Chapter 7: When Dreams and Life Coincide

Author's Note: Story depicted may be unpalatable to sensitive readers for its portrayal of Hermione and Ron's relationship. Hermione may also not be likeable to readers. Some readers might consider the characters a little OOC. Some organisations and Ministry of Magic departments are made-up.

It would help readers following the story to view it as a 'cinematic' experience whereby there are shifts in perspectives, as well as shifts between flashbacks, the past, the present, dreams and reality within the space of one chapter.

Footnotes, translations &ca follow chapter.

Emphasises are italicised and book titles are underlined.

From the Blood of the Gorgon

Chapter 7 – When Dreams and Life Coincide

Two days later, despite a spectacularly successful day at Court Number 5 where the Malfoy and Goyle crime families were cooperatively keeping their mouths shut thereby earning their acquittal times ten, Hermione returned to her office at Chiswell Square still nursing a headache. It seemed that nearly every aspect of her private life was falling spectacularly to pieces. The whole irony of it was a part of Hermione felt very glad that things were falling part so much so that she found the entire process highly amusing. Of course things would fall apart in her private life; it had no centre from which it could hold everything down.

Given that almost every facet of her personal life was spiralling out of control, Hermione felt that it was only a matter of time before she too was sucked into the whirlpool where she would slowly degenerate into a madwoman. While madness held some appeal for her as a means of escaping the unpleasant realities currently plaguing her, she did not want to fall into that pleasant prospect just yet. It was not the thing to run away and seek solace in madness when she had her children to think of. Thankfully, they were more hers than his, and did not have their father's lamentable observation skills or emotional quotient. They, of course, as Hermione suspected, had a fair inkling that something was not quite right between mummy and daddy. Rose's latest letter to Hermione, dispatched from Hogwarts to Chiswell Square, confirmed that. The story of the matrimonial fracas in the famous Ron Weasley-Hermione Granger household had already been doing the rounds among the study body at Hogwarts. Hermione was fully aware that her daughter was more likely alerted to it by a schoolmate shoving the Daily Prophet editorial under her nose, and as such, was not the least surprised when the child wrote to her enquiring whether her parents would be getting a divorce because "daddy had done something unforgivably naughty".

Steadying her breathing so as to keep her emotions in check, she mentally applauding her daughter for her perspicuous frankness and set about answering the child in the gentlest way she knew how – by informing her that regardless as to what would happen between her parents, they both still loved her and her brother very much. Watching the owl fly off with those few comforting words to her daughter however did not soothe Hermione's spirit. Both her mind and soul were still heavy.

Her discreet enquiries into the author of the offensive Daily Prophet editorial had not yielded any information, though her senior clerk assured her he would do his best to worm out the truth. She was also no closer to solving the mystery of Severus Snape's death and his missing corpse. She knew she should be expending her effort on mastering the brief due for hearing at the International Wizarding Court of Justice in two months but she found herself unable to concentrate. All that she could think on was the whole business as to whether Severus Snape was dead and whither his body had disappeared.

While a part of her acknowledged that any endeavour into this matter was a waste of her time and resources (and as a barrister, time was her most valuable resource), she felt deep within her soul that her life would be improved if she could unravel the mystery. Not only would she be assured of peaceful sleep at the resolution of this issue, she would also receive the added advantage of knowing the truth as to what happened to Severus Snape at long last. She could not help but smirk deprecatorily at herself at her realisation that she was back to thinking on 'aletheia' or truth. Her nature was such that it thrived on learning and acquiring knowledge. She was not one to hoard what she knew, for she constantly applied her knowledge and allowed it to evolve according to the situation at hand. Whenever she came across something that eluded her understanding, she would expend all her resources until she finally gained a full acquaintance with it.

Unable to fend off her need to pluck out the heart of this mystery, she picked up her trusty propelling pen and sifted through the welter of papers on her desk for her well-hidden notebook. On finding the book, she irritably flipped the pages to find the folded sheet of paper containing Perseuss's Latin scrawls. There was it again – that indeterminable something she found familiar in his handwriting. "One thing at a time, old girl," she chided herself, "one thing at a time."

