Back for Good

There was a sibilant noise surrounding her, a long, drawn-out hissing that faded and grew but did not relent. The longer the noise lasted, the more Hermione felt it was voices, though she could not tell what they were saying, or if they were saying anything at all.

When she turned to move, to see if she could locate the noise, a painful throbbing began in her left hand, and was matched by one in her chest. She left out a low moan, and immediately the headache set in.

Okay, one thing at a time. Where am I? She felt around herself, and became aware that she was lying on a hard surface with slats. The floor. So far, so good. Why am I on the floor? The answer for that did not seem to be forthcoming, so she moved onto the next question. What is my next move?

Hermione felt the back of her head and encountered a substantial bump. Apparently, she had fallen or been dropped. Fallen….

And then it all came back to her at once, flooding her senses until she gasped. “The book,” she croaked, her voice harsh in her throat. She pulled herself to her feet with sheer force of will and saw the book was closed on the tabletop, her parchments strewn haphazardly across the surface but otherwise unharmed.

She sat at the table reading over her notes and collecting her thoughts. She ignored the twin pains in her hand and chest. It would be easy enough to perform the spell she had copied. The potion would be the tricky part. She would have to brew it herself, something she knew she was capable of but which made her nervous nonetheless. A potion like this with nearly twenty ingredients was highly volatile and could be made unstable with only the slightest miscalculation.

She would have to go to Knockturn Alley to gather the ingredients. She would go alone; Hermione did not intend to tell anyone of her plan.

Hermione made another copy of the potion’s ingredients, including measurements, and placed the parchments containing the potion recipe and incantation in a small cavern between shifting wood slats on the third floor of the house. She took the second copy and divided it into three shorter lists. She would go to two different apothecaries, one twice, on three different days—just in case someone grew suspicious of her intentions, or, Merlin forbid, recognized the potion from its ingredients.

Getting out her cauldron and a grill for the fire and placing them on the dinner table, Hermione wondered what else could be done immediately. She figured she would have to go to the veil itself to perform the spell. She would be able to get in without a problem with her clearance from her job. Once there, she would consume the potion, speak the incantation, and if everything went perfectly, Sirius Black should be back on the other side of the veil within moments.

Hermione couldn’t be sure what life was like beyond the veil. She hoped that Sirius was being held in some sort of stasis, where he wasn’t hungry or sad or even fully conscious. She prayed that he was not scared or in pain, and that the veil was not like Azkaban, with Dementors sucking away his mortal soul. She would not let herself think of what he might be like upon his return; only that everything would be okay. And if it wasn’t, and he was some sort of zombie or something equally distasteful, well, she would deal with that when the time came.

Hermione even went so far as to clean and prepare Sirius’ old room for him, praying Harry wouldn’t choose that time to drop by unexpectedly and ask her exactly what the hell she was doing. The sheets were clean and the bed was freshly made when Hermione stopped her endless movement and sat down by the window in his room.

She could still sense him here, even after all this time. He hadn’t stayed here long, and in a way, she felt like she never really got to know him at all. But something was driving her, compelling her to try this one last thing. Just this last effort, and if it did not work, she would never tell anyone. She was even prepared to give a part of her soul just to try to get him back. He deserved at least an attempt.

By the time Hermione had prepared the bedroom for its erstwhile occupant’s return, Hermione’s bandaged hand was aching and bleeding through the gauze. She just might have overdone it with the physical activity; she still felt weak from the blood loss, and her hand felt incredibly sore now that she had slowed down enough to realize it. The cut on her chest had scabbed while she was unconscious and did not hurt as much. Actually, it didn’t hurt at all, not even when she stretched her arms high above her head, trying to loosen the kinks that had formed during her little floor nap.

When Hermione thought to check the time, it was nearly three in the morning. She had passed out around seven pm, she estimated, and had woken up a few hours later. Now, she was exhausted and she had to be up for work in four hours. Resigned, Hermione changed the gauze on her hand, noticing the scab was nearly black and was very red around the edges, especially through the twice-sliced cut across her palm. Oh well, she thought; she would clean it more thoroughly tomorrow and take a light potion to rid any infection.

She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

It was dark again, and her lack of sight made her other senses stronger. The taste of blood was heavy in the air and the stone was beneath her back once again. She was not bound like before, but felt as though her limbs weighed a ton each, and her movements were slow and sluggish. Moving even an inch was an effort, and she resigned herself to staying still until she could decipher her surroundings.

A whispering began all around her, starting low but gaining in volume until she was sure her head was splitting. A voice came that was louder than the rest, but consisted of a hissing sound with no discernable location. It told her to drink from the chalice, but she was confused; there was no chalice. The moment that thought completed, she could feel the cold metal in her hand and she struggled to close her fingers around it. She brought the chalice to her lips in a motion so slow it was agonizing even for her, and sipped.

It was blood.

But the voice would not let her put it down, and told her it was all right; it was her blood, after all. Disgusted but determined, she drank and drank. She started to feel dizzy and sick and could not finish the libation. The voice was angry; it hissed and spat at her. You must finish, it told her. You must drink it all.

She raised the glass once more and drank the rest, letting the dregs settle and drinking those too. When the chalice was truly empty, she let it fall from her fingers. The voice hissed its pleasure. Then the pain began.

