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Never Give Up, Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Mojofly - "Close to the End"
Hermione went directly down to her quarters after her audience with Malfoy. Her heart was still beating at an accelerated rate, and her shoulders were bunched up with tension. She wasn't sure whether she believed him or not. She had the feeling he knew something, but was seeking an angle that would put him at an even greater advantage before revealing it. She was really no good at this feinting and parrying, she thought unhappily as she reached her door. She reached up to knock perfunctorily before opening it, and in doing so sent a twinge of pain shrieking down from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back.
She winced and twisted her head to the side as she slipped inside, diving for the momentary relief of prostrating herself on the couch to wait out the tremor.
"A most unladylike display," she heard Snape say in a disapproving tone.
Hermione groaned, both in annoyance and pain. His appearance had been extraordinarily fast this time, if indeed he hadn't been there already. "Shut up," she whispered, not meaning for him to hear it, but feeling overwhelmed by her feelings of pain and disappointment. She tried to muster the forbearance for going another round with him.
"I take it Malfoy got the better of you," he concluded snootily. "I knew you would be no match for him."
Hermione turned halfway over to look at Snape, keeping her neck stiff. "Give me a minute, would you?" she said with exaggerated politeness. "It's his sister-in-law who got the better of me, and I think she's reaching out from hell right now to remind me of my place."
Snape's expression changed immediately from derision to consternation. "Did you find the potion I told you of?"
"No, strangely, I didn't have time to fit that into my schedule today. What with staff meetings, work, visiting the Shrieking Shack, and having a delightful little chat with Malfoy to cap it all off." Hermione sat up slowly as the throbbing in her back lessened.
"Do not attempt to exert yourself," Snape advised. "I recommend remaining supine for fifteen minutes, at least."
"It never lasts that long," Hermione said, irritated at appearing weak in front of him. She rolled her shoulders to loosen them up.
"No wonder it is taking you so long to recover then," he snapped. "Every time you suffer an episode, you are re-injuring the nerves by taxing them too soon. Did you not consult a Healer?"
"I've had other things to think about the past few weeks!" Hermione snapped back. "And anyway, it's not so bad," she added, too embarrassed to admit that he was right.
"Suit yourself," Snape said, although it was clear he did not condone her choice.
Hermione capitulated in so far as she remained on the couch with her head leaning back on the cushions. "Now, would you like to hear about my meeting with Malfoy, or would you rather continue scolding me?"
Snape harrumphed and crossed his arms. "It's clear you're only going to do what you want anyway."
Hermione couldn't help a grin escaping. "I think you're catching on. Now, sit down and--" She stopped herself and cringed at the faux pas. "I mean, make yourself comfortable... however you'd like..." She trailed off.
Snape merely glared down his nose at her.
Hermione sighed and launched into a recitation of her interview with Malfoy. "I don't know if he's trying to cover up for himself, or someone else, or if he really doesn't know anything," she concluded. "So I guess you were right in saying he got the better of me."
"I didn't really expect anything more," Snape sniffed. "You have no experience dealing with the likes of him."
"I think I held my own rather well," Hermione said, hurt. "What would you have done?"
"Insist on a contract signed in blood," he replied, and Hermione couldn't tell whether he was joking or not. "As it is, all you extracted from him was a vague offer of aid which you have no means of enforcing, or establishing the veracity thereof. Your problem is, you assume everyone is as well-meaning and honorable as you. A common Gryffindor fault."
Hermione threw her arms up in the air. "Well, I do the best I can with what I've got!"
Snape regarded Hermione curiously, then said, "Yes, well, I don't suppose there's much more you can do at the moment. The parting comment about Narcissa and Draco was a nice touch, however."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, confused, as she had only meant the compliment literally and sincerely.
"You reminded him not only that his family's welfare depends in large degree on Potter's favor, but that both his wife and child all but publicly declared their loyalty to Potter's side long before he did, and in a much more sincere and believable manner. He has a lot of ground to make up."
"Maybe I should go to Azkaban myself and track down everyone who was in the forest that night."
Snape shook his head. "You have clearly never been to Azkaban. I would not speak of visiting the place blithely."
"But if it can help you--"
Snape silenced her with a look. "I believe I have expressed to you once my appreciation for your assistance in this matter. But there are things I would not wish even you subjected to."
Hermione was both confused and flattered by his statement, and found herself having to look away under the force of his gaze. She began fidgeting with her robes in her nervousness, and her fingers found their way to the cork she had picked up in the Shrieking Shack.
"What is that?" Snape asked, perhaps to bridge the awkward silence that had descended.
Hermione snorted. "A cork from a Butterbeer bottle. I picked it up in the Shrieking Shack. Can you believe the local kids are actually using it as a place to sneak away to?"
"Whatever in the world were you doing in that place?" Snape asked incredulously.
"I don't know; nothing really," Hermione said, uncomfortable about admitting she had visited the place he had been murdered.
"I will not have you putting yourself in danger in pursuit of this insignificant inquiry!"
"I didn't mean to go in," Hermione tried to explain. "I just sort of found myself there. I'm sorry, really and truly sorry. I saw the room--" She turned away, ashamed.
"--where the Dark Lord ended my life," Snape finished for her, his voice dark but not accusing.
"Yes," she whispered. "It was-- It hadn't even been cleaned up! I didn't know-- Well, I left it like it was," she admitted miserably. "I thought it might be important... for evidence... But now I think no one's even thought of it since... Someone has to do something." She forced herself to look him in the eye. "I'll do something. I'll send an owl to Kingsley right away. The Aurors should come, secure the place." She moved to get up.
"It can wait," Snape said, more gently than she thought she had ever heard him speak. "Fifteen minutes, remember."
Although she was certain that fifteen minutes had already passed from the time she'd entered the room, she didn't argue, instead continuing to fidget with the bottle cork.
Snape stared at it for a moment, then, squinting down at it, asked, "May I see that for a moment? There's something oddly familiar..."