With her notebook now open, she reviewed all that she had written thus far and unconsciously began clicking the propelling pen in thought. Damn Dumbledore and his habit of writing in riddles! She had already ascertained that he and Severus had been speaking of the Myth of Er when she cracked the façade of 'truth' to reveal 'forgetfulness' or Lethe. Now, she had to figure out the significance of the Myth of Er in the whole schema of Severus's possible escape from the jaws of death. On top of that, she had to consider the effects of the various concoctions Dumbledore bade Severus carry on his person as well as the whole Alamannia connection.

Beginning with that which seemed to her to the simplest, she considered the matter of Myth of Er. Could it be that Perseuss was the reincarnation of Severus? Like Severus, Chambers' new Pupil knew of her food allergy, seemed to know her well enough to guess at her floo connection activation code, and shared his sneer and defensive mechanisms when pushed into a corner.

She could not deny there were certain similarities between them. However there were marked differences as well. For one, Perseuss seemed to at least have some friends, and he enjoyed taking walks in the park overlooking Chambers. In all her years at Hogwarts, she had never know her former potions master to have true friends beyond Albus Dumbledore (if one could call a manipulative old goat a friend) and did not enjoy taking the air in the sunshine. Indeed the more she thought about, the more convinced she was that Perseuss could not be the reincarnation of Severus Snape. The more she thought on it, the more far-fetched the idea seemed to her. It had been twenty-two years since the fall of Voldemort and yet, Perseuss von Bastiae was, according to his file, no older than twenty-five. The timing did not coincide. "However," she mused, clicking at the pen again. "It could be that he is somehow related to Professor Snape. A son that he fathered before he escaped perhaps? If he did indeed escape – that was still a matter of some conjecture. That would at least account for the similar traits they shared. That would also account for the Alamannia connection. Alamannia was one of the ancient pockets of Germany. It is likely that Professor Snape fled there and started a new life with a new name. He could have liaised with Dumbledore's distant cousins who were descended from the Merovingians and began anew."

As she became more enamoured of this mode of thought, she paused with the realisation that she had a made a grievous assumption. She had assumed Severus had not died. What if he had? She still knew nothing of the circumstances between the time she, Harry and Ron left the Shrieking Shack all those years ago following his expiry and the time they returned for the body. She could ask Perseuss for the details of his birth, but that would be intrusive, and Hermione did not wish to appear ill-mannered before him again, especially since she had made a royal cake of herself when she confronted him two nights ago. That route was, for now, closed to her. Until she had all the facts surrounding the potions Severus could have used to escape, and the manner of escape (if actually deployed), she could not afford to make hasty conclusions.

So, what did she know? The reincarnation theory did not hold water. That meant she had to return to the figurative meanings of the Myth of Er as well as the significance of the waters of Lethe and Mnemosyne and their effects in slowing down the dark prima materia in Nagini's venom. Were these things not just attempts to defy fate? If one must die, one should die. Why bother to defy death? Or is cheating death not considered a form of defiance?

In the Myth of Er, none of the lives chosen by the dead for their next lives bore any links with philosophy. The reason is that since the myths come at the end of the Republic, we have to see that not only is justice to be valued for its own sake in this life, but in any future life as well. The philosopher would perhaps wish to remain outside the cave, uninvolved with the shadow world of ordinary political and economic reality. However, the Republic shows that it is the duty of good people to work to make things better where they live. It is unfortunate, perhaps, that in order to live a good life, one must choose justice even if it meant facing death and defying it. That could be the very reason for Dumbledore's ramblings on it. He wanted Severus to do that which he – the great Dumbledore – could not. He wanted Severus to defy death by choosing to lead a just life over again. That was why he arranged for his relatives in some deep, dark hole in Germany to await Severus should he decide to flee there. Once there, Severus could live the life he was supposed to have led while in Britain but did not and could not because of his allegiance to Voldemort.