The next three days went by slowly. Hermione gathered every ingredient on her list but one. Essence of pure azure. She had never heard of it and neither had either apothecary. Returning to Grimmauld Place and organizing her ingredients on the counter, Hermione was satisfied that she would find this last ingredient. She would not think that her plan was over before she could even finish the first stage.

Finally, on Friday evening after work, with everything prepared but the potion itself, Hermione decided to Floo the one person who would be able, if not entirely willing, to help her.

Severus Snape, of course.

As she suspected, Snape was not thrilled to see her.

“To what do I owe the dubious pleasure, Miss Granger…or it must be Mrs. Weasley by now, surely?” His tone was cool and calculated, but Hermione could sense he did not like being in the presence of someone who knew all his secrets. Indeed, it was hard to hate him when he had sacrificed so much for her and her friends. For love.

“It’s Miss Granger and probably shall ever be,” she said self-effacingly. “I’m here for your expertise—I would never presume to waste your time otherwise.” Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, after all, and nothing got through to Snape like flattery, especially sincere flattery.

“I live to serve, as you well know.”

Hermione snorted in a most unladylike manner and approached his desk, the Potions Master’s office looking exactly the same as it did when she left, and as it would look evermore, she suspected.

Hermione cut to the chase, as she was wont to do, and simply stated, “Professor, I’m looking for essence of pure azure. I need it for…an experiment, and no apothecaries have heard of it. I knew you would know where to find it.”

Snape looked at her appraisingly. She could see the wheels turning in his mind and hoped this mystery ingredient would not give away her intentions. The silence seemed to stretch forever as he weighed her words, considering her request.

“Indeed, I do know where to find it,” he said in that infuriating voice that made her certain he lived to toy with her.

“And where would that be?” She forced the words out through her teeth, endeavoring to be congenial but growing more annoyed at the thought of Sirius in purgatory, waiting for rescue.

“In this very office, of course. I only have a few pinches, however, and it will cost you.” She had expected him to bargain and had brought a substantial amount of Galleons for trade. She could not contain her glee at the fact that he had what she was in dire need of, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her grin.

“I’m so glad you can help me. I was beginning to think it was hopeless!” She consulted her ingredients list to see exactly how much of the elusive stuff she needed. Only a dash! Hermione exhaled gratefully. But her giddiness was not to last as the list was promptly snatched from her grasp. She reached for it, but Snape held her at arm’s length and read from her parchment.

“A very interesting combination here, but of course this is not the entire list, is it?” His voice was one of mild surprise and possibly…worry?

“No, sir.” He never failed to reduce her to her former schoolgirl self, and some part of her wanted him to figure out what she had planned so she could share in her excitement and possibly gloat over her brilliance.

“These are the darkest of items, meant to make a Dark potion. A dangerous potion.” His words were not a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you have good reason to be in my office, begging for an ingredient which will be used in a potion that will almost certainly kill, maim, or otherwise destroy the imbiber?”

“The best reason, sir.”

His eyes were upon her again, studying her for an interminable length of time, until finally he nodded. “Miss Granger, do not mistake my agreeability for naiveté. I may not know what this potion does without the rest of the list, but I know if you consume it or give it to someone else for consumption, you will not make it out the same as you were before. I cannot admit to caring whether you live or die for your sake, but I will feel a twinge or tickle of guilt if I indirectly bring about your demise, not to mention the more important fact that I could be brought to charges once it is discovered that I provided you with the killing ingredient, for that is what essence of pure azure truly is. If you combine it with the blood of a virgin taken willingly, your soul will be divided, and no wizard or witch can live a whole life having made such a sacrifice.”

For someone who was unaware of the potion’s directive, he certainly made an argument against taking it. But the reason for following through was still too strong, and Hermione was nothing if not brave. A part of her soul she could do without, for what good was it to her when her friend was suffering unknown horrors? How could she live with herself knowing she had not made the choice to at least try to bring Sirius back?

And as surely as if he had cast Legilimens, Snape was aware of her intentions. She could see the dawning knowledge on his face and silently begged him to understand. And he did, because it was this little witch who had returned to the Shrieking Shack and healed him from Nagini’s near-fatal attack; she had not left him to die and could not leave Sirius to die. And even Severus Snape could not begrudge Hermione her well-intentioned recklessness.

Hermione had nodded gravely through his speech on the potion and was now waiting for him to make a move. He rose wordlessly and left the room. She sat puzzled, uncertain if she had been dismissed or if she was to wait. Unwilling to surrender, she settled in for the long haul. Fortunately, Snape was back within twenty minutes with a tiny vial of a bright blue sand-like substance. There was just enough for the potion, no more. No second chances.

Before handing it over, Snape made one last bid. “If you do this, nothing will ever be the same for you again. Perhaps you should think of yourself for once?”

Snape would never understand the Gryffindor mentality. Hermione only shook her head and smiled as if she did not know how to do what he suggested. He sighed dramatically and handed her the vial. His hand closed around hers as she grasped it and he said only, “See me when it is done.”

There was no hiding anything from that man.

He shrugged off her thanks and left her in his office to see herself out. She did just that, and Floo’d home. She would start the potion tonight and it would be done by tomorrow afternoon.