Hermione was a bit bewildered, but held the cork up so that Snape could inspect it more closely. She peered at it herself, turning it between her fingers.
"There is a hole in it," Snape finally announced, straightening up again.
"A hole?" Hermione tried to figure out his meaning. Of course there were holes in it; it was made of cork!
"Look there--" He reached out and pointed to the top. "And a matching hole in the opposite end."
Hermione looked more closely. He was right. There, a small, perfectly round hole, obviously intentionally made, and, as Snape said, another one on the bottom. She thought back to the several other, similar corks she had left lying on the floor of the Shack. Getting that delicious feeling of excitement at being hot on the trail of a promising lead, Hermione leapt up, disregarding her intention to be more careful with her back, and went to her desk, rummaging around among the writing implements and other office supplies.
"What are you looking for?" Snape asked.
"A paper clip! Why haven't wizards caught on to paper clips yet!" she moaned.
"A stirring rod, elongated and thinned, may do the job as well," Snape suggested, moving to stand next to her.
She paused and looked at him; obviously he had the same idea as she did. A moment of mutual understanding and appreciation passed between them.
However, "I haven't one of those handy," she had to remind him.
"A hairpin, then? Or do you never do anything to tame that mess?"
Hermione pursed her lips at the taunt, but stomped off to the bathroom. She came back a moment later with a piece of bent metal decorated with sparkling crystals. "I wore it at Bill and Fleur's wedding," she explained sheepishly.
"It looks like it will do the job," Snape commented, his eyes flickering to her admittedly rather wild mane.
Hermione resisted the temptation to run her hand over her hair, and instead concentrated on very carefully sliding the end of the hairpin into the hole in one end of the cork. It went in easily, and poked out the other end without meeting any resistance.
Hermione looked at Snape, her heart beating in excitement. "There were others. I don't know how many. Enough to --"
"--make a necklace?"
======
Maybe she should have taken Harry with her. Or Ron, or Ginny, or anyone, really. She was just in such a hurry, and it was already late, the sun beginning its descent behind the trees to the west. She ran lightly down the hill she'd Apparated onto, heading for the forlorn-looking tower-like structure at its base.
The Lovegoods' house, as Ron had once said, resembled a rook from a chess set. The last time Hermione was there, the top half had been blown away in an Erumpent horn explosion, and she herself had blasted a hole in what remained of the ground-floor ceiling, effectively completing the cave-in. Now, it looked as if none of that had happened. Smoke was puffing contentedly out of the crooked chimney sticking out the side of the building, and even the ivy climbing the walls looked as if it had been there for decades.
She very much hoped that Mr. Lovegood didn't hold it too much against her that she had materially contributed to the destruction of his house; after all, it appeared they had recovered quite nicely. She took a deep breath and rapped at the eagle door knocker. As she strained her ears to listen for movement inside, she thought she caught a few notes of a high voice crooning a tuneless melody. Luna, no doubt. She hadn't seen the girl since Fred's funeral, but then she'd never really been friends with her, she comforted her guilty conscience. Luna had been closest to Harry or Ginny, if anyone. Yes, perhaps she should have brought one of them along...
She was brought out of her musings by the door being flung open, and Xenophilius Lovegood staring down at her, his bulging eyes reminiscent of his daughter's. He had a contraption on his head that looked like a cross between a diamond cutter's eyepiece and a Viking helmet, with rather more than two horns.
"And who have we here?" he asked, squinting out into the deepening dusk. Without warning, the attachments on his headgear began swivelling around, one of them directing a beam of light at Hermione and another positioning itself over the wizard's eye so he could examine her through it.
She shielded her eyes with one hand as she said, "It's me, Mr. Lovegood: Hermione Granger. We met last year-- at Bill and Fleur's wedding," she amended, not wanting to remind him of the fiasco with the Ministry employees.
The helmet began beeping and tweeting, until Xenophilius reached up and twisted one of the horns to stop it.
"Ah yes, Hermione Granger. Luna's literal-minded friend. Well, Waldo here says you're all right," he announced cryptically, but he stood back to allow her to come in.
"Thank you," Hermione said, trying not to stare at him too hard. It turned out not to be difficult, as, once inside, her attention was diverted by the fact that everything in the perfectly round kitchen had been painted white: floor, walls, ceiling, table, chairs, cupboards; even the kettle on the stove, the pots hanging from the ceiling, and the clock on the wall were completely white. Hermione felt more than a little disoriented. From somewhere up above, she could hear the odd, off-key singing continuing.
"Is, erm... is Luna here?" she asked, wondering whether she should take off her shoes to avoid soiling the floor.
"Yes, of course," Xenophilius said. A single red light on his helmet blinked steadily, like a timepiece. Hermione watched it for several seconds before finally tearing her eyes away. "Go on, try another one," he said encouragingly.
"Another what?" Hermione asked, confused.
"Another question, of course," Xenophilius said.
"All right..." Hermione said slowly. "Do you think I might see Luna?" She tried hard to keep her tone polite.
Xenophilius nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, I believe you might... I'm afraid I'm rather horrible at these Divination type of questions, though," he said with a frown. "Now I have one for you. What color is the number thirteen?" He watched her expectantly.
Now it was Hermione's turn to frown. "I'm sure I don't know. It hasn't any color, as far as I know."
Xenophilius sighed in resignation, as if he had expected her to say that. "I'll let her know you're here," he said and went up the white spiral staircase in the middle of the room.
Hermione stood there awkwardly, uncertain whether she should take a seat or not. Shortly, the singing stopped, and Hermione looked up to see Luna descending the stairs alone. She was wearing multicolored robes -- or rather, as she came closer, Hermione saw her outfit was composed of pieces of several different robes somehow tied together.
"Hello, Hermione," Luna said in her customary airy voice, once she had reached the floor. She looked much as Hermione remembered her: long, blonde hair falling loosely down her back; her wand stuck behind her ear; intense, blue eyes; a vaguely hopeful expression.
"Hi, Luna," Hermione started off cheerfully. "How have you been?"
