Chapter 16: Lost and Found

His mouth was close to hers now, hot breath on her face, and she felt the blood rushing through her. Neville was right there, but she didn't care, she only wanted...

And then he was kissing her, and she knew just exactly what he meant because all at once, every cell of her body was filled with light.

The air in the Room felt clearer when she lifted her head again, as if Severus's kiss had seared through a layer of fog that she hadn't realised was there. His eyes were bright, and she thought she'd never seen anything more antithetical to Darkness in her life.

"I'm better now," she whispered. Severus's fingers lingered for a moment against her cheek before he drew them away.

"Indeed," he murmured, and she blushed even as she leaned into his touch.

They sat, the three of them, as the tea on the table grew cold.

"It never helped with Hannah." Neville's voice broke the silence; his eyes were fixed on Severus and Hermione's clasped hands.

"What didn't?" she asked.

"Her touch. Mine. None of it," he said. "Talking didn't help either. Usually just made it worse." Irritation saturated the air around him, and Hermione leaned forward to catch his eye.

"Neville," she said, relieved when he looked up. "It didn't help with Ron, either. Actually, the harder we tried, the worse it got."

She looked at Severus, and her eyes grew soft at the look of cloaked pride on his face. So it did mean something to him that his touch pulled her from the abyss. She smiled.

"What Severus and I have... it was a surprise."

Still is, she thought. Every time.

"How did you figure it out?" Neville asked.

"We didn't," said Severus. "It was... unexpected."

Hermione blushed at the gleam in his eye, remembering the night they met, the dusty wooden floor, and kisses that chased away the Darkness with their searing heat. With their Light.

It sat between them, this feeling...the knowledge that there was a way out, or through, though none of them knew precisely how. All they knew was that each of them had felt its blessed relief at some point and that Hermione and Severus could reach for it by reaching for one another.

"We have to tell the others," Neville said. "Soon, I think."

Hermione felt Severus flinch and was grateful she wasn't the only one who wanted to avoid the Burrow and its extended family forever.

"I don't want to go," she said. "They hate me," she said, grateful for Severus's hand in hers. "They have good reason to hate me."

"Yeah, Hannah told me how angry they were," Neville said. He fidgeted with his teacup. "Back when she was still speaking to me."

Hermione nodded. "I didn't mean to." She fought back her tears. "Ron. You know."

"Well, no," Neville said. "Doesn't change the fact, though, does it?"

He was right, Hermione thought. The fact remained that her rage had nearly killed a man she had cared for since they had both been children. No, they would not be pleased to see her.

"You two go on without me," she said. "My being there will just make it harder for everyone."

"Absolutely not," Severus said. "I don't imagine that the residents of the Burrow will be any more pleased at my appearance than yours. Recall Mrs Potter's..." He paused, scowling. "...welcome upon seeing me in Hogsmeade."

"Seeing us, Severus," Hermione said. "You were, you'll forgive me, beside the point. She hates me. You were a bonus."

Severus huffed, but Neville burst out laughing.

Hermione flinched, but Severus just folded his arms and eyed Neville as if he were a particularly unpredictable batch of bobotubers.

"We go together," Neville said. "Being alone hasn't done any of us a whit of good, and the three of us together will pack quite a wallop, I'd say."

"Fine." Hermoine swallowed hard. "But I'm not doing any of the talking."

This time it was Severus who laughed.

~~**~~

She was restless; it radiated from every pore, and it was making him jumpy.

"Hermione," he said, "come to bed."

At least she stopped pacing.

The window coverings were pulled back, the grounds lit by distant starlight. Winter was falling fast, and the air outside was as clear as the windowpane. Hermione's hands pressed against the glass as if she might melt through it and into the night.

"I'm afraid," she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear.

He came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her.

