to him on a gust of air that was warm and moist like the air in their bath, or like his breath on her skin.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply and felt sharp tears sting her eyes.

He needed her....

In that deep part of the night where exhaustion finally claimed her and she slept like the dead, it made sense to her that this was a sleep both deep enough and strong enough to carry her. She felt herself push off, push forward, and the dark cellar was gone and she was soaring, her eyes closed...

The better to hear him.

And to feel him... come closer....

She caught her breath at the glory of him.

Again, she knew it to be a dream, because her Professor would not be in a room of bronze velvet and green silk filled with golden light.

But oh, how beautiful he was, his naked body gilded in warmth, his musculature more sharply defined than she'd ever seen it, highlighted and contoured in light and shadow.

His face... oh, his face.

His features were twisted with despair.

He was curled around a pillow, clutching it to him, and she knew that in his loneliness, this was the closest he could come to holding her.

She dove down to him like a lark flitting on a breeze and would have laughed at such audacity of movement if she hadn't been so overwhelmed with an emptiness of her own.

What a splendid and horrific dream...splendid because he was here and she could see him and smell him and hear him.

Horrific because she could not taste him or feel him.

To be so close and yet...

She felt a fierce surge. He needed her and she would find a way. It was only a dream, but she could make anything happen in dreams, she knew she could...

She slid up his body until there was no pillow in his arms, only her, and if she pressed closely enough, she could see his arms wrapping around her and she felt a momentary victory.

But he didn't know she was there.

She reached up to touch his face, his beautiful face, to sweep the heavy fall of hair away, but her fingers went right through it.

Like a ghost's.

The ache in her chest grew.

Professor, she whispered, and the whisper came not from her but through her.

Professor! She cried out to him, cried for him, and stroked his eyebrows, pressed her lips to his nose, his beautiful, beautiful nose. Even though she couldn't feel the strength of bone and cartilage, the warmth and texture of skin, she stroked and kissed and reached out in desperation.

Professor, please...

What if she awakened without feeling him?

What good was a dream if she couldn't touch him?

And then, to make him scowl and sneer she let the words pour out that she could not say if he were awake...

My love, my dearly beloved, please! Open your eyes. Give me your eyes. Give me your black, black eyes....

Did he stir? Did those long, lush lashes flicker against his angel-white skin?

And with a rush, she whispered the words so fiercely they seemed to be real.

My darling boy.

His eyes flew open.

She was frozen in his arms, captured like a kitten trapped in a serpent's cold glare, and for a moment, a brief moment, she knew fear and pain and disgust...

But this was wrong. She would never feel those things, never, not in his arms, not when his gaze was on her.

This was his pain, his fear, his disgust.

He didn't see her.

Oh, Professor... Her sigh was born in pain and sadness as she frantically attempted to reach him.

Somewhere in those depths, he had called out to her, and she had done it, she had come to him...but he didn't know she was here.

Look at me, she begged, Professor, see me!

And he did, he did, only he was so angry, so bitter, and the way he tensed she thought he was going to thrust her away.

But instead, something softened, and he whispered, "Don't do that," and then, "That's my job."

And she realised she was chewing her lower lip.

And he could see her.

Give me your eyes, she said again and placed her palms on either side of his face. Give me your eyes....

And they opened wider, and she fell into them, plummeted as deeply and fiercely as if it were his soul.

Joy bubbled up inside her, joy and triumph and delight, because...

They were kissing.

His lips were soft and his mouth tasted of potion.

And she could have stayed that way forever.

Except...she had to tell him, she had so much to tell him...

Miss Granger, he said, his voice a low velvet rumble that went right through her body. Is there anything you can't do?

She lay there floating in the depths of his eyes and felt the sudden urgency of time running out.

There was so much to say, and yet, as happened so often in dreams, the words seemed beyond her grasp; she couldn't find them.

Time was running out.

She dug her fingers into his hair. even though they closed on nothing, and pulled him to her even though he was fading away.

Professor, I will save you, she said. Her eyes filled with tears, and tears clogged her throat but she forced the words out.

I will save you.

And you will save me.

And she awakened with her face wet and sobs wracking through her body.

She lifted the phial of shaving soap closer to her nose and inhaled.

And smiled through her tears, and laughed through her sobs because...