"Sad, quite often," Luna informed her without blinking. "And also happy, sometimes. I had a cold for about a week back in July, and I got rather a deep cut on my foot when Daddy and I were putting on the roof."
Hermione's eyes involuntarily sought out Luna's feet, but they were hidden beneath the hem of her robes.
"Oh, it's all right now," Luna assured her, sticking out one bare foot as proof.
"That's good," Hermione said, not having expected quite such a thorough answer when she'd posed the question. "Erm, Luna," she went right on, before Luna could elaborate any further on 'how she'd been', "I wondered if we might not have a little chat."
Luna's face opened up in a genuine smile. "Oh, yes! I'd like that! We hardly have any visitors, you know. In fact, you're the first one, since I've been back. We can have tea and cake and everything." She began flitting about the pristine kitchen, getting out white cups and plates, and from the icebox a white platter with half a white cake on it. With a flick of her wand, she set the tea kettle to heating, then sat down at the white table, folded her hands before her, and looked placidly up at Hermione.
"Is it all right if I sit down?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"Yes," Luna said. "I thought you preferred to stand."
"No," Hermione said as she pulled out a chair. "I was just afraid of making anything dirty. Everything is very... white."
"Oh, I just haven't had time to color this room in," Luna said cheerily, and served Hermione a thick slice of the white cake.
Hermione thanked her for the cake, then added, "You and your father have done a wonderful job of rebuilding. You should come to Hogwarts," she joked. "They're hardly making any headway at all." She took a forkful of cake into her mouth. It tasted fine, although faintly like pine cones.
"Oh, no, we can't leave," Luna said, entirely serious. "Professor Snape needs round-the-clock care."
Hermione choked violently on her cake.
Luna summoned a glass of water and held it out to Hermione. "It is a bit dry, isn't it? You should wait until the tea is ready."
Hermione finally managed to gulp down a mouthful of water. "Snape?" she croaked out, her eyes tearing.
"Professor Snape. From Hogwarts," Luna explained serenely.
"Yes, I know who Professor Snape is, Luna," Hermione said, coughing up the last few crumbs. "What do you mean he needs round-the-clock care? Is he here? Or what-- what am I saying?" she cried. "He died, Luna. His spirit is haunting his former quarters at Hogwarts castle. That's why I'm here. I found this--" She dug out the Butterbeer bottle cork from her pocket and put it on the table in front of Luna. "--in the Shrieking Shack. We thought it looked like it came from--"
Luna picked up the cork. "--my necklace!" she crowed in delight. "It must have come apart when I Apparated him out. It's harder than you might think to Side-Along a lifeless body the size of Professor Snape's."
"I--" Hermione tried to gather her thoughts, which were racing ahead. "So you're the one who took his body from the Shack. But when?"
"Right after Harry killed Lord Voldemort. I heard him say he'd killed Snape, but then when it was all over and everyone was lining up the bodies in the Great Hall, I noticed Snape wasn't there. Nobody'd thought of him. So I went to get him. Harry told me where he was. Oh, the tea's ready." Luna hopped up as the kettle began to whistle. "It's gurdyroot. I don't much like the taste, but Daddy swears by it. If you put in several lumps of sugar you should be able to get it down. Here we go." She sat down again and poured both of their cups full of the dark purple concoction. It appeared obscene in the midst of all the white.
"But why didn't you bring his body back to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, ignoring the steaming drink.
"Because he was still alive," Luna said, matter-of-factly.
"He was still alive," Hermione repeated, not believing what she was hearing. He couldn't have been alive. Surely this was one of Luna's crazy ideas.
Luna nodded while dropping a handful of sugar into her tea. "Barely. But yes."
"But that's even more reason--" Hermione was flabbergasted by Luna's story and had no idea what to think. "Luna, where is he now?"
"Upstairs." She blew on her tea.
Hermione hung her head in her hands. "I don't believe this," she muttered. "All right, Luna," she said, very patiently, "please take me to him." She stood up.
"Don't you even want to finish your cake?" Luna asked.
"No. I really, really would like to see Professor Snape now."
Luna stood as well. "All right. Although he doesn't do much other than lie there."
He wouldn't, if he's dead, Hermione thought to herself. On the way up the stairs, she steeled herself for what she was about to see. Her primary hypothesis was that Luna had retrieved Snape's dead body and brought it back here believing it was full of googlyspurts or buggles or whatever they were. She only hoped that Luna -- or her father -- knew some good preservation spells.
When they reached the upper level, Hermione's eyes took a moment to adjust to the subdued lighting and more colorful decor. The last time she was here, the room had been dominated by an oversized mural-type painting of herself, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville on the ceiling. Now, it looked like a tropical paradise: images of palm trees and ocean waves ran most of the way around the circular room. One section, though, looked like someone was in the process of re-painting, as the scene suddenly changed to a frigid, Arctic wasteland. What drew Hermione's immediate interest, however, was the bed set up in the center of the room.
Indeed, there lay, unmistakably, Severus Snape. He was on his back, fully clothed but with his eyes closed. His neck was wrapped in a thick white bandage. It was definitely a very good preservation spell they had on him. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was merely sleeping.
Xenophilius was standing over him and mumbling something unintelligible, his helmet directing a light at Snape's closed eyes.
"Hello, Daddy," Luna said. "Hermione wanted to see the Professor."
Xenophilius waved them back, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was he was doing.
Hermione ignored him and went over to get a better look. Snape's skin was in perfect condition, with a faint tinge of pink; his hair was glossy, as if it had been recently washed. She could even imagine she saw a very slight twitch under his eyelid, as if he were in a dream state.
She got a very odd feeling. He couldn't be... could he? She quickly took out her wand and cast Homenum Revelio. A thin wedge of light extended from her wand, attached itself to the contours of Snape's body, and scanned him from head to foot. Hermione gasped.