That was all very well, but what about the constituents of the so-called counter-poison? The Sopophorous Beans stewed in Knotwood juice would react to the natural venom of the spectacled cobra by coating the venom molecules with a form of toxin so as to prevent it from completely binding to the acetylcholine receptors, thereby preventing the body from shutting down. Given that Nagini's venom was pure dark prima material, the magical aspect of her bite could not be arrested. It could only be slowed down with the addition of the scale of a black Hungarian Horntail Dragon. That could, in turn, only be dissolved in the waters of Lethe. The waters of Lethe possessed its own danger of corroding the body's internal organs as well as erasing one's memories if not tempered with a few drops of the waters from Mnemosyne.

The addition of time turner sand would reverse the effects of both the toxins and prima materia by turning back time for the consumer. There were documents attesting to wizards who had turned back the clock ten or more years upon consuming a time-turner sand solution. However, time turner sand was notoriously difficult to dissolve and could only be completely soluble in the Lethe's waters.

Then, there were bound to be side effects to this, for time turner sand was famous for producing far-reaching effects when deployed in potions. Unfortunately, Hermione did not know what these possible effects entailed as very few potion masters using time turner sand in their concoctions lived to tell what happened after they had consumed the brew, and historical documents on those who did survive were sketchy at best. Hermione did know that, since all its ingredients were brewed in the waters of Lethe from Boeotia, the consumer would likely suffer from some kind of memory loss. As to whether this would be permanent or otherwise, she did not know.

Hermione sighed. There were too many things she did know, and she did not like it. She was still no closer to uncovering the reasons for her nightmares or improving the quality of her sleep. On top of that, her life was in shambles. Clicking the propelling pen irritably, she pushed aside her notebook and took up the Tajik case file.

Fate chose that moment to knock on her door by sending the Perseuss into her office. Fortunately for her, they were both sensible enough not to mention the disquieting events of two nights ago, and to all intents and purposes were behaving as they usually were with each other.

"Herr Summerby wanted me to hand this to you," began the pupil without preamble. "He said it urgently requires your perusal."

Nodding absently at him, she patted a place on the desk with her free hand and continued her abuse of the pen. "Thank you."

"It may not be my place to say this," ventured Perseuss quietly, his gaze riveted at her repeated clicking of the pen. "But that is very annoying. If you are troubled over something, take a walk and clear your head. You must be badly troubled or you would not be trying to drive anyone near you to madness with that noise."

Instantly, Hermione set down the pen and narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know I'm troubled?"

He curled his lips contemptuously and flashed her a meaningful look. "Because you are fiddling with the pen and clicking it most irksomely, which shows you are annoyed with both the brief and yourself for being unable to master it. Take a walk, it would help. If that is all, good day to you."

Without waiting for her dismiss him, he spun around on his heels and left.

While Perseuss' seemingly extensive knowledge about her disturbed her, she did not allow it to rule her fears. Instead, she chose to concentrate her efforts on the Tajik brief. She was so engrossed in it that when she went home, she was still making notes on it at the dinner table. Her husband, as was customary when he was not the centre of attention, showed his displeasure by eating noisily and complaining about her appalling habit of reading and writing at the dinner table.

"If you don't stop that, I have another excuse with which to divorce you," Hermione said, clicking her pen and frowning at the pages of the law book and sheaves of paper before her. "If I wanted to marry someone with poor table manners, I would have married an ogre, thank you very much."

Dropping his cutlery onto his plate, Ron glared at her. "What about you? We're having dinner and you're working!"

She looked up briefly at him and cracked a smile before returning to her notes. "Just realised it? It's not too late. My felicitations on finally noticing something about me. I also notice that you frequently bring your Auror's briefs to the dinner table. You have never heard me complaining."

"I have always given you attention!" insisted Ron sullenly. "Besides my work concerns national security, which is far more important than what you do."

"And national security forbids me from bringing my work to the dinner table while allowing you do so freely?"

"Yes... No... Er... Yes." He paused, scrounging up his face in thought. "Stop confusing me!"

