Chapter 2

I did something when I Conjured that container that held him but also connected him to me... and me to him.

This time, not to the library.

Healer Shalva had been Hermione's supervisor since the beginning of her training, providing guidance in her work with patients and also gentle advice for Hermione herself. She was a soft-spoken woman who had the talent of a born empath and whose experience gave her an aura of wisdom and strength. Wisdom and strength seemed like helpful qualities for the discussion that Hermione planned to have with her today.

"How have you been, Hermione?" asked the Healer with a warm smile. She beckoned Hermione to enter her comfortable office. "Tea?"

"Yes, please, that would be wonderful," replied Hermione, grateful for something to do with her hands.

"Things have been... interesting of late," began Hermione haltingly. "I think that you knew during my training that I never slept well. I told you that, right?" She looked up, enquiring.

"I do remember that. We had great difficulty figuring out what was causing the disturbance, other than the obvious stresses of training and working with so many traumatised witches and wizards." She paused. "Has it resolved now that you are finished with your training?"

"It hasn't, not exactly," replied Hermione. She took a deep breath. "I've come to realise that the distressing dreams that I could never remember... well... I think that they're not dreams, exactly." Looking up at Healer Shalva, Hermione waited for her to nod before continuing. "A few months ago, I began to remember the... um, I thought they were dreams at first... but now... I don't think they are. Dreams, that is." Hermione stopped, flustered.

"Take a deep breath, dear. What do you mean, not dreams?" Healer Shalva asked softly.

"I've been dreaming about... someone. Someone I used to know. And, well, I thought he was dead; I was there when he died... I mean, maybe he's dead, but I'm not sure anymore because of some things that he said and some other things that I remembered." She stopped short. "I'm not making any sense at all, am I?" She gave a wry smile.

"Not much, no," said Healer Shalva gently, a small smile on her lips. "Slow down and start again. What gives you the idea that what you thought were dreams are something else? And if they are not dreams... then, what are they?"

Hermione opened her hands and sighed. "What he said... the man in my dream. He said that he believes I did something to prevent his soul from moving on after he... died. Or didn't die, or whatever," she tried to explain. "He said that the place he inhabits and the place that I am apparently visiting in my dreams is inside of me. Or something..." she finished, mumbling the last, embarrassed at how ridiculous this sounded.

But Healer Shalva was not looking as if she thought that Hermione was ridiculous. She had a faraway look on her face and took a deep breath. "You mean to say that this man in your dreams... this man that you speak to while you sleep. He believes that your souls have been connected, and his now resides within yours?" she asked softly.

Hermione nodded.

Another long pause, and then she began haltingly. "I've never seen a case personally... I always believed that the stories were just... stories." After another long moment, she appeared to make a decision, continuing with more certainty in her voice. "Are you familiar with the Amplector Animum spell, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Actually, it's not a spell, per se. It's wandless magic, usually performed without intent by witches or wizards who are in an emotionally overwhelming situation." She paused, taking note of Hermione's white face and dilated pupils. "Amplector Animum is a spell that... enfolds one soul within another. It is not something that one can perform against the will of another – it requires that two souls be... reaching out... simultaneously."

Hermione's face was mask-like, white and still. She was barely breathing, her eyes gazing intently at her mentor.

The Healer continued, "Usually, the primary soul is reaching out either with love, compassion, or empathy to the other. The other soul must be receptive, must even be reaching out in turn. The receptive soul is usually endangered in some way, which is how the spell determines which spirit enfolds the other."

At this, Hermione's eyes darted to meet those of the Healer. "He had to have been reaching out at the same time that I was?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

The Healer nodded. "He must have been."

"And I... I was reaching out... to him... with..."

"With a strong feeling, Hermione. Parents have enfolded the souls of their children, husbands, their wives. It's rare, but it happens. Usually, it's love, but it doesn't have to be. Deep empathy, a strong enough wish to provide protection or connection is enough. I believe that the reason that it doesn't happen more often is that the other soul must be reaching out at the same time; the timing must be just right."

Hermione blinked, and the Healer continued, "Do you remember what you were doing when... well, when he was dying?"

Snape asked me the same question last night, right before our argument about calling me by name, and about empathy... Oh, God.

"I was Conjuring a container, a real container... for... for something that he was giving to... well, for something important. I didn't remember until recently, but I had the strongest urge to wrap him up and whisk him away... to be safe." Her voice broke.

"What do you think made you feel so strongly about this man, so much so that you longed to bring him to safety?" asked Healer Shalva gently.

"I'm not sure." Hermione looked up, brow wrinkled. "He is not someone I ever really liked, not someone who was ever kind...." She flinched. "He was someone who I knew, at some level... I knew that he had sacrificed himself for us... to protect us from the evil out there... no matter how loathsome he appeared. I didn't realise then that I knew this, only that his pain and fear stirred me in a way that didn't make sense at the time. But I had no time to think about it then, and no reason to think about it after."