"He's alive!" she exclaimed and pushed Xenophilius aside so she could put her cheek against Snape's chest. Faintly, yet steadily, she felt the gentle rhythmic thumping of his heart. How could this have happened? Hermione felt dizzy. She lifted her head to examine his face again. It was definitely Snape... but was it her Snape? The one she'd come to know over the past few days in a new and different light? She rested her hand against his cheek. It was warm, and she could feel the slight throb of his pulse in his jaw. Alive... and his body had been lying here this whole time, while his spirit was confused, angry, thinking he'd been forgotten.
"But what are you doing with him here?!" she cried, turning an accusing eye on Luna and her father. "He needs to be in hospital!"
"Oh, no, he cannot be moved," Xenophilius said urgently, one of the attachments on his headgear slowly spinning. "If you move his body, his spirit won't know where to return to from its wanderings. He would be irrevocably severed."
"What are you talking about? He's obviously in a coma. I don't know how, but he must have survived the snakebite. Oh, why didn't we check more carefully?" Hermione fretted. "If he'd gotten the proper care immediately, he might have gotten better! Now you've just left him like this for weeks, in a vegetative state! What were you thinking?!"
"We did more for him than anyone else would have," Xenophilius asserted. "He was second only to Voldemort on the the most-hated list of wizardkind. There were scores of injured students at Hogwarts, and only one person present with medimagical training. Whom do you think would have been given priority? He was moments from death when Luna brought him to me. Luckily, I recognized at once that he had been bitten by a Vampirous Viper and would lose his soul without immediate intervention.
"I was able to stabilize him well enough that he was not Turned completely, but his spirit went into deep dormancy. Recently, though, our efforts have borne fruit. His spirit has been awakening and goes wandering from time to time, although he hasn't regained consciousness. I feel confident though, that with continued treatment, he will recover fully in due course."
"Tell her about our experiments, Daddy!" Luna encouraged him, before Hermione could think of a response to this incredible tale.
"Ah, yes!" Xenophilius flipped down his eyepiece and directed a beam of light at Snape's face again. "Cutting-edge stuff, if I do say so myself. You see, as soon as I realized that he was hovering between the two worlds, I wondered if he couldn't serve as a sort of bridge, relaying messages to the other side. He's conscious of everything we say, of course, simply unable to respond. We've been giving him various messages, to pass on, and questions to ask of certain individuals. We hope he'll find the means of communicating their responses to us as well, although we may have to wait until he recovers consciousness completely. Which will be a pity, as I fear once he comes back, he'll no longer be able to cross back and forth. So we're trying to get as much use out of this opportunity as we can."
"You're insane," Hermione breathed out, horrified. "You're using this poor man to-- to fuel some sick fantasy of yours of communicating with the dead? When he could have been receiving proper treatment, maybe even recovered by now?"
"No, no, you don't understand," Xenophilius said, not fazed at all by her accusations. "This is helping him. His spirit was all but gone when he came to us. He didn't want to remain. Are you saying we should have let him die? Perhaps. There are others who would agree with you. But who are we do say? We gave him the chance. He took it, perhaps grudgingly. But he stuck it out. Maybe just to see what would happen." He shrugged. "We enticed him... Luna did, at least. She knew him so much better than I did. That's what all of this is." He gestured around the room, indicating the South Seas motif.
"He didn't want to come back, Hermione," Luna explained, gazing off into the imaginary distance of the tropical sky. "I can understand him. Everyone hated him. He hated himself. He hated being at Hogwarts. So I thought, if I could create an environment that was completely different from Hogwarts, and show him what's beautiful about the earth, maybe he'd want to stay. I don't know what he likes, exactly. Maybe he doesn't either. So I paint a different mural every couple of weeks and sit with him and tell him about things. About life. About friends. I sing a lot. My mother used to sing to me, and it made me feel so very loved. I thought he might like it too.
"And then several days ago, Waldo noticed something. His spirit was waking up." Luna turned to Hermione with tears glistening in her eyes. "He was trying to come back."
Hermione was beginning to get over her initial shock and process what she was being told. Snape was alive, thanks to the Lovegoods, however backwards and illogical their reasons were. "I know where he's been going," she whispered, her eyes wide. "He's been coming to see me."
Luna beamed and threw her arms around Hermione "Oh, Hermione, how wonderful! And you've been a good friend to him, I know you have!"
"I've-- We thought he was a ghost," she murmured, stunned. "Or a disembodied portrait. We've been trying to help him. Minerva and I," she added. "Oh, but Luna, now we must get him to St. Mungo's! They'll be able to help him there! We don't have a minute to lose!"
"We can't, Hermione, remember?" Luna said gently. "He has to stay here so his spirit knows where to come back to."
"I'll tell him," Hermione said. "I'll tell him his body's at St. Mungo's. Luna. Mr. Lovegood." She turned to Luna's father, her determination unyielding. "I promised him I'd do everything I could to help him. I understand you think you've done him a favor, and maybe you have. Maybe you're right about what people thought of him before, and you did save him when no one else would have. But keeping him here any longer is wrong! The authorities know the truth now, that he was working for Dumbledore all along. And all those awful things he did..." Hermione thought back to her own recent conversations with Snape, her own change of heart regarding his character. "The truth will come out about those things, too. How he tried to protect the students from the Carrows."
"Oh, yes, I know all about that," Luna assured her. "It doesn't do any good, though. People always believe what they want to anyway."
"Then we'll make them want to believe the truth," Hermione insisted. They might not listen to Luna and her father, but they'd listen to her. She'd see to that.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to give him up," Xenophilius said to Luna with a sigh. "Your friend doesn't take no for an answer; I do remember that. Although he would benefit more from remaining here," he said to Hermione, "I think he's well enough on his way to recovery that he should be able to muddle through the last bit on his own. Although perhaps, if it's you he's been visiting, he will do better in a place you can be near him more often, hm? You're welcome to move in here, you know." He winked at her.
"St. Mungo's," Hermione said firmly.
"He likes butterscotch pudding," Luna mentioned, gazing softly at Snape. "And Suo Gan."