She could still taste his potion on her lips.

And it was real.

~*~

He sat bolt upright, his heart hammering in his chest.

The tang of spearmint and eucalyptus clung to the air.

I will save you. And you will save me....

He wanted to roar with rage, but held back, held on, choked on the sound before it could escape but...

Save?

Why the fucking hell didn't she tell him where she was?

A house-elf cracked into the room and froze in fright.

"You is awake!"

"Where are my robes?" he demanded.

"Is...is being cleaned downstairs, s-s-sir!" The house-elf stammered, looking everywhere but directly at him.

"Find me some. Black," he clarified.

The house-elf disappeared with another crack.

He sat in the soft glow of candlelight and realised with a glance at the clock that he'd barely slept two hours, yet he felt alert and energised like he hadn't felt in... a very long time.

He flung the covers away, stood and stared blankly at the room around him. These weren't the quarters he'd used on those rare occasions in the past when he had stayed at Malfoy Manor. He'd never seen these quarters before.

She had looked safe enough. She didn't appear injured. In fact, she looked...

He couldn't bring himself to linger on how wonderful she had looked, how right she had looked. Had felt...

Enough of this.

Assuming she was safe could only get him so far. Safe for how long? That was the question. And where?

His options were few.

Find her...and how long would that take?

Or summon Potter and end this bloody war.

The house-elf reappeared with a set of black robes finer than any he'd ever owned. Severus stared at them without touching...at the silk lining, the snakes of silver thread twining and writhing around the upturned collar. "Who..."

"I did, Severusss...." The Dark Lord entered the room and took the robes from the house-elf, who seemed only too grateful to be able to disappear yet again.

Severus slipped his arms into them and felt the cold silk slither over his bare skin as the opening up the front closed with a magical hiss. "Thank you, my Lord."

"You should not be awake," the Dark Lord said, his eyes narrowed.

"I have slept enough. I feel quite adequate to the day."

"As indeed, you look," the Dark Lord agreed suspiciously, "but you shouldn't. It should have taken you three times this long to be in the condition you're in now. How do you explain this?"

Is there anything you can't do? he had asked her.

But he spoke levelly. "I have no idea." He dropped to the bed to yank on his boots. "I don't know the etiquette, sir. Do I awaken Narcissa or do I start ordering her house-elves around myself?"

"What orders?"

"First, to clear the air out of the ballroom. The stench of warring perfumes was making me ill, and I don't intend to deal with it again now. Second, to find Salina Nott and bring her to me. Third..."

"Severusss... do not force me to prove to you yet again what it means to be second in command."

"My Lord." Severus rose and crossed the thickly carpeted floor until he stood before the Dark wizard, close enough to feel the Darkness creeping over him in waves. He dropped to one knee and raised the white hand to his lips and kissed the knotted emerald ring, then raised his eyes to meet the glowing orbs that glared down at him. "My Lord," he repeated, his voice low and even, "if you don't need me to launch the attack now, there is time for me to find my wife. It is certainly your decision, and I will do as you desire."

"My Death Eaters are barely functioning..."

"And you have three times the number of Death Eaters as there are members of the Order of the Phoenix, if the Order were to be there, which they won't because Potter will do this on his own."

"You are certain of this?"

Severus felt the knot of seething anger in his stomach. "I know Potter."

"Rise." The Dark Lord's eyes never left his, and finally they stood eye to eye. "Do not fail me."

~*~

A loud, distant shriek pierced the air.

And was immediately silenced.

The burglar alarm...

Silenced.

She shot up, her pulse pounding in her veins.

Someone was in the house. Someone who could silence the alarm so quickly, they obviously hadn't needed to walk from the door to the panel on the kitchen wall to punch in the code.

Someone who could silence the alarm in a second.

Maybe less.

Someone with magic.

If she stayed still, like a rabbit in her hole, they'd never find her. She'd used no magic, had left no magical signature. If the professor couldn't detect her when only a door separated them, this visitor would never find her in this vast home, not when she cowered in a dark corner in a dark cellar, barely breathing....

She nestled more deeply into the nest of blankets and stared into the darkness, straining to hear....

The wine cellar had been a source of great comfort.

She should have realised sooner, shouldn't she?

It reminded her of the dungeon.