"When was the last time you were not afraid?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Before?" she asked. "Before you found me, I don't know," she said, thinking. "There was a bit of relief after the war, I guess, but that didn't last long. Before that? Maybe... maybe fifth year." She paused. "I was too angry to be afraid fifth year. Mostly." Severus could see her grim smile reflected in the glass.

Severus nodded. "It's been too long," he said. Her body shook, and he recognised the mix of desperate hope and blinding fear that he had carried with him for decades.

"I know what it is to live in constant fear, Hermione." He met her eyes in the glass and knew that she was listening. "It's like a serpent in the belly, writhing inside you, waiting for its time to strike. Every breath you take hinges on its whim."

Hermione turned to face him, and he drew her in closer still. Her fingers rose to stroke his lips as if she could capture the words in her hands.

"Is it like this for other people?" she asked. "Does everyone walk around waiting for the sky to fall?"

He grasped her hands in his and kissed her fingers. He'd lived his life in fear. Certainly he faced it, channelled it, ruthlessly repressed it. There had, he knew, been no other choice. He had no regrets: only for the lost innocence that he could still taste on Hermione's skin.

"Hermione, it's over for the rest of the wizarding world. We are the ones in danger now. From ourselves and one another." He stroked her hair. "Inner demons are far worse," he whispered, almost to himself.

She nodded, leaning into his embrace, her body moulding to his, and he thrilled at the sight of her eyes fluttering shut.

He swept his fingertips across her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing shallow.

"I won't let them harm you." Her skin was hot as he breathed the words into the shell of her ear.

She hummed her agreement, and her body shook with each stroke of his lips against the curve of her jaw, her ear, her cheekbone. "I'll be safe," she whispered. "I'll be with you."

His hands were trembling as he brought them to frame her face, his thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones, tracing a path to the fullness of her lower lip before he kissed her.

Her lips were hot, and her hands were trembling as she led him to their bed. There, under cover of darkness and feather blankets, with every whisper of skin on skin, with each sigh and murmured endearment, they wove the armour behind which they would keep one another safe tomorrow.

~~**~~

They lingered over breakfast long after the students had vacated the Great Hall.

"It's Sunday," Hermione said. "They'll all be there for supper. I say we stay here until then. What's the hurry?"

"I think we should approach Mr Weasley alone first," said Longbottom. "He always seemed like a reasonable wizard."

Hermione muttered something inaudible, and Severus smirked.

"Hermione is undoubtedly concerned that Mr Weasley will hex first and ask questions later," he said.

"But we'll be together," said Longbottom. "Won't that help?"

Severus leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed. The boy had a point. Each of them had, alone, spun into deepening spirals of despair. Together, though...the connection to each injured soul had brought a measure of healing.

"We've experienced the benefits of finding one another," Severus said. "Hermione, you said that you didn't observe the same improvements during the time you were in contact with the Weasleys and Potters, correct?"

She shook her head, and Severus wanted to reach over and smooth the wrinkles between her brows...to soothe the pain of remembrance.

"It was the opposite," she said. "We'd be together and every vile thought or feeling burst out. It was horrible." She shuddered.

"Hmm." It was right there, the inkling of an idea. But each time he came close, it slipped away.

"We should bring them back here, I think," said Neville.

"Bring whom back, Mr Longbottom?"

Severus looked up.

"Good morning, Minerva," he said before Longbottom could respond. "We missed you at breakfast, when it is customary for attendees to mingle and make conversation. It is, unfortunately, no longer breakfast." His glare was half hearted, and he knew it. "The scones were particularly flaky this morning. Shame you missed them." He turned away from the headmistress.

Hermione and Longbottom were barely breathing, and Severus stifled a snicker. They'd never seen him at ease with his former colleagues like this, never seen him banter with the others behind the scenes. It had been years since he and Minerva had interacted thus; he wondered if the intervening years had shattered the camaraderie that he had once treasured.

He held his breath and swore he could hear his heart beating. He glanced at his former colleague; Minerva's eyes narrowed for an instant.

