Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The HP universe belongs to J.K.R. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Hermione woke abruptly.

And this time, she remembered.

Remembering was not the relief that Hermione might have expected. In fact, she was shaken to discover that the memory of a defeated and exhausted Severus Snape strode to the front of her mind with alarming frequency. Despite her efforts to relegate her dream to the annals of things that go bump in the night, Hermione could not shake the feeling that her conversation with Severus Snape actually had occurred in a location outside her own dreams.

Laughing to herself, Hermione realised that contemplating conversations inside her head, or imaginary ones outside her head, would be enough to concern her if she were hearing such a story from one of her patients. After the Voldemort Wars, there had been more demand than ever for Healers who could help the devastated survivors of war. Hermione, who had seen more than enough trauma firsthand, liked the idea of becoming a Healer of broken lives and was among the first batch of trainees that St Mungo's accepted after Voldemort's defeat.

Six years of schooling and practical experience left Hermione with a healthy appreciation for human resilience but with a deep sadness borne of hearing tale after tale of helplessness, loss and trauma. People endure so much pain, survive so much suffering. Which brought her back to Snape. She shook her head. Well, Snape was dead. Her dreams notwithstanding, Snape had died before her eyes, bled out from the vicious bite of Voldemort's familiar, Nagini. She shook her head. Somebody else must have retrieved his body before we returned to bury him. It had bothered her for years that they had never recovered his body, and she told herself that one of his compatriots must have discovered him and, she hoped, given him a proper burial. But this fantasy gave her little peace of mind, especially this morning.

I would feel better if I knew for sure that he had a proper burial, not to mention a hero's funeral. She nodded to herself with a deep sigh and opened the patient file in front of her, pushing thoughts of Snape and funerals and an exhausted, haunted-looking wizard from her mind.

***

The haunted-looking wizard was glaring at her through the swirling mist. As if I had any alternative to being here, she thought bitterly. I can certainly think of people I'd rather see during my nighttime wanderings. He looked just as he had the previous night. Dark eyes flashing, sneer in place, and the movement of his black robes in the slight breeze a counterpoint to the whiteness of the mist. Why, why am I dreaming of Snape?

Echoing her thoughts, his sharp voice cut through her reverie. "I thought I told you to stay away, girl."

"It would appear," said Hermione, "that I have no choice in the matter."

He looked at her for a long moment and turned away again.

Hermione gritted her teeth. Just like one of those prickly adolescents who won't let anybody get close to them, no matter how hurt or afraid they feel. Ah. She smiled to herself.

"I don't know about you, but I, for one, would like to understand what's going on here. From what you've said, you've been here a while," she looked around again at the desolate surroundings, "and being alone in this doesn't appear to have done you much good."

Eyes narrowed, he shot her a look of contempt. "This," he gestured, "does not appear to be of my own making." He looked at her meaningfully. "In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, I would say that this... place... exists inside of you, Miss Granger." He clicked his tongue in a disapproving gesture. "Rather bleak, wouldn't you say?"

Heat flooded her, at that. He couldn't know how depressed I've been, how lonely. It's impossible. He's just flinging arrows, trying to deflect my efforts to engage him. "You used to be better at that," she said sharply and was rewarded by the flare of his nostrils and a sharp glare.

"I've been a bit out of practice." He turned again to gaze out into the distance.

She looked at him for a long moment, desperate to find a way past his hostile withdrawal. "I expect that it will take our combined efforts to figure out what is going on... and to fix it."

He scoffed, "That's always been the trouble with you, Miss Granger – your absolute certainty that you can fix anything you choose. This is irretrievably broken." He looked at her menacingly. "And I've seen quite enough of you already."

Struggling to control the angry flush that flooded her, she held his gaze until she was calm enough to speak. "At the moment, Professor," she said softly, "I appear to be all you've got."

***

Hermione woke with a pounding headache. Sitting up, she groaned softly, cradling her face in her hands. What is going on here? What could he mean by saying that place is inside of me? Oh, for Merlin's sake, this is just a bizarre dream brought on by too many hours at work and too little... too little time with people I care about. She shook her head and immediately regretted it as the pounding intensified. It was only when she felt the cool dampness brushing her hands that she realised she was crying.

***

From the time she was a child, the library had been Hermione's refuge. She couldn't remember ever being taught that comfort and pleasure could be found in the smell of leather bindings, the faded presence of old ink, the feel of ancient paper.... She'd just always known.