The wine cellar... the dungeon... the crypt.

Even before their wedding, she'd already looked to dark subterranean places for strength and comfort.

Places that spoke to her of him.

And now, it was a dead end trap with no escape that didn't expose her to...

Whoever was inside her house.

But she couldn't just cower.

The door was well-oiled, she could peek out and...

No, that was stupid. Stupid.

She would simply have to remain still and silent until they left. The alarm would shriek again and then quiet again, too quickly for mere human intervention, again. They didn't know the code; they couldn't open the door to leave without setting it off.

She was fine. She was safe. Nobody would find her in her snug corner and she'd know when she could come out.

Her pulse pounded in her temples, in her throat, in her heart, even in her wrists. She felt as if the very veins beneath her skin writhed with rushing blood.

She squeezed her eyes shut...stayed still...so very still, and heard her own harsh breathing.

Oh, god, she had to stop this, had to stop heaving in air like she was swimming the English Channel and calm herself, calm, calm, calm...

A very long time passed. So long that she almost could convince herself that maybe, just maybe...she had never heard the alarm at all.

Maybe nobody was there.

Maybe it was her imagination, and nothing else.

Maybe she'd dreamed it.

Maybe she was losing her mind.

And then the door opened, and a harsh wedge of light spilled across the floor on the far side of the cellar.

She froze.

And when she saw a shadow move into the wedge of light, she stopped breathing.

And when she didn't hear the snick of a light switch and the cellar didn't flood with light she knew....

So the glowing tip of a wand didn't surprise her.

Slowly, she eased to the right, tugging her blankets with her, cringing at the whisper of fabric sliding, and her last glimpse before she'd managed to move to safety was...

A sheet of long, platinum hair glowing in the wand light.

Lucius Malfoy.

She clutched a pillow to her face to stop from crying out, to muffle her breathing, to simply give her something to cling to.

Malfoy. Here. In the cellar with her?

It made no sense.

There was no way he could have even found her home, much less find her hiding place now!

She braced herself. There would be no more than a split second for her to act, not if she were to have even a slight chance against his magic.

And deep down, she was terrified. She'd never hurt anyone before, and this...this was violent and bloody and would take everything she had in her...

But he wasn't coming after her.

She heard a gentle clink...

He was...

Clink.

Standing near the door...

Clink.

Toying with her.

Clink.

Waiting for her to crack.

And now she knew without a doubt.

She knew why her Professor had been afraid.

If she moved quietly... she could get the jump on him.

She braced herself...

And yet, couldn't do it.

Couldn't bring herself to attack him, not when he wasn't doing anything....

Not when it would only take one tiny sound to alert him to her exact location.

Clink.

How familiar, that sound.

Why?

Because... she almost gasped at the realisation.

He was checking out the wine.

How many times had she played and hidden between the racks while her father examined bottle after bottle, selecting just the right vintage?

A soft scuffle of boots on stone, as he moved just a bit closer to her....

The shriek of the alarm...

Her own shriek, barely stifled.

The sound of Malfoy's footsteps as he dashed out of the wine cellar and into the kitchen and...

The sudden quiet as the alarm silenced, not as quickly this time...

Oh, god, please no, no, no...

Don't let it be a neighbour coming to investigate.

Don't let it be...impossibly, yet wasn't it impossible for Lucius Malfoy to be here?...her mother or father.

She leapt to her feet and took several steps forward and then, Lucius's voice.... "Bella. I thought you'd never get here."

Bella.

"For Merlin's sake, don't destroy it," he continued.

"That noise is fucking annoying," the woman's voice responded. "I'd just as soon put it out of its misery."

"Go ahead, then. You'll call down the local constabulary on us. So far, they don't seem to have noticed my little invasion of the Mudblood's property, but if you want to put the alarm totally out of commission, be my guest."

Hermione stood stiff, realising her error. Before, she was crouching and small in the deep, black shadows. Now she was standing, and though the light didn't hit her directly, any movement risked being seen by the two standing in the open doorway.

She could do nothing but stand, and hope, and pray.

"She isn't here," Lucius drawled. "I've already looked, but feel free to do your worst."

"She could be hiding..."

"Do you think my desire to find her is any less than yours?"