"I am perfectly capable of ordering up my own scones, Severus," she said crisply, but the crinkling around the corners of her eyes belied her tone. "But I thank you for your heartfelt concern on my behalf." She smirked, and Severus inclined his head.

He wasn't using Legilimency...wouldn't, not without explicit permission...but he was sure that he heard her voice...It's good to have you back, Severus....He was sure of it.

~~**~~

The headmistress insisted they return to her office for another round of tea and managed to corral half the senior staff along the way. By the time they reached the gargoyles standing sentry at the door, she'd gathered an entourage of brainpower and magical strength Hermione imagined might only be rivalled by the Wizengamot, though given her experiences with the Ministry, she rather doubted it.

The circular room was flooded with sunlight, throwing shadows along the nooks and crannies of the crowded space. Piles of papers teetered atop the headmistress's desk, a quill laid precisely atop the shortest as if to mark her place.

Hermione's hands gripped the back of the leather chair in front of the desk. She stood, unable to look away from the portrait hanging behind it...the image of the man whose secrecy and need for control had saved them and damned them. He looked smaller rendered in paint and oddly vulnerable with his eyes closed.

"Still asleep, Headmaster?" Hermione murmured. But the portrait continued its soft snoring. Hermione spared only a moment to wish that she, too, could pretend the outside world didn't exist...didn't need her...before turning her attention to the conversation happening around the table by the hearth.

"Marvellous!" said Flitwick, his arms waving. "The crystallisation of joy and innocence...what a wondrous thing."

"It would be far more wondrous if it resided at its source, Filius," said Severus.

"Well, of course, of course," said the diminutive professor. "But then I cannot imagine the force it would take to splinter..."

Hermione winced and glanced at the portrait again. She was frozen there, halfway between the vigorous argument brewing by the fire and the soft sounds of portrait sleep.

The headmaster's eyes opened a crack.

"Yes, well, we all know now," Minerva was saying. "And the splintering didn't end with Riddle. Obviously."

The portrait of Dumbledore let out a sigh, and Hermione thought she might have seen a flash of pain and compassion cross his painted face.

"You knew?" she murmured, not expecting the portrait to hear.

He lifted his head and looked directly at her. His eyes were as blue as they had been in life, but filled with fear and pain that she'd never been privy to.

"Did you know?" A terrible certainty was rising inside of her.

"Not while it was happening to me," the portrait said softly. "I couldn't see it. It was only later, when I realised what I'd done." He stroked his beard with a shaky hand.

"How could you not see?" Hermione asked, oblivious to the startled silence behind her.

"The same way your friends Harry and Ron cannot see, Miss Granger," he said. "The fear of the thing is often more daunting than the thing itself."

"You were afraid?" she asked. How could he have been afraid? How had he dared to be afraid? They had needed him, had counted on him. He was supposed to be thinking clearly, not impaired by...

"I always understood Severus far better than he knew, Miss Granger," he said. "And now, you."

"What does that mean? I have been nothing but honest and forthright..."

Dumbledore's hands were raised as if to ward off her words.

"No, no, I never meant to imply that you were deceitful or manipulative," he said quickly. "I speak of the wish to undo the pain by sheer force of will. And, if I may, a tendency towards avoidance when anger is involved."

Oh. That.

"Oh." She looked at the portrait again, but this time, she saw him. An old man, a brilliant wizard, but frightened. Flawed. Flawed in part because of his brilliance.

"I was always able to fix things. Before," she whispered.

"As was I, Miss Granger. As was I."

He had survived more than a hundred years after the tragedies that had changed his life. Survived and did the best he could to keep the wizarding world safe from those who would harm it. It occurred to her that perhaps the feeling of forgiveness belonged with the liberated shards of glass on the floor of the Room of Requirement.

She stood straighter. "What do we do?" she asked.

"The only thing you can do," he said. "Show them what they've lost."

