The Room of Lost Dreams

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Professor McGonagall, who sported a tartan ice bag at her temple, roused her midmorning. Harry and Ron had been awake for hours and were playing Exploding Snap and eating candy sent by well-wishers. The newly installed headmistress explained that they were expected in her office in an hour to give their version of the final battle. The only people present would be herself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a representative of the Daily Prophet, whose exclusive interview was contingent upon getting unanimous approval from them all before publishing it.

The house-elves brought them a hero's breakfast, which tasted like heaven after subsisting on meagre fare for so many months. Between bites, Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussed which topics were appropriate for the official version of their story and which details weren't. Some details were already public knowledge, particularly the Snitch, Deluminator, and book that Dumbledore had willed them.

It was quickly agreed that the only aspect of the Hallows legend worth mentioning was the Elder Wand, which everyone who witnessed Voldemort's death had heard about already. Its history was clearly there in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and since wand lore was generally unknown, it was easy enough to explain why Voldemort's Killing Curses had failed without mentioning that Harry had been the final Horcrux.

Horcruxes were also not to be mentioned by name. The sooner they were forgotten, the better. Fortunately, it was easy to think up other plausible reasons for their public Horcrux-seeking exploits. Their trip to the Ministry of Magic by which they had gained Slytherin's locket could have been intended solely to free the Muggleborns, and their trip to Gringotts was easily explained as an attempt to steal Gryffindor's sword, which Dumbledore had seen as vital to their quest to kill Voldemort.

The diadem was a bit trickier, as most of Hogwarts's defenders knew Harry had been looking for it specifically. Hermione finally suggested that Harry needed the extra wisdom to know how to defeat Voldemort. The diadem's attributes were well enough known that the story was believable.

It was with some trepidation that Ron broached the subject of his leaving. He was certain that Bill and Fleur would swear to whatever story they wished them to give, but he was clearly embarrassed by his behaviour.

'Leave it out then,' said Harry. 'The reason you left and came back was because of a Horcrux, and we've already said we're not talking about them.'

'You're sure?'

'If you want the real story to come out, you can always hire Rita Skeeter to help you with your memoirs,' said Hermione.

Ron gave Hermione a grateful grin.

'I guess the last thing to talk about is Snape,' said Harry.

Hermione froze. 'What about him?'

'Well, he was only doing what Dumbledore told him to,' said Harry. 'We should probably try to clear his name officially, especially since he's dead and can't do it himself. And he did provide the most important piece of the puzzle.'

'Still,' said Hermione, frowning. 'I don't think he'd want the world to know exactly why he changed sides. That's private.'

'Can you imagine witches swooning over Snape, like he was some sort of romantic hero?' asked Ron with a snort.

'Ron, this is Harry's mum we're talking about. I think it's sufficient for us to say that Professor Snape left memories that prove he's innocent of Dumbledore's death and was spying for our side.'

'What if McGonagall or Kingsley want to see them?' asked Ron through a mouthful of toast.

'I took the memories from Dumbledore's old Pensieve last night and put them back in Hermione's bag,' said Harry. 'We could say the bottled holding them broke.'

'Well, there's plenty of room in the Room of Hidden Things, now,' said Ron. 'We can hide them there.'

'Unless it's still full of Fiendfyre,' pointed out Hermione.

'Can you keep them in your bag?' asked Harry, with a crooked smile. 'If there's room, of course.'

'Well, that's that,' said Ron, loading up his plate with more eggs and bacon. 'I think we're ready for whatever they throw at us.'

'Good. I only want to do this once, so let's do it well,' said Harry, brushing toast crumbs from his lap. 'You slept awfully late,' he said to Hermione. 'Are you sure you're feeling all right?'

'I didn't sleep until nearly sunrise,' she said. 'I was up late with a book.'

The boys exchanged grins. 'She's definitely feeling better,' said Harry.

o0o

In Hermione's opinion, there was nothing more decadent than lying in a comfortable bed with a stack of books. Unless there was also chocolate, which there was.

Their official statement had taken many hours to make, and all three of them were exhausted by the time McGonagall and Shacklebolt were satisfied that they'd done a much more thorough job of eliminating Voldemort than Harry had done as a baby. Their deepest secrets were safe for the time being, and they'd been granted sanctuary in Hogwarts for as long as they needed to get their lives back in order. She, Harry, and Ron had been given official Hogwarts guest rooms, the type used by visiting teachers and Ministry officials.

Kingsley had even promised them that they could take the N.E.W.T.s once they'd had the opportunity to revise, and Hermione had already relieved the library of several important volumes for her projects for Remus and George. She'd already compiled a good list of potential charms for George's new ear and created a rough draft for her initial petition for the Ministry.

Unsurprisingly, Harry and Ron had sent her back to her room when she'd produced N.E.W.T.s revision schedules and reading lists. Hermione thought she'd heard Harry whisper I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, but she couldn't say for certain. Nor did she particularly care.

If Harry and Ron wanted to celebrate their victory by getting pissed in Hogsmeade, there was no reason to stop them. It's not as if they'd be very helpful in her reading, and there was work to be done.