"Says the man whom Harry revealed Confounded his driving instructor." Her voice came out bored and toneless. "Perhaps our ethics are unsuited. Shall we agree to a separation and thence divorce?"

"What is this about a divorce?"

"Just a thought. An idle inclination if you like. You could say, I'm putting a feeler out and testing the waters."

"I won't hear of it!" declared he stoutly. "I won't disgrace the family with a divorce."

"Even though you've been 'unforgivably naughty' as our darling daughter puts it?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice, circling something on the paper with her pen. "Ron, I am a very catholic person. I do not care if you have your discreet amours outside this house. However, I draw a line at your mistress making an exhibition of herself in the newspapers by shamelessly advertising the deficiencies of our marriage."

"What do you mean?" gasped he with a blank look on his face.

She propped up her head with one hand and rested her chin on her palm, and clicked at the pen thoughtfully as she strove to find an elegant yet simple way of putting things to her husband. "You must have realised there was an editorial in the Daily Prophet two days ago highlighting the disharmony in our marriage to much of the wizarding populace. I would not have thought the article was talking about us until I saw that the writer of the piece very clumsily reversed the initials of all the main players. It intimated that I was kept in the dark as to your affair when the truth is I don't really give a damn so long as you no longer touch me and continue to keep your amour discreet. The writer also seems to think very highly of your paramour, whom the writer dubbed 'virtuous and beautiful'. Such an encomium! I did not know one could call the third party in a marriage 'virtuous', but I shall graciously take it as part of the changing times in which we live."

She paused to take a sip of her cranberry juice and suppressed a tiny laugh at Ron's gaping mouth. "After conducting a small private investigation into the matter, I now know for certain neither you nor I leaked this shameful news to the press. We are not people to wash dirty linen in public, so obviously someone else intimately acquainted with the matters of this household must have written that atrocious piece. Imagine my surprise to learn that the editorials in the Daily Prophet are rotated amongst the editors of the various sections, last week, the editorial was written by Pansy Malfoy, editor of the financial section, and the week before that, the editorial was written by Jonathan Figgs, editor of the sports section. Guess who is the editor of the witches' section in the paper? She is also the editor of Witches Weekly. Guess which section head wrote the editorial this week? The women's section editor. I really wish you could rein your mistresses in a little better."

"What did you do to her?" asked Ron, tightening his hold of the stem of his wine glass.

"Beyond a strongly worded owl? Nothing," said she in a nonchalant air. "I told her she was more than welcome to you and your penis so long as she keeps me out of whatever it was that she thinks she's doing in her mission to ensnare you. Harm my children or me in any possible way and I will retaliate with the full force of wizarding law."

"Is that necessary?" Ron wringed his hands nervously, looking very much like a bilious pigeon. "Can't you two get along? The three of us could have much fun..."

"No, ye of little grey matter! This is not ancient China where the first wife has to suffer in silence while you take two other wives and four concubines!" she riposted. "As soon as I can find the time, I'll meet with Hiero McGonagall to discuss the divorce. I suggest you do not contest it."

"How can you do this to me when I have always been attentive to you?" Ron protested.

"Have you now?" Hermione's voice lowered warningly as she flipped a page and clicked the pen. "Do you know why I do this?"

"Do what?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes and clicked at her pen irritably. "This – with the pen."

He merely shrugged. "Because you don't use Muggle stationery anymore. You use quills now. Because you can't use the clacky writing stick anymore, you long to use it. You should stop playing with it; people will think you're weird. You're already weird enough in the wizarding world. By Merlin's balls, put the stick away and use a quill like a normal witch."

"Is that what you think?" she said, rising with her books and papers. Then as she made her way to the doorway, she turned around. "Perhaps we really are not suited. Our daughter said as much in her latest letter. Do you know what she wrote? She said if mummy works for the sake of the family and daddy lies on the sofa scratching his balls, mummy and daddy are not suited. I wonder what our Rose must have seen or heard to make that observation."

Seeing Ron's stunned face gave her the courage to leave him where he was, and she promptly returned to her study where she could be left in peace.