For a split second Hermione thought the sound exploding in her ears was her heart thundering. In actuality, it was the cacophony made by no less than seven witches and wizards who had quite a bit to say...once the shouting was done...to the painted wizard on the wall, and who were about to focus their considerable energies crafting a plan.

~~**~~

The light was already fading by the time they Apparated from outside Hogwarts' gates to the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole. Hermione had insisted that they walk the final leg of the journey, a combination of anxiety and procrastination fuelling her. Still, the others had conceded that Apparating at the doorstep would likely be a bad move.

From the distance, they could see light glimmering in the windows and the blur of movement from inside the ramshackle house.

"Let's go," said Neville. "It's cold out here."

Hermione nodded absently. Her eyes were on Severus as he marched them forward, his gaze fixed on the house, wand held high as he kept the box and its contents aloft. The glow seeping out through the seams of the container called to her, and the urge to lay her hands on the box as if to warm them was nearly irresistible.

"The door is that way," said Hermione, pointing to the path leading to the front of the house.

Severus nodded and led the way. Only stubborn refusal to abandon him kept her by his side; her stomach was churning.

But all Hermione's fretting about facing that closed door was for naught; before they reached the entry, the wooden door opened as if the wind had blown it wide. Molly Weasley stood framed in the doorway, firelight flickering behind her.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she said impatiently. "Hurry up and come inside already. It's about time you lot got here."

**

The Burrow was as warm as she remembered from Hogwarts days...more recent memory containing far more chill. Molly had served up tea before any of them could protest, and they sat by the fire, silence blanketing them.

"Where are the others, Molly?" Hermione asked. "Isn't Sunday usually..." She stopped at the look of pain on Molly's face.

"There is no more usually, Hermione," she said. "It's all fallen apart now." The older woman looked at her. "After what you did...what happened with Ron..." Molly held up her hand as Hermione made to interrupt. "Let me finish," she said. "You ran off so fast that by the time I had things calmed down here, I couldn't find you. I know you thought I didn't notice what was going on all those months... years," she whispered. "I'm not as blind as you think."

Hermione felt Severus's arm around her shoulders; she hadn't noticed that she'd begun to shiver. Molly raised her eyebrows only briefly, and it was all Hermione could do to stay focused on what the other woman was saying.

"They've been terribly erratic, more so since you left." Molly leaned forward and placed a hand on Hermione's arm. "Please tell me that you're here because you've figured out what to do."

Hermione recognised the look of desperation on her face. It mirrored the agony she'd been carrying around for what felt like forever.

Before she could answer, Severus did.

"I wish I could tell you that we knew the answers," he said. His voice was so sad, Hermione thought, as if the weight of all of their suffering was on his shoulders alone. "We have made some progress, and we came tonight in the hope that we could convince the others to come back with us to Hogwarts." He looked at Neville and back to Hermione. "We believe that if all of us come together in one place...every injured survivor...there is a possibility that the solution will become clear."

"Maybe it will provide us with the missing ingredient, as it were." Neville's voice surprised her, and she was grateful that she'd still not needed to speak. She didn't know if she could, not with her heart in her throat.

Molly nodded, looking from one wizard to the other. "I still expect them to show up tonight, you know," she said. "They refuse to commit, but it seems they can't stay away." She shook her head. "It's usually miserable when they get here, but I won't turn any of them out."

"How did you know we were coming, Molly?" Hermione asked. She was surprised by the sound of her own voice; she'd felt frozen even in the warm room.

Molly glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Hermione had forgotten that she, too, was represented there, had forgotten that her comings and goings...the ups and downs of hearth and heart...were tracked by Molly's magical clock.

"For a long time, yours just said, Lost," she said softly. "Sometimes it would wander like it was looking for a place to land."

Hermione felt her eyes fill and wished away the tears, to no avail.

"About a week ago, it said, Desperate and then..." Molly stopped with a squeak.