Mojofly - "Close to the End"
Hermione went directly down to her quarters after her audience with Malfoy. Her heart was still beating at an accelerated rate, and her shoulders were bunched up with tension. She wasn't sure whether she believed him or not. She had the feeling he knew something, but was seeking an angle that would put him at an even greater advantage before revealing it. She was really no good at this feinting and parrying, she thought unhappily as she reached her door. She reached up to knock perfunctorily before opening it, and in doing so sent a twinge of pain shrieking down from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back.
She winced and twisted her head to the side as she slipped inside, diving for the momentary relief of prostrating herself on the couch to wait out the tremor.
"A most unladylike display," she heard Snape say in a disapproving tone.
Hermione groaned, both in annoyance and pain. His appearance had been extraordinarily fast this time, if indeed he hadn't been there already. "Shut up," she whispered, not meaning for him to hear it, but feeling overwhelmed by her feelings of pain and disappointment. She tried to muster the forbearance for going another round with him.
"I take it Malfoy got the better of you," he concluded snootily. "I knew you would be no match for him."
Hermione turned halfway over to look at Snape, keeping her neck stiff. "Give me a minute, would you?" she said with exaggerated politeness. "It's his sister-in-law who got the better of me, and I think she's reaching out from hell right now to remind me of my place."
Snape's expression changed immediately from derision to consternation. "Did you find the potion I told you of?"
"No, strangely, I didn't have time to fit that into my schedule today. What with staff meetings, work, visiting the Shrieking Shack, and having a delightful little chat with Malfoy to cap it all off." Hermione sat up slowly as the throbbing in her back lessened.
"Do not attempt to exert yourself," Snape advised. "I recommend remaining supine for fifteen minutes, at least."
"It never lasts that long," Hermione said, irritated at appearing weak in front of him. She rolled her shoulders to loosen them up.
"No wonder it is taking you so long to recover then," he snapped. "Every time you suffer an episode, you are re-injuring the nerves by taxing them too soon. Did you not consult a Healer?"
"I've had other things to think about the past few weeks!" Hermione snapped back. "And anyway, it's not so bad," she added, too embarrassed to admit that he was right.
"Suit yourself," Snape said, although it was clear he did not condone her choice.
Hermione capitulated in so far as she remained on the couch with her head leaning back on the cushions. "Now, would you like to hear about my meeting with Malfoy, or would you rather continue scolding me?"
Snape harrumphed and crossed his arms. "It's clear you're only going to do what you want anyway."
Hermione couldn't help a grin escaping. "I think you're catching on. Now, sit down and--" She stopped herself and cringed at the faux pas. "I mean, make yourself comfortable... however you'd like..." She trailed off.
Snape merely glared down his nose at her.
Hermione sighed and launched into a recitation of her interview with Malfoy. "I don't know if he's trying to cover up for himself, or someone else, or if he really doesn't know anything," she concluded. "So I guess you were right in saying he got the better of me."
"I didn't really expect anything more," Snape sniffed. "You have no experience dealing with the likes of him."
"I think I held my own rather well," Hermione said, hurt. "What would you have done?"
"Insist on a contract signed in blood," he replied, and Hermione couldn't tell whether he was joking or not. "As it is, all you extracted from him was a vague offer of aid which you have no means of enforcing, or establishing the veracity thereof. Your problem is, you assume everyone is as well-meaning and honorable as you. A common Gryffindor fault."
Hermione threw her arms up in the air. "Well, I do the best I can with what I've got!"
Snape regarded Hermione curiously, then said, "Yes, well, I don't suppose there's much more you can do at the moment. The parting comment about Narcissa and Draco was a nice touch, however."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, confused, as she had only meant the compliment literally and sincerely.
"You reminded him not only that his family's welfare depends in large degree on Potter's favor, but that both his wife and child all but publicly declared their loyalty to Potter's side long before he did, and in a much more sincere and believable manner. He has a lot of ground to make up."
"Maybe I should go to Azkaban myself and track down everyone who was in the forest that night."
Snape shook his head. "You have clearly never been to Azkaban. I would not speak of visiting the place blithely."
"But if it can help you--"
Snape silenced her with a look. "I believe I have expressed to you once my appreciation for your assistance in this matter. But there are things I would not wish even you subjected to."
Hermione was both confused and flattered by his statement, and found herself having to look away under the force of his gaze. She began fidgeting with her robes in her nervousness, and her fingers found their way to the cork she had picked up in the Shrieking Shack.
"What is that?" Snape asked, perhaps to bridge the awkward silence that had descended.
Hermione snorted. "A cork from a Butterbeer bottle. I picked it up in the Shrieking Shack. Can you believe the local kids are actually using it as a place to sneak away to?"
"Whatever in the world were you doing in that place?" Snape asked incredulously.
"I don't know; nothing really," Hermione said, uncomfortable about admitting she had visited the place he had been murdered.
"I will not have you putting yourself in danger in pursuit of this insignificant inquiry!"
"I didn't mean to go in," Hermione tried to explain. "I just sort of found myself there. I'm sorry, really and truly sorry. I saw the room--" She turned away, ashamed.
"--where the Dark Lord ended my life," Snape finished for her, his voice dark but not accusing.
"Yes," she whispered. "It was-- It hadn't even been cleaned up! I didn't know-- Well, I left it like it was," she admitted miserably. "I thought it might be important... for evidence... But now I think no one's even thought of it since... Someone has to do something." She forced herself to look him in the eye. "I'll do something. I'll send an owl to Kingsley right away. The Aurors should come, secure the place." She moved to get up.
"It can wait," Snape said, more gently than she thought she had ever heard him speak. "Fifteen minutes, remember."
Although she was certain that fifteen minutes had already passed from the time she'd entered the room, she didn't argue, instead continuing to fidget with the bottle cork.
Snape stared at it for a moment, then, squinting down at it, asked, "May I see that for a moment? There's something oddly familiar..."
Hermione was a bit bewildered, but held the cork up so that Snape could inspect it more closely. She peered at it herself, turning it between her fingers.