Later that night, drifting to sleep in between thoughts of her husband's ill-acquaintance with her habits and ways vis-à-vis Perseuss von Bastiae's apparent understanding of her various facets, Hermione was rudely greeted by the nightmare yet again. This time however, she was no longer in the Shrieking Shack but in the Hogsmead district. It was late and all the shops were closed. Conveniently the gaslights were dimly lit, and she was wandering about the area, thankfully shoed and decently clothed. The structure of the Shack rose up sharply against the landscape. Instead of making her way to the Shrieking Shack as her dreams usually had her do, she took her time to look around. The air was cold and crisp, and the gaslights flickered and she thought she perceived a shadow dark away from the corner of her eyes. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Most likely they were. Commonsense dictated (and even in her dreams, sense tended to assert itself) that it was nothing. Foolish females who followed shadows likely to be figments of their imagination usually ended up in a bad way – butchered, robbed, hexed, Imperio-ed or some similar fate.

She was just about to ignore the imagined fleeting shadow when she saw it again. This time, it was pacing a short distance ahead right before the broken gates of the Shrieking Shack. Briefly, she thought it resembled the tall figure of her former potions master. Throwing aside her previous inhibitions, she hastened her footsteps to the rusty gates. Were her eyes deceiving her? Was it really Severus Snape? She tiptoed forward so as to better observe the pacing shadow without giving away her presence. His figure appeared haggard and worn, and from the flickering lights of the lampposts, he looked as though he had aged somewhat since she last saw him. His features were sharper than usual, making his hooked nose more prominent than she had remembered. With a pang somewhere in her chest, she saw that his cheeks had hollowed and his eyes were lustreless.

"By Merlin!" she exclaimed faintly, a hand flying across to cover her mouth. "Is that you, Professor Snape?"

"Were you expecting Merlin himself, ridiculous chit?" he sneered, squinting a little to see her underneath the bad lighting.

"A dashedly odd place for an assignation," commented she in a false jocular manner.

"Remind me to beat the idiot who arranged this over my shinbone, Miss Granger," he hissed, flicking a lock of hair back violently. "Why are we here? Why are you here?"

She did not answer. She could not. Her mouth refused to open, her lips refused to part, and her tongue would not prate. Unable to say aught when it was clear that the older wizard was expecting a reply, she threw herself at him and hugged him.

"Cease molesting me," he commanded without making any real effort to pry her off.

"So, you aren't dead?" she managed to speak at last. On receiving no response, she looked up and immediately released him. Stumbling backwards in as much astonishment and horror, she retreated until she found herself leaning on a lamppost. Still refusing to believe her eyes, she opted for easier choice between the flight or fight instinct always aroused in creatures when they did not know how they ought to deal with a circumstance entirely new to them. She chose the path of exercise by hitching up her skirts and running away.

"No, it cannot be! It went against logic," her brain rattled, attempting to rationalise all she had seen and heard. "How could it be?" Then again, this was a dream – no, nightmare – and night terrors were not known have much rationality. She had seen Severus Snape, and conversed with him. No! No! How could he have melted away to become Perseuss von Bastiae? That was not possible unless Polyjuice had been brought into play. Hermione racked her brains for an explanation and found it. She was in the dream state, and in the dream state, any damn thing was possible.

"Yes," her brain mocked her, "even the possibility of the path returning you to very place from which you fled." True enough, she found herself back at the gates of the Shrieking Shack where, to her surprise, stood Severus Snape once again.

He looked down disapprovingly at her. "You should stop running off if you want me take you seriously. Now, Miss Granger, explain to me what am I doing here?"

"You've returned," she managed to exhale unsteadily while ignoring the rational nagging in her brain that something was not quite right. "Where were you hiding all these years? You didn't die that day! You must come with me. We must tell Harry. We must alert the Ministry to this and set things right. Come along." As she said so, she took his bony, gnarled hand and tried to drag him with her.