Hermione looked up, heart clenching at the mingled hope and sadness on the older woman's face. "Then, what?" she whispered.

"It just settled on, Home. None of your hands...any of the five of you...had been on Home for the longest time. I still can't understand it..." She looked distracted for a moment before her eyes focused again. "Anyway, that's when I knew that maybe you'd found it. The solution. I thought maybe you'd... well, maybe you'd come here and let us know."

Hermione didn't plan to, she just flung herself at the older woman...the witch whose esteem she'd never been sure of, but whose heartfelt hopes penetrated her own fear and defensiveness in one fell swoop. Molly gathered her close, soft arms welcoming her back, and Hermione sobbed her relief.

When they separated at last, Hermione gave a last watery smile to Molly and sat back down next to Severus. He looked relieved, she thought, and she was grateful that he seemed to accept her need for the other woman.

"Mrs Weasley," Neville said, looking speculatively at the clock on the mantle across from him. "What do you mean that the hands hadn't been set on Home for a long time?"

Molly lifted her wand to summon her clock.

"Each hand is keyed to its signifier," she said, pointing to each hand as it moved from spot to spot. "As you can see, the hands don't stay still. Usually they are steady when a person is in one spot...Home, School, Work, or they move temporarily, for example if someone is in transit." She paused. "I didn't notice for a long time, only after Hermione... well, after she left. But the hands are never at rest these days. Only Hermione's, now."

"May I see?" Hermione asked, and Molly placed the clock in her hands.

She'd never touched it, not in all the years she'd spent practically living there. Each of the hands holding the image of a family member...by fate or choice...quivered with energy. She traced the line of her own clock hand and relaxed as warmth and safety flooded her. Home. It still pointed there despite her presence at the Burrow. Molly said that it had been set there since earlier in the week.

She rubbed her fingertip against the glass above her image and sighed. It felt like an anchor had been driven deep into the earth, keeping her grounded and steady. No wonder her clock hand had finally stilled. She'd found her home.

Hermione squeezed Severus's hand and caught his eye, hoping Molly wouldn't notice the blush staining her cheeks. Severus tilted his head, puzzled, but she shook her head and squeezed his hand again.

Turning her hand back to the clock, she eyed the clock hands of her estranged friends: Ron, red-faced and sullen; Harry, eyes downcast, brow furrowed; Ginny, eyes narrowed suspiciously, darting back and forth as if searching for something; and Arthur, looking vacant but irritable. She drew her finger along their outlines and drew a sharp breath. She could feel them there, each one distinct but linked by gnawing pain and restless anger. Restless in their quest to run from it, Hermione realised in a rush. Unable to stop lest the Darkness finally catch them.

They didn't know, she thought. They didn't know they were carrying it inside themselves like a cancer. All they could do was run.

The sound of Molly sniffling roused her from her thoughts. The older witch looked at the clock and her face fell. "They are lost, Hermione, aren't they? They're all lost."

Hermione knelt at Molly's feet and reached for her hands. "No, they're not lost anymore, Molly. We've found them. We just have to let them know and persuade them to listen."

Severus snorted, and Molly shot him a wry glance.

"Not the best trait of any one of them, is it, Severus?" she asked. "You've had enough years' experience attempting to get them to listen to know."

"Well, it helps when what you're supposed to listen to is explicit," interrupted Neville, sounding miffed. "The professor spent our school years giving us the instructions we could hear, and then the ones we were supposed to intuit."

"If you'd even complied with the instructions written on the blackboard, Longbottom, that would have sent me into paroxysms of joy," Severus drawled.

Hermione giggled, her relief like a current of warm air. They were bantering, playing with one another...like friends. Like allies. Molly was smiling, and the fire was popping, and just for a moment, it felt as if everything might be all right after all.

Until a whoosh of air announced the shifting of all four hands in question simultaneously.

They were back.

******

Alpha and Beta reading thanks to Annie Talbot and Mia Madwyn.