"There is a hole in it," Snape finally announced, straightening up again.
"A hole?" Hermione tried to figure out his meaning. Of course there were holes in it; it was made of cork!
"Look there--" He reached out and pointed to the top. "And a matching hole in the opposite end."
Hermione looked more closely. He was right. There, a small, perfectly round hole, obviously intentionally made, and, as Snape said, another one on the bottom. She thought back to the several other, similar corks she had left lying on the floor of the Shack. Getting that delicious feeling of excitement at being hot on the trail of a promising lead, Hermione leapt up, disregarding her intention to be more careful with her back, and went to her desk, rummaging around among the writing implements and other office supplies.
"What are you looking for?" Snape asked.
"A paper clip! Why haven't wizards caught on to paper clips yet!" she moaned.
"A stirring rod, elongated and thinned, may do the job as well," Snape suggested, moving to stand next to her.
She paused and looked at him; obviously he had the same idea as she did. A moment of mutual understanding and appreciation passed between them.
However, "I haven't one of those handy," she had to remind him.
"A hairpin, then? Or do you never do anything to tame that mess?"
Hermione pursed her lips at the taunt, but stomped off to the bathroom. She came back a moment later with a piece of bent metal decorated with sparkling crystals. "I wore it at Bill and Fleur's wedding," she explained sheepishly.
"It looks like it will do the job," Snape commented, his eyes flickering to her admittedly rather wild mane.
Hermione resisted the temptation to run her hand over her hair, and instead concentrated on very carefully sliding the end of the hairpin into the hole in one end of the cork. It went in easily, and poked out the other end without meeting any resistance.
Hermione looked at Snape, her heart beating in excitement. "There were others. I don't know how many. Enough to --"
"--make a necklace?"
======
Maybe she should have taken Harry with her. Or Ron, or Ginny, or anyone, really. She was just in such a hurry, and it was already late, the sun beginning its descent behind the trees to the west. She ran lightly down the hill she'd Apparated onto, heading for the forlorn-looking tower-like structure at its base.
The Lovegoods' house, as Ron had once said, resembled a rook from a chess set. The last time Hermione was there, the top half had been blown away in an Erumpent horn explosion, and she herself had blasted a hole in what remained of the ground-floor ceiling, effectively completing the cave-in. Now, it looked as if none of that had happened. Smoke was puffing contentedly out of the crooked chimney sticking out the side of the building, and even the ivy climbing the walls looked as if it had been there for decades.
She very much hoped that Mr. Lovegood didn't hold it too much against her that she had materially contributed to the destruction of his house; after all, it appeared they had recovered quite nicely. She took a deep breath and rapped at the eagle door knocker. As she strained her ears to listen for movement inside, she thought she caught a few notes of a high voice crooning a tuneless melody. Luna, no doubt. She hadn't seen the girl since Fred's funeral, but then she'd never really been friends with her, she comforted her guilty conscience. Luna had been closest to Harry or Ginny, if anyone. Yes, perhaps she should have brought one of them along...
She was brought out of her musings by the door being flung open, and Xenophilius Lovegood staring down at her, his bulging eyes reminiscent of his daughter's. He had a contraption on his head that looked like a cross between a diamond cutter's eyepiece and a Viking helmet, with rather more than two horns.
"And who have we here?" he asked, squinting out into the deepening dusk. Without warning, the attachments on his headgear began swivelling around, one of them directing a beam of light at Hermione and another positioning itself over the wizard's eye so he could examine her through it.
She shielded her eyes with one hand as she said, "It's me, Mr. Lovegood: Hermione Granger. We met last year-- at Bill and Fleur's wedding," she amended, not wanting to remind him of the fiasco with the Ministry employees.
The helmet began beeping and tweeting, until Xenophilius reached up and twisted one of the horns to stop it.
"Ah yes, Hermione Granger. Luna's literal-minded friend. Well, Waldo here says you're all right," he announced cryptically, but he stood back to allow her to come in.
"Thank you," Hermione said, trying not to stare at him too hard. It turned out not to be difficult, as, once inside, her attention was diverted by the fact that everything in the perfectly round kitchen had been painted white: floor, walls, ceiling, table, chairs, cupboards; even the kettle on the stove, the pots hanging from the ceiling, and the clock on the wall were completely white. Hermione felt more than a little disoriented. From somewhere up above, she could hear the odd, off-key singing continuing.
"Is, erm... is Luna here?" she asked, wondering whether she should take off her shoes to avoid soiling the floor.
"Yes, of course," Xenophilius said. A single red light on his helmet blinked steadily, like a timepiece. Hermione watched it for several seconds before finally tearing her eyes away. "Go on, try another one," he said encouragingly.
"Another what?" Hermione asked, confused.
"Another question, of course," Xenophilius said.
"All right..." Hermione said slowly. "Do you think I might see Luna?" She tried hard to keep her tone polite.
Xenophilius nodded his head thoughtfully. "Yes, yes, I believe you might... I'm afraid I'm rather horrible at these Divination type of questions, though," he said with a frown. "Now I have one for you. What color is the number thirteen?" He watched her expectantly.
Now it was Hermione's turn to frown. "I'm sure I don't know. It hasn't any color, as far as I know."
Xenophilius sighed in resignation, as if he had expected her to say that. "I'll let her know you're here," he said and went up the white spiral staircase in the middle of the room.
Hermione stood there awkwardly, uncertain whether she should take a seat or not. Shortly, the singing stopped, and Hermione looked up to see Luna descending the stairs alone. She was wearing multicolored robes -- or rather, as she came closer, Hermione saw her outfit was composed of pieces of several different robes somehow tied together.
"Hello, Hermione," Luna said in her customary airy voice, once she had reached the floor. She looked much as Hermione remembered her: long, blonde hair falling loosely down her back; her wand stuck behind her ear; intense, blue eyes; a vaguely hopeful expression.
"Hi, Luna," Hermione started off cheerfully. "How have you been?"