And so, when Hermione was depressed, or lonely, or afraid, she went looking for something to read. Sometimes, it would be a novel – something to distract her. But more often than not, she looked for solutions to what troubled her in the heart of the library. You would think that learning to be a therapist would have cured me of that by now. There's nothing like listening to people's suffering and struggling to help them find their way out of the dark to realise what cannot be found in books. She turned back to her reading. But still, it's not a bad beginning...

***

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries had a library to rival that of Hogwarts. Though it was her day off, Hermione made her way to the hospital and quickly lost herself in the stacks. I must be insane. I've been having strange dreams, that's all. I'm just looking for information on dreams, not on the type of magic that could allow me to create a space that could hold someone else's... I don't know, someone else's soul... inside of my own.

But despite her best efforts to convince herself, Hermione found herself drifting away from the tomes on dream interpretation. Instead, after wandering aimlessly amongst the stacks for a while, Hermione looked up to find herself face to face with the Restricted Section of the library.

St Mungo's had an extensive collection of books on the Dark Arts, and while Hermione did not work on the wards where the victims of Dark spells recovered, she did have a reasonable familiarity with the collection. Souls, where else would I go to learn about souls? She shrugged, surrendering. Surrounded by piles of books and in her element again, Hermione bent her head contentedly to her research.

Three hours later, Hermione was not so content. For all her reading about souls, she was no further in her effort to discover how one soul could contain another. That's because there is no such magic and you've just been having really bad dreams, she chided herself. But why am I dreaming about Snape? And why didn't he appear the way I remember him? He looked so sad, defeated. He was always such a bully, never showed weakness. What would make me dream about a sad and defeated Snape? She shook her head impatiently. And why is that making me cry? As Hermione lifted her head, brushing the tears from her eyes, she could have sworn that she saw a glimpse of Severus Snape in a chair in the corner of the library. When she blinked, he was gone.

***

"How did you get into the library yesterday?"

He looked up impatiently from the book he was reading. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Wait a minute!" she looked around at the chairs and stacks of books that had not been there the night before. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I told you. This place is inside of you, Miss Granger. Apparently, your world is filled not only with damp mists and dust, but also with... books." He smirked and returned to his reading.

"Oh, you're one to talk. I expect that your relationship with books is no different from mine." Especially if you've been as lonely as I think you are... as lonely as I have been. She turned to face him.

"So, what have you found?"

"Found?" He didn't lift his eyes.

"I spent the day researching dreams. Well, I started off with dreams and then moved on to souls. I expect that, if what you say is true, that most of what appears here would be books I've read ..."

He interrupted her. "Perhaps," he gestured at the rows of books, "but perhaps not books you've read in their entirety, Miss Granger. Maybe just books you've touched or read in part."

She nodded. Prolific reader though she was, even she didn't believe that she had read each and every book on those shelves, cover to cover. She didn't think so, anyway.

"Well, that's a help then, isn't it?" she said briskly, walking to the table and settling herself in the chair opposite his.

"What have you found?" she repeated.

He shrugged. "Not much, actually. There is very little to go on here. I am assuming that you did something to prevent my soul from moving on after..." he shuddered, "... after I was bitten."

When he was bitten. Turning her head, distracted by the memory, she gazed at the bookshelves, images from that day flooding her. Moments passed, the silence and threads of memory between them weaving a gossamer web with both of them caught in its strands.

"I was horrified." She was speaking so softly it was almost a whisper. "The look on your face, the sound of your voice.... I couldn't... do anything." She glanced up and found herself captured by his gaze. "Your memories started pouring out of you and Harry needed a container, so I Conjured one for him... for you." Tears were streaming down her cheeks, unchecked. "I wanted to wrap something around you. I wanted to stop the bleeding." She looked at him in amazement. "I had forgotten... I forgot that I wanted to wrap you up and whisk you away to somewhere safe." She paused. "It makes no sense, it all happened so fast, and for all I knew, you were a loathsome Death Eater who had tortured.... Oh." She stopped, shocked at her own thoughts.

"I was a loathsome Death Eater, Miss Granger," he said, bitterly.

She turned to face him more fully, though she sounded as if she were talking to herself. "I must have realised, even though I don't remember really thinking about it. We were so busy finding Horcruxes... scared all of the time."

"What are you nattering on about?"

"It was all so overwhelming.... We were moving from place to place every day and worried all the time. We got snippets of information about what was happening in the wizarding world and at Hogwarts, but who had time to think? I had to keep Harry safe, and keep Ron from losing it completely." She paused. "We knew that the Carrows were torturing students, and Harry and Ron kept acting as if you were, too. But you weren't, were you? You tortured them by sending them to Hagrid." She smiled bleakly. "You were protecting them, even then. Just as you protected us." She looked up at him. "Harry told us... after... what he saw in your memories. Now I know what your life must have been like, but when Nagini bit you.... I didn't realise consciously what part of me must have known, even then." She stopped and took a deep breath.