"That depends. Did you take your vow?" She spoke the last word...vow...with such hatred that Hermione's skin chilled.

"The day I drop to my knees and take an oath to Snape..."

To Severus?

"...is the day you can eat my kidneys for your supper. I must thank you, my dear, for giving me such a splendid opportunity to decline the honour."

"And how did I do that?"

"Severus was so distraught at the idea of you on the hunt for the lovely Madam Snape, he was forced to send me to..." His pause was eloquent. "Stop you."

Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter was a beautiful trill, echoing off the walls. "You? Stop me? From harming the Mudblood?"

"His faith in his old friends is quite quaint, is it not?"

"Pathetic."

"Indeed."

"But how did you know to come here?"

Lucius's voice was a low purr of satisfaction. "How do I know everything about the Mudblood Snape? I simply asked Percy Weasley. It seems he's had his eye on her for a very long time and knows things about her that no one else ever thought to consider... As soon as Severus mentioned her familial connections, I made it my business to find out more, and Weasley was more than happy to share his font of knowledge."

"You needn't sound so smug. You didn't get anything out of him I didn't get. All I needed was to know how and where to find... The Grange." She spoke the last word as if tasted of filth.

"But tell me, Bella, is it really as fun if you have to resort to Imperio?"

"Unforgivables are always fun," she snapped. "And now I'm going to look for myself, if you don't mind. You can't convince me that you have examined every square inch of this pitiful Muggle attempt at architecture and that she isn't hiding like a rat in a dark corner somewhere."

Hermione's head spun. If her feet hadn't been braced wide, she might have had trouble standing. Why were people taking oaths to the Professor? Why were Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy here?

What was she going to do?

"I do have one question, Bella... what do you intend to do with her if you find her?"

"Kill her, of course."

Of course.

"And thus, kill Severus," Lucius stated coldly.

What? This was madness, what were they saying?

"Of course." Again, Bella's laughter, this time a velvet caress. "Perhaps if we Apparate back quickly enough, we'll see it happen. What do you think occurs? Does he drop dead on the spot, or does he go into a slow decline, a long, slow suffering decline...?"

"Tell me, Bella, which one do you really want dead?"

"Whether it's by killing his Mudblood slut of a wife or an Avada Kedavra to his back or crushing his throat with my own bare hands, I will not only see Severus Snape dead, I will be the cause of it," she spat.

And at those words, Hermione realised, yes, she could kill.

"You are a wicked woman."

"And you wish you'd married me instead of my anaemic sister?"

"I'd rather marry Severus."

This time, they both laughed, but Hermione was beyond caring, beyond rational thought as...

She stepped into the open and raised the Webley revolver her grandfather had worn as he stormed the beaches on D-Day--

And cocked the hammer.

And in the flash of a moment saw Bellatrix Lestrange spin to face her, beautiful eyes narrowed, smile triumphant, wand raising...

Hermione pulled the trigger.

The ear-shattering blast threw her back a step and...

The world slowed down.

Bellatrix...falling back with the impact.

A small black hole in her shoulder.

Lucius Malfoy, behind her, splattered with blood.

Bella, shrieking, screaming, in pain and rage...

And dissolving.

Her beauty dissolved before Hermione's eyes.

Her elegant ravens wing hair...gone.

Her alabaster skin...gone.

Her full breasts spilling from her low-cut, tight robes...gone.

Malfoy seemed as stunned as Hermione to see the ravaged crone he now supported in his blood-soaked arms, robes hanging off her emaciated body, her hair limp and grey ...

Ravaged but not defeated, as she shrieked again and raised her wand...

Hermione shot again.

At nothing.

Lucius Malfoy had Apparated them both away.

She dropped to her knees, trembling, hands shaking...cradled the gun to her breast. She couldn't stay. They would return and she couldn't be here.

She grabbed her rucksack and clung to her gun as if it were her wand and reached deep into her pocket for the two pence she had saved for Luna's summons.

She could wait no longer.

She squeezed the two pence...

Felt the sickening tug behind her belly...

And within moments, was on her hands and knees outside the gates of Hogwarts, staring at the hand that had pulled the trigger.

She was afraid she had killed someone.

She was more afraid that she hadn't.

And as she stared at her empty hand, she was afraid because her grandfather's gun was no longer there.

~*~