Hermione was nearly to the end of a particularly dry book on the Goblin Rebellions when she slammed the book shut in frustration. The text was required reading for Seventh Year History of Magic, but it was hopelessly biased. There was nothing on goblin notions of ownership, merely that goblins 'stole' items that wizards had purchased. There was nothing about wizards withholding wand lore, or any of the things she'd learned in her adventures.

The next book was no better. This one was for Defence, and she'd found it on a syllabus from when Remus had taught. Unfortunately, it was full of inaccuracies, of the sort that could get someone killed. Honestly, even Professor Snape had seen fit to ensure that his students could tell the difference between Inferi and ghosts. This text might have been describing the ghoul they'd enchanted to look like Ron with Spattergroit.

She tutted noisily and tossed the book on the pile of discarded references. It was hopeless. The books might prepare her for N.E.W.T.s, but they certainly weren't sufficient to prepare anybody for the world.

She began pulling the rest of the books out of her bag: books of Charms she'd learned forwards and backwards, the rules of Transfiguration that she'd memorised years ago, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which might have as well been written for comedy purposes for what little practical information it contained on animal husbandry. It was pointless. There wasn't anything in any of these books that she didn't already know, and yet she'd never felt as ill prepared as she did at that moment.

The last book in her bag was Advanced Potion-Making, which gave her pause. She knew the book from cover to cover, yet the Half-Blood Prince had managed to prove over and over that the Potions texts, like the others, were fallible and incomplete. She'd always wondered how Snape could have figured out so much about Potions, until it suddenly hit her. She knew the other texts' faults because she'd worked so hard to learn their content outside of class. However, knowing the recipe was no more like brewing the potion than knowing the incantation was like casting a charm.

While she was confident that she earn a dozen N.E.W.T.s with her eyes closed, Potions was the one subject she hadn't had the opportunity to stretch beyond the classroom, other than her experiment with Polyjuice Potion her second year. Then again, given how that turned out, was it any wonder that she was less than enthusiastic? Still, if she wished to make any progress towards curing Lycanthropy as Remus had wished, she would need more than the Hogwarts curriculum could offer.

Hermione's hand strayed into her bag once more, and it brushed against the cover of Snape's research journal. Of course. There in her bag were the joint research efforts of two of the finest Potions students that Hogwarts had ever seen. If she was going to learn, here was a book that could teach her things that Libatius Borage had never thought to try.

However, Hermione knew that she lacked sufficient knowledge of Lily's relationship with Snape to ask for access to his research, especially when Lily was supposed to know most of it already. She'd felt somewhat guilty about impersonating Snape's lost love to begin with, and she had a good reason to stop now. If Snape refused her access, then she was no worse off than she was now, and she'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing that she'd tried to deal with him honestly.

She pulled the journal from her bag and laid it on the bed next to her. The Dictoquill came next, and she paused for a moment before speaking.

'Hello, Severus.'

You're still using the Dictoquill.

'Well, you see, you've given me very little reason to think you wish me well,' she said. 'In our previous conversation, you seemed far to keen to get me to touch the journal when it's open and active. What exactly will happen if I do that?'

You know I'd never hurt you.

Hermione snorted. 'What do you think insulting me in front of the entire school did?'

I told you, that was a mistake! Besides, I'd say you got even with me for that.

She nearly responded that she hadn't married James to get even with him, when she sighed, steeling herself to speak the truth. 'Well, you see, I didn't. I'm afraid that haven't been entirely honest with you, Severus.'

How so? Did Potter actually leave you for a younger witch?

'I'm not Lily Evans.'

Her words faded from the page, but no new words were forthcoming. Might as well get it all out on paper.

'My name is Hermione Granger. I am in the same year as James and Lily's son Harry. James and Lily were killed by Voldemort shortly after Harry was born, but when he tried to kill Harry, the Killing Curse rebounded on Voldemort. Everybody thought he was dead, but he wasn't. Voldemort had made a number of dark enchantments that prevented him from dying unless the enchantments were also destroyed. Nobody realised this until after he made a new body for himself thirteen years later. We've been fighting, all of us, against Voldemort. You were a spy for Dumbeldore, and I, Harry, and our friend Ron have been hunting down and destroying his enchantments. Two nights ago, we triumphed, and Voldemort's gone for good. The reason I know so much about you and Lily is because we were there when you died, and you left us memories that were important to Voldemort's defeat, and many of them involved Lily.'

When in this discombobulating narrative did I die?

'Two nights ago. You were the victim of his final enchantment and doing your job a bit too well.'

What job was that?

'You were a spy against Voldemort for Albus Dumbledore and had been ever since Voldemort expressed a desire to kill Lily. However, by following Voldemort's orders, Voldemort believed you'd inadvertently given yourself power over a valuable weapon that he wanted for himself.'

So he ordered his enchanted snake to kill me?

'Yes, though I don't know if it was the venom that killed you or blood loss.'

As fascinating as this is, I don't exactly understand why you're telling me this without attaching one of your customary quid pro quos.

'I need your help with Potions. I'd like to understand the subject, and I think you can help me.'