"What did you do, Miss Granger? What did you do when you Conjured that container?" Snape's voice was low, the gravity of his question reverberating in its deep tones.

She looked him in the eye, still shocked at her own realisation. "I think I Conjured a container for more than your memories, sir. I think I must have Conjured some sort of container... for you."

***

The idea that she had created a container of sorts for Snape's soul brought little solace to Hermione. Instead of worrying about why she was dreaming about her former Potions master, she worried about what had led her to create a connection between the two of them that resulted in his being trapped between life and death. It unnerved her that such a link could have been formed without her conscious consent, but then she had enough experience to know how much went on beneath the surface of any mind, especially one as active and intense as her own. It's not as if I've had nearly the opportunity that I needed to explore my own psyche, she thought one morning after a particularly difficult research session with Snape. The Healers-in-training supported one another, but the need was so great for us to focus on survivors after the war that we just ploughed on ahead regardless of how we were feeling.

The years since the war's end had been a whirlwind for Hermione. No longer a child in any sense, she could not imagine returning to Hogwarts for a final year. Instead, she revised and sat for N.E.W.T.s over the summer and entered St Mungo's new training program for Emotional Healing. The human psyche fascinated Hermione, and the opportunity to heal the wounds caused by evil and ignorance appealed to her. Over the years, her focus on work and her development as a Healer had preoccupied and distracted her. Personal relationships had taken a back seat to her career, and her relationship with Ron had ultimately ended as a result. He couldn't handle me focussed on something that he didn't enjoy, that he couldn't understand, she remembered. And I just didn't feel... enough.... He's sweet, but it just wasn't right for me. Not that I have any idea who or what would be right for me.

Which brought her right back to her nighttime companion. It had become clear to her soon after beginning to remember her dream encounters that she had been frequenting Snape's shadow-space every night for years. He said that I never really spoke to him, just appeared and listened to him tell me to leave him alone, and then disappeared. I wonder why I started remembering now... I wonder why I kept coming back....

Each night found Hermione appearing in the rapidly changing space that Snape occupied. The desolate space of dust and mist quickly made way for a small cottage, primarily filled with books.

And so, they cautiously approached each other, too wary to relax and too lonely to disengage.

"There must be something we're missing," she complained one night, some weeks after her first recollection. "It's obviously not a spell that's commonly used, or else people would be using it to rescue dying loved ones every day. And it's not something that appears in any of the literature on souls, so it must have to do with something else." She pursed her lips, thinking.

"Can you remember exactly what you did and what you were feeling when you Conjured that container, Miss Granger?"

She glanced up at him. "Would you call me Hermione, please? Hasn't it been long enough that we can drop the formality?"

He paused for a long while, not answering.

She looked up after a moment, curious. "What is it?"

"You are not uncomfortable with me," he said, softly.

"No, I guess not," she mused. "Why would I be?"

"Why would you not be...? I was your teacher and not a well-liked one at that ..."

She interrupted him, "For all that you were unfair and went out of your way to be unkind, I always stood up for you and demanded that the boys respect you. I did." She paused. "Now, with the perspective of the whole story, plus years to grow up, I have much more empathy for you and for what you must have had to endure for all of those years."

"I am not interested in your pity, Miss Granger," he said stiffly.

"Can't you tell the difference between pity and empathy, Professor?" asked Hermione, startled by his shift in tone.

"I wouldn't know, Miss Granger."

"Everybody should have the experience of knowing that somebody else understands what it's like to be them, to see the world through their eyes, even if just for a moment," murmured Hermione, leaning towards him, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I don't want a therapist, Miss Granger," said Snape sharply.

"Nor do I want to be your therapist, Professor." She spoke quietly, her heart in her throat. "Empathy is not only for therapists, it is essential for all people. Otherwise, how do you know that you're not alone?"

"I am always, inevitably, alone, Miss Granger." And he swept from the room, leaving her shaking, eyes blurry with tears.

***

Talking with Snape about empathy set Hermione's thoughts spinning. Maybe that's the angle we've been missing, she thought. Maybe it's not only about the souls, but about the connection between them. Not just containers, but connectors. I did something when I Conjured that container that held him but also connected him to me... and me to him. She got up quickly from her chair and left for St Mungo's.

This time, not to the library.