"Sad, quite often," Luna informed her without blinking. "And also happy, sometimes. I had a cold for about a week back in July, and I got rather a deep cut on my foot when Daddy and I were putting on the roof."
Hermione's eyes involuntarily sought out Luna's feet, but they were hidden beneath the hem of her robes.
"Oh, it's all right now," Luna assured her, sticking out one bare foot as proof.
"That's good," Hermione said, not having expected quite such a thorough answer when she'd posed the question. "Erm, Luna," she went right on, before Luna could elaborate any further on 'how she'd been', "I wondered if we might not have a little chat."
Luna's face opened up in a genuine smile. "Oh, yes! I'd like that! We hardly have any visitors, you know. In fact, you're the first one, since I've been back. We can have tea and cake and everything." She began flitting about the pristine kitchen, getting out white cups and plates, and from the icebox a white platter with half a white cake on it. With a flick of her wand, she set the tea kettle to heating, then sat down at the white table, folded her hands before her, and looked placidly up at Hermione.
"Is it all right if I sit down?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"Yes," Luna said. "I thought you preferred to stand."
"No," Hermione said as she pulled out a chair. "I was just afraid of making anything dirty. Everything is very... white."
"Oh, I just haven't had time to color this room in," Luna said cheerily, and served Hermione a thick slice of the white cake.
Hermione thanked her for the cake, then added, "You and your father have done a wonderful job of rebuilding. You should come to Hogwarts," she joked. "They're hardly making any headway at all." She took a forkful of cake into her mouth. It tasted fine, although faintly like pine cones.
"Oh, no, we can't leave," Luna said, entirely serious. "Professor Snape needs round-the-clock care."
Hermione choked violently on her cake.
Luna summoned a glass of water and held it out to Hermione. "It is a bit dry, isn't it? You should wait until the tea is ready."
Hermione finally managed to gulp down a mouthful of water. "Snape?" she croaked out, her eyes tearing.
"Professor Snape. From Hogwarts," Luna explained serenely.
"Yes, I know who Professor Snape is, Luna," Hermione said, coughing up the last few crumbs. "What do you mean he needs round-the-clock care? Is he here? Or what-- what am I saying?" she cried. "He died, Luna. His spirit is haunting his former quarters at Hogwarts castle. That's why I'm here. I found this--" She dug out the Butterbeer bottle cork from her pocket and put it on the table in front of Luna. "--in the Shrieking Shack. We thought it looked like it came from--"
Luna picked up the cork. "--my necklace!" she crowed in delight. "It must have come apart when I Apparated him out. It's harder than you might think to Side-Along a lifeless body the size of Professor Snape's."
"I--" Hermione tried to gather her thoughts, which were racing ahead. "So you're the one who took his body from the Shack. But when?"
"Right after Harry killed Lord Voldemort. I heard him say he'd killed Snape, but then when it was all over and everyone was lining up the bodies in the Great Hall, I noticed Snape wasn't there. Nobody'd thought of him. So I went to get him. Harry told me where he was. Oh, the tea's ready." Luna hopped up as the kettle began to whistle. "It's gurdyroot. I don't much like the taste, but Daddy swears by it. If you put in several lumps of sugar you should be able to get it down. Here we go." She sat down again and poured both of their cups full of the dark purple concoction. It appeared obscene in the midst of all the white.
"But why didn't you bring his body back to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, ignoring the steaming drink.
"Because he was still alive," Luna said, matter-of-factly.
"He was still alive," Hermione repeated, not believing what she was hearing. He couldn't have been alive. Surely this was one of Luna's crazy ideas.
Luna nodded while dropping a handful of sugar into her tea. "Barely. But yes."
"But that's even more reason--" Hermione was flabbergasted by Luna's story and had no idea what to think. "Luna, where is he now?"
"Upstairs." She blew on her tea.
Hermione hung her head in her hands. "I don't believe this," she muttered. "All right, Luna," she said, very patiently, "please take me to him." She stood up.
"Don't you even want to finish your cake?" Luna asked.
"No. I really, really would like to see Professor Snape now."
Luna stood as well. "All right. Although he doesn't do much other than lie there."
He wouldn't, if he's dead, Hermione thought to herself. On the way up the stairs, she steeled herself for what she was about to see. Her primary hypothesis was that Luna had retrieved Snape's dead body and brought it back here believing it was full of googlyspurts or buggles or whatever they were. She only hoped that Luna -- or her father -- knew some good preservation spells.
When they reached the upper level, Hermione's eyes took a moment to adjust to the subdued lighting and more colorful decor. The last time she was here, the room had been dominated by an oversized mural-type painting of herself, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville on the ceiling. Now, it looked like a tropical paradise: images of palm trees and ocean waves ran most of the way around the circular room. One section, though, looked like someone was in the process of re-painting, as the scene suddenly changed to a frigid, Arctic wasteland. What drew Hermione's immediate interest, however, was the bed set up in the center of the room.
Indeed, there lay, unmistakably, Severus Snape. He was on his back, fully clothed but with his eyes closed. His neck was wrapped in a thick white bandage. It was definitely a very good preservation spell they had on him. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was merely sleeping.
Xenophilius was standing over him and mumbling something unintelligible, his helmet directing a light at Snape's closed eyes.
"Hello, Daddy," Luna said. "Hermione wanted to see the Professor."
Xenophilius waved them back, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was he was doing.
Hermione ignored him and went over to get a better look. Snape's skin was in perfect condition, with a faint tinge of pink; his hair was glossy, as if it had been recently washed. She could even imagine she saw a very slight twitch under his eyelid, as if he were in a dream state.
She got a very odd feeling. He couldn't be... could he? She quickly took out her wand and cast Homenum Revelio. A thin wedge of light extended from her wand, attached itself to the contours of Snape's body, and scanned him from head to foot. Hermione gasped.