Healer Shalva nodded. "Your capacity for empathy has always been higher than average, Hermione, and with an untrained empathic ability, the fear and sadness that you felt yourself and felt from him must have activated the unconscious magic."

Hermione nodded, lost in thought. "What does it mean," she murmured, "what does this mean about whether he is actually alive... or dead? We never found his body... We came back later to look..." she continued. "In the cases that you know, what happens to the soul who is dying when someone reaches out to... hold it?" Her brow wrinkled as another thought occurred to her. "Am I responsible now for the state of his soul?" she whispered. "I... what do I do now?" She looked up beseechingly at the Healer.

But the Healer had risen and was perusing the bookshelves, obviously looking for a specific volume. "Here it is," she said, removing a small book, which was bound in amber coloured silk. "Take this, Hermione, take this and read it, but mostly, let what you read wash over you and see how you feel about it. Follow its lead and I think that it will help you to answer your own questions."

Hermione accepted the book, holding it in her hands reverently. Adfinitas Animarum. "Will this book tell me what to do next?" she asked hopefully.

Healer Shalva laughed softly. "There are few worthwhile books in the world, Hermione, that will tell you exactly what to do. Spellbooks will, yes, but only because they are teaching you mechanics. The process of figuring out what to do happens inside of you and between you and the person with whom you must figure it out."

"I don't understand..." whispered Hermione.

"I know," said the Healer. "When you do, your path will become clear."

***

"Does it make any more sense to you than it does to me?" Hermione asked Snape when she appeared, once again, in the cottage.

He was sitting on a chair near the fire, perched there as if the chair had offended him by having soft edges and welcoming pillows. He held the amber book, turning it over and over in his hands. He glanced at her and made a soft huffing sound, turning away to gaze at the leaping flames in the hearth. He shook his head.

Adfinitas Animarum. Hermione sat in a chair opposite his. He can't be any more pleased at the thought of having to immerse himself in a book about "soul affinity" than I am, she thought unhappily. I still really don't understand what an affinity of souls has to do with our situation. He said it himself, he has always been, and always expects to be... alone. And I all I meant to do was Conjure a container. She took a deep breath and waited, steeling herself for the discussion to come.

Snape was still gazing into the fireplace, his shoulders stiff, arms folded across his chest. "Miss Granger," he began abruptly, "I find myself in a bit of a quandary." He turned slightly to face her. "I have operated in isolation or nearly in isolation for... many years." Hermione nodded and he continued. "My success, indeed, my life depended on my ability to operate without... depending... on anyone else. For anything." He paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. "I lived alone and fully expected to die alone. But I found... in the moment of death, that I wanted someone to know that I was not entirely the man everyone believed me to be. I realised," he snorted softly, "that dying alone was not all that I had imagined it to be."

Hermione sat, transfixed, and he continued, "And now... now I find myself in between life and death, not entirely sure how I got here, nor what to do with myself now that I am here. And then there is you, Miss Granger. It appears that you come with the landscape – or create the landscape," he laughed roughly. "Just as I am left with the knowledge that it matters to me more than I care to admit that I am not remembered as... what was it? 'A loathsome Death Eater'... I am also left with a... reluctant awareness that you, perhaps, are not as you appeared to me during my years as your instructor."

Stunned both by Snape's sudden verbosity and by his unexpected display of introspection, Hermione was speechless. He's right, though. We can't help but look at each other differently, or at least wonder whether there is more here than meets the eye. Especially now that we have a clue what happened here, we should take time to get to know one another. And if I do bear any responsibility at all for his soul, having reached for him like I did, I must give him this chance to move forward.

Hermione took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Whatever happened in the Shrieking Shack was something that we both did, that is clear from what I learned yesterday." She paused, braced for him to attack. When he merely inclined his head for her to carry on, she paused long enough for her racing heart to slow again, and continued, "And if this book is any indication, the collision of the magic that we generated because of how intensely each of us was feeling created a link between us – one that also created this space." She looked around at the library with its roaring fire, stacks of books and comfortable chairs. "Fortunately, it's a space that works for both of us." She quirked her eyebrow at him, a small smile on her lips. He replied with a twitch of his lips and appreciative tilt of his head.

"Now," she continued, "I believe that we should take some time to get to know one another – this time putting aside our preconceived notions and expectations." She gestured to the book that Snape was still holding gently in his hands. "Perhaps if we read this book together, and do as Healer Shalva suggested and let the contents sit with us and guide us, we will understand how to move forward." She paused, head inclined, waiting for his response.