Show me how I died, and perhaps I'll help you.

'The snake bit your neck. There was a lot of blood, and you were trying to stop the bleeding with your hand. Voldemort left, and then Harry and I ran to your side. You were making these horrid bubbling sounds while you were trying to breathe, but recognised him and gave us your memories. Then, you died.'

I didn't ask you to tell me about it, I asked you to show me.

'How am I supposed to do that?'

Write in me, Hermione. Focus on the memory, hold the quill in your own hand, and write.

'You're not still on about that, are you?'

Damn it, woman, can't you see this is important? Just tell me, what did my breathing sound like? Did it rattle? Did I cough?

'No, it was sort of gurgling or bubbling. Like there was blood in your lungs.'

Show it to me, Hermione. I promise I'll help you with Potions, I'll tell you anything you wanted to know about Lily. I'll do anything. Please. I won't hurt you. If you ever trusted me, then please, trust me now.

With equal parts trepidation and curiosity about what could make Severus Snape, even a teenaged version, beg, she turned off the Dictoquill and took her own quill in her hand. She dipped it in her inkwell and focused her thoughts on that night in the Shrieking Shack. She wrote the words. I am here on the empty page.

She felt as if she were going through a Portkey. The world swirled around her in a dizzying blur of lights and colours until the world righted, and she found herself standing in the Shrieking Shack with Voldemort and Professor Snape. A tall, sallow boy her own age stood next to her, staring at the scene before him with surprise. He was surprisingly handsome in a coltish sort of way, and Hermione felt a sudden wave of heartache, knowing the sorrow his disastrous choices would cause.

He fixed his dark eyes on her at last. 'Where are we?'

'The Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.'

'Where are you?' he asked.

'I'm with Harry and Ron in the secret passage behind that crate. That's the tunnel that connects to the Whomping Willow.'

Severus watched with glittering eyes as Voldemort described his inability to kill Harry, gasping quietly when Voldemort mentioned that he'd killed Professor Dumbledore, and even managing a half-hearted sneer at his elder self's obvious anxiety. His sneer turned into a look of utter loathing when Voldemort sent the snake towards Snape, and he hardly winced when the snake buried her fangs in his future self's throat.

Severus was at his elder self's side before he hit the ground, and Hermione joined him.

'There,' he said, pointing triumphantly at Professor Snape's fingers. 'I knew it.'

Hermione stared. Hidden in Professor Snape's fingers was a tiny phial filled with a transparent potion that Hermione recognised with a gasp.

'Draught of Living Death,' she whispered.

Snape poured the Potion into the terrible wound in his neck and pressed his hand against it with a hiss.

'Of course,' whispered Severus. 'He put it directly into the bloodstream to make it act faster.'

'Was it enough to stop him bleeding to death?' she whispered.

Severus motioned for her to be quiet.

The crate over the passage slid aside, and Hermione saw herself, Ron and Harry rush out of the passage and kneel at Professor Snape's side.

Severus glared at Harry, probably because of his resemblance to James, but didn't say anything. He put his head close to Professor Snape's mouth and listened intently.

Hermione turned her back. She didn't want to see Professor Snape die again. Once was more than enough.

'Look... at... me...'

There was a dull thud as Snape hit the ground, and then all was silent.

She started as she felt Severus's hand on her arm, and she turned to face him.

He looked down at her impassively and raised his finger to her cheek.

She hadn't realised she was crying.

'You're sorry I died,' he said in tones of surprise as he withdrew his damp fingertip.

'Of course I'm sorry,' she said, scrubbing the tears away angrily. 'Unsung heroes dying needless deaths isn't exactly the stuff of comedy, you know.'

'No, I suppose not,' he said with a slight smile.

'Right,' she said, squaring her shoulders. 'Madam Pomfrey's standard Blood Replenishing Potion can't be taken with Draught of the Living Death- the milk in it will react to the thujone in wormwood, and we do want you to wake up eventually. I'm fairly sure she still stocks Sanguinus Solution for people with milk allergies. Now, Living Death wears off in three days and three nights. I need to find you tonight, otherwise you'll bleed to death as soon as you wake '

Severus stared at her open-mouthed for a moment. 'You might not be Lily, but at least you're not a complete dunderhead.'

'Thanks for the glowing vote of confidence.'

His smirk faded quickly. 'How do you plan to stop the bleeding?'

'I'm going to suture the wound, which ought to stabilise you until we can get you to St. Mungo's. That's how they were able to save Ron's dad when the same snake bit him. Now, get us out of here! I've got a Potions Master to save!'

'I attain Mastery?' Severus looked slightly shocked.

'For someone who's lying bleeding to death somewhere, you don't seem in any particular rush to help your potential rescuer,' she said tartly.

She swore that he looked embarrassed for a moment before the world swirled around her, and she found herself lying on her bed again.

She scrambled to her feet and threw on her cloak, barely remembering to return the journal and quill into her bag. She banged on Harry's and Ron's doors, but they were nowhere to be found. If she didn't encounter anybody on her way to the hospital wing, she'd have to go it alone.

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