The idea did not seem to gain his approval for he flung off his hand. Dazed, Hermione turned around in a silent imploring gesture. As was customary with Severus when shoved in situations of not his choosing, he addressed Hermione with a string of extremely colourful invectives in a variety of equally colourful languages. Long accustomed to men going on and on in this manner, Hermione nodded and closed her eyes briefly so as to temporarily shut out the involuntary shudder she felt on hearing his voice again.

"Yes, yes, I'm well acquainted with the sentiments with which you regard me, my friends, the Ministry and what-have-you. But it would be proper if we were to give them an explanation," she reasoned, flicking her gaze towards him. However, once again, she found Severus Snape replaced by the figure of Perseuss von Bastiae. Refusing to run away as she did previously, she stood her ground and waited for him to speak.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded in an angry hiss, as he seized her hand convulsively. "I do not even know myself anymore. What are you trying to accomplish?"

Before she could answer, Hermione found the surroundings fading away into nothingness as she was sucked back to consciousness. The reason for this lay with her husband.

He still, unfortunately, lacked enough sense to realise that entering Hermione's study was akin to stepping into a lion's den. This accounted for his self-perceived display of manliness as he told his wife, when he roughly shook her awake, she had been screaming and shouting rather loudly in her sleep, that it was preventing him from sleeping in the next room, and that sex with him would erase her nightmares. When she refused his offer, he added that if she did not shut up or drop all talk of divorce, he would plaster her mouth with a spell and made sure that she would never speak again.

"Then move in with your virtuous and beautiful mistress," she snarled, while casting the necessary charms to shove the useless blackguard out of her study and soundproof her room. Once her sanctuary had been cleansed of his presence, she lay down on the sofa-bed and pondered as to the meaning of the latest twist of her haunting dream. Unable to make head or tail of it, she tried to sleep, but was once again haunted by the images of the nightmare where she tries to save a dying Severus Snape who somehow always seemed to phase into Perseuss von Bastiae and vice versa.

This continued repeatedly until she suddenly started out of the dream state and saw what she thought was Severus peering at her. "What's the matter? Another bad dream? Or are you living it this time?" he enquired, a finger thoughtfully tracing his lips.

At that point, Hermione sat up bolt upright, drenched in cold sweat, fully awake and quite alone.

FOOTNOTES:

Readers and reviewers who have been asking what happened to Snape post-snake bite, please reread the whole British Library experience (Ch 5) carefully, especially the memory of Dumbledore's conversation with Snape as well as the whole Snape-Dumbledore correspondence and Hermione's dissection of it. The clues are mostly there.

All references to characters are from Rowling's Harry Potter universe unless otherwise stated.

Facts about Wizarding Law and Wizarding Politics are made up.

Facts about the improvements of any Wizarding and/or Muggle object, governing body, and facility are made up.

Facts about other Harry Potter universe characters in the post-Voldemort years are also made up.

References to the Republic stem from my interpretation of that Platonic text.

Legal references are to British Law. American readers, please bear with me. My beta also made the suggestion that readers unaccustomed to the legal jargon herein pretend you are watching Rumpole of Old Bailey or Sherlock Holmes.

Lethe - ancient Greek mythological river of forgetfulness. For more details on this, please reread Chapter 5.

A propelling pen is the click-click pen (as it is called in Southeast Asia) or as my beta calls it, the clicker style ballpoint pen. It is a pen where you push a clicker on the top of the pen to "propel" the nib forward and push the clicker again to sheath the nib. It is so-called in the UK because when you click the top of the pen, the nib propels forward from the case. In simple terms, a propelling pen is a ballpoint pen where one presses the clicker to "propel" the nib forward.

Silk is British legal slang for King's/Queen's Counsel because the gown for the KC/QC is made of silk.

Chambers – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Head of Chambers – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

'Employed' barrister – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Barrister – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Solicitor – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

'Brief' or 'Briefs' – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 3.

The "3 wives, 4 concubines" reference –

Hermione's reference to 3 wives and 4 concubines stems from the fact that warlords in ancient China generally had 3 wives and 4 concubines. Sometimes they had more concubines, but 3 wives and 4 concubines is the usual number.