"He's alive!" she exclaimed and pushed Xenophilius aside so she could put her cheek against Snape's chest. Faintly, yet steadily, she felt the gentle rhythmic thumping of his heart. How could this have happened? Hermione felt dizzy. She lifted her head to examine his face again. It was definitely Snape... but was it her Snape? The one she'd come to know over the past few days in a new and different light? She rested her hand against his cheek. It was warm, and she could feel the slight throb of his pulse in his jaw. Alive... and his body had been lying here this whole time, while his spirit was confused, angry, thinking he'd been forgotten.
"But what are you doing with him here?!" she cried, turning an accusing eye on Luna and her father. "He needs to be in hospital!"
"Oh, no, he cannot be moved," Xenophilius said urgently, one of the attachments on his headgear slowly spinning. "If you move his body, his spirit won't know where to return to from its wanderings. He would be irrevocably severed."
"What are you talking about? He's obviously in a coma. I don't know how, but he must have survived the snakebite. Oh, why didn't we check more carefully?" Hermione fretted. "If he'd gotten the proper care immediately, he might have gotten better! Now you've just left him like this for weeks, in a vegetative state! What were you thinking?!"
"We did more for him than anyone else would have," Xenophilius asserted. "He was second only to Voldemort on the the most-hated list of wizardkind. There were scores of injured students at Hogwarts, and only one person present with medimagical training. Whom do you think would have been given priority? He was moments from death when Luna brought him to me. Luckily, I recognized at once that he had been bitten by a Vampirous Viper and would lose his soul without immediate intervention.
"I was able to stabilize him well enough that he was not Turned completely, but his spirit went into deep dormancy. Recently, though, our efforts have borne fruit. His spirit has been awakening and goes wandering from time to time, although he hasn't regained consciousness. I feel confident though, that with continued treatment, he will recover fully in due course."
"Tell her about our experiments, Daddy!" Luna encouraged him, before Hermione could think of a response to this incredible tale.
"Ah, yes!" Xenophilius flipped down his eyepiece and directed a beam of light at Snape's face again. "Cutting-edge stuff, if I do say so myself. You see, as soon as I realized that he was hovering between the two worlds, I wondered if he couldn't serve as a sort of bridge, relaying messages to the other side. He's conscious of everything we say, of course, simply unable to respond. We've been giving him various messages, to pass on, and questions to ask of certain individuals. We hope he'll find the means of communicating their responses to us as well, although we may have to wait until he recovers consciousness completely. Which will be a pity, as I fear once he comes back, he'll no longer be able to cross back and forth. So we're trying to get as much use out of this opportunity as we can."
"You're insane," Hermione breathed out, horrified. "You're using this poor man to-- to fuel some sick fantasy of yours of communicating with the dead? When he could have been receiving proper treatment, maybe even recovered by now?"
"No, no, you don't understand," Xenophilius said, not fazed at all by her accusations. "This is helping him. His spirit was all but gone when he came to us. He didn't want to remain. Are you saying we should have let him die? Perhaps. There are others who would agree with you. But who are we do say? We gave him the chance. He took it, perhaps grudgingly. But he stuck it out. Maybe just to see what would happen." He shrugged. "We enticed him... Luna did, at least. She knew him so much better than I did. That's what all of this is." He gestured around the room, indicating the South Seas motif.
"He didn't want to come back, Hermione," Luna explained, gazing off into the imaginary distance of the tropical sky. "I can understand him. Everyone hated him. He hated himself. He hated being at Hogwarts. So I thought, if I could create an environment that was completely different from Hogwarts, and show him what's beautiful about the earth, maybe he'd want to stay. I don't know what he likes, exactly. Maybe he doesn't either. So I paint a different mural every couple of weeks and sit with him and tell him about things. About life. About friends. I sing a lot. My mother used to sing to me, and it made me feel so very loved. I thought he might like it too.
"And then several days ago, Waldo noticed something. His spirit was waking up." Luna turned to Hermione with tears glistening in her eyes. "He was trying to come back."
Hermione was beginning to get over her initial shock and process what she was being told. Snape was alive, thanks to the Lovegoods, however backwards and illogical their reasons were. "I know where he's been going," she whispered, her eyes wide. "He's been coming to see me."
Luna beamed and threw her arms around Hermione "Oh, Hermione, how wonderful! And you've been a good friend to him, I know you have!"
"I've-- We thought he was a ghost," she murmured, stunned. "Or a disembodied portrait. We've been trying to help him. Minerva and I," she added. "Oh, but Luna, now we must get him to St. Mungo's! They'll be able to help him there! We don't have a minute to lose!"
"We can't, Hermione, remember?" Luna said gently. "He has to stay here so his spirit knows where to come back to."
"I'll tell him," Hermione said. "I'll tell him his body's at St. Mungo's. Luna. Mr. Lovegood." She turned to Luna's father, her determination unyielding. "I promised him I'd do everything I could to help him. I understand you think you've done him a favor, and maybe you have. Maybe you're right about what people thought of him before, and you did save him when no one else would have. But keeping him here any longer is wrong! The authorities know the truth now, that he was working for Dumbledore all along. And all those awful things he did..." Hermione thought back to her own recent conversations with Snape, her own change of heart regarding his character. "The truth will come out about those things, too. How he tried to protect the students from the Carrows."
"Oh, yes, I know all about that," Luna assured her. "It doesn't do any good, though. People always believe what they want to anyway."
"Then we'll make them want to believe the truth," Hermione insisted. They might not listen to Luna and her father, but they'd listen to her. She'd see to that.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to give him up," Xenophilius said to Luna with a sigh. "Your friend doesn't take no for an answer; I do remember that. Although he would benefit more from remaining here," he said to Hermione, "I think he's well enough on his way to recovery that he should be able to muddle through the last bit on his own. Although perhaps, if it's you he's been visiting, he will do better in a place you can be near him more often, hm? You're welcome to move in here, you know." He winked at her.
"St. Mungo's," Hermione said firmly.
"He likes butterscotch pudding," Luna mentioned, gazing softly at Snape. "And Suo Gan."