Snape sat for a long moment, looking at the book cradled in his hands. Long fingers stroked the silk binding, their rhythm matching his slow breaths. Hermione gazed at those fingers, hypnotised by their motion and grace. His hands were strong, the tendons standing out sharply with his movement. His hands betray his feelings, thought Hermione. Had she not been watching him so closely, she might have missed his silent nod of agreement. And as she watched, the stiffness in his shoulders gradually eased, and he shifted back into his chair, looking for a moment as if he might relax.

***

Reading the Adfinitas Animarum together was far less difficult than Hermione had feared. Despite Snape's aloof stance, he was willing to relate to her, and relax, so long as they could focus on ink and parchment.

And so, guardedly at first, they circled one another. First negotiating physical distance – who will sit on the couch and who on the chair nearby – and then gradually developing a routine. I love listening to him read to me, thought Hermione sleepily one evening as Snape recited aloud from the amber tome. His voice caresses the words, it sounds like velvet. She sighed contentedly as he continued to read. They usually read in turns, though Hermione often prevailed upon Severus (as she had taken to calling him in the privacy of her own thoughts) to read aloud even when it was her turn.

Adfinitas Animarum was quite an unusual book, even amongst magical volumes. Small in size, its weathered parchment and faded ink contained both the humdrum and the sacred. Each chapter held a surprise, every page a gem. Sometimes, they would open the book to find scenic images or visions of classical art pouring from between the pages. Other times, diagrammes or detailed instructions would appear, guiding them in everything from gardening to sculpting. Poetry and lyric music enveloped them many nights as they sat together, reading and listening. And talking.

He's a surprising man, Hermione thought many times as they allowed themselves to become engrossed in debate or discussion or to enjoy the easy camaraderie that was growing between them as they worked on some task set by the book. There is certainly more to him than meets the eye. I can only imagine how difficult life must have been for him all those years, able to show such a small part of himself to others... hiding for so long...

One night, several weeks after beginning their journey through the book, Hermione arrived to find Snape reclining by the fire, eyes closed. The Adfinitas Animarum lay open on his lap; his hands were softly stroking the edge of the binding as evocative music streamed from the pages. This song must be meant for him, then.

Like a bird on the wire,

like a drunk in a midnight choir

I have tried in my way to be free...

She did not dare approach as the melancholy melody and snippets of the poetry that accompanied it enveloped her.

If I, if I have been unkind,

I hope that you can just let it go by...

Like a baby, stillborn,

like a beast with his horn

I have torn everyone who reached out for me.

Hermione stood, transfixed, as she watched the deep lines around his eyes gradually relax, his breathing deepen.

I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,

he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."

And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,

she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"

As the last strains of the song played, Snape turned his head and gazed directly at Hermione – his expression serene. I've never seen him look so... hopeful. She smiled at him softly and slowly approached him.

"It's a beautiful song," she said gently.

He nodded, a flash of wariness passed over his face. Satisfied that she was not mocking, he nodded again and gestured for her to sit. Settling herself on the chair across from his, she smiled at him again and waited. Long moments passed, both of them sitting in contemplative silence. Hermione noticed the look of deep concentration on Snape's face and wondered where his reverie had taken him. She lost herself in the lines of his face, the set of his jaw as he sat, immersed in thought.

"I cannot ever remember a time when I felt free." He looked momentarily startled that he had spoken this aloud, but continued. "In my youth, I searched for acceptance only from those whom I deemed powerful... but that is an insidious trap," he said bitterly, glancing sharply at Hermione.

Seeing nothing but calm interest in her expression, he continued, "I pushed away anybody who reached for me... not that there were many, mind you," he laughed harshly. "I think that I was... must have been... afraid."

This last, a whisper. He ducked his head as if embarrassed. A long moment passed, soft breaths and the crackling fire the only sounds. Another deep breath and Snape lifted his head, meeting Hermione's eyes. "I could not trust..." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "I could not trust that if I allowed myself to depend on another... that I would not be betrayed." His expression was bleak. "Betrayal is, in my experience, lurking just beyond the next bend."

Hermione nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes, lest he see them and think her pitying him. "You always seemed so self-contained... separate from us all," she said softly, turning to look at the dancing flames.

"A persuasive illusion, Miss Granger. My life depended upon its success for many years," he drawled, following her gaze. He paused before continuing, "An illusion which I find I no longer wish to perpetuate."

Hermione looked up sharply to find his eyes on her, as if awaiting a response. She paused for a long moment, allowing the words of the song and the memory of the melody to wash over her.

"Perhaps it is time to ask for more," she said softly.

He was silent, fingers stroking the binding of the small amber book, hypnotic in their rhythm, eyes still locked with hers. "Perhaps it is, Miss Granger, perhaps, it is."

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a/n: "Bird on the Wire" is the property of the incredible Leonard Cohen. I thank him for the lyrics, they are poetry.

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