The Room of Lost Dreams

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The next morning, the majority of the magical fireworks had burned out, except for two large 'BOLLOCKS' that had settled on the roof of the Burrow at the base of the chimney. Molly was still angry, but her maternal instincts won out over her sense of vengeance, so there was hot breakfast for them all.

Arthur was working seven days a week to help Kingsley re-organise the Ministry, so the perpetrators sensibly helped with the washing up without having to be asked, and Ginny set herself to dusting. Hermione ended up weeding and de-gnoming the garden with Harry, Ron, and George, who had expanded his new ear like a satellite dish towards the house.

'Mum's letting Bill and Charlie have it,' said George with a grin. 'She thinks they ought to have been able to get rid of our fireworks. Plus, they're older and should have known better.'

'They didn't have anything to do with it, did they?' asked Harry, who was swinging a gnome around his head.

''Course they did. Where do you think I get dragon scales and Sphinx hairballs for the fireworks? Mum suspects, but she doesn't know for sure. It's a jammy deal for me, so I'm not about to tell tales.'

'You're going to keep the shop open, then?' asked Hermione.

'Sure,' said George, whose flying gnome had easily cleared the hedge. 'I'm going to need to find some more help, but it's what me and Fred always wanted. That dream hasn't changed just because Fred's gone.'

'Well, now that You-Know-Who's pushing up daisies, Harry's going to have a lot more time on his hands,' said Ron airily. 'I'm sure he'd be a draw if you wanted to put him to work.'

'No thanks,' said Harry, who had joined Hermione amongst the rutabagas. 'Now that Kingsley's Minister, maybe they'll let me get on with my life.'

'What a perfectly good waste of celebrity,' said George. 'I'd ask King Weasley here, but from the songs, it sounds like he'd be knocking things over too much. How about you, Hermione? Have you ever fantasised about a future in retail?'

'Sorry, I've got a few things to do before I can start thinking about starting a career.'

'Like N.E.W.T.s,' said Harry innocently.

'You're joking!' exclaimed George. 'Did me and Fred's triumphant exit from academia teach you nothing?'

'Please,' said Hermione, standing and brushing the dirt from her hands. 'I could pass my N.E.W.T.s today. However, the Minister and Headmistress have been kind enough to give me free run of Hogwarts until I say I'm ready to take my exams. I have a number of side projects that will require a fair amount of research, and access to Hogwarts should prove quite beneficial.'

'You lied to Shacklebolt and McGonagall?' said George, hardly able to believe his ear.

'I didn't lie. I'm sure everything I glean from my research will be very helpful on my N.E.W.T.s.' said Hermione primly. 'And speaking of which, I have a date with a book.'

'But not literally,' said Ron, giving Hermione a hard look.

'Yeah, no snogging your books,' said Harry with a grin.

'Bibliophiles get no respect,' said Hermione loftily and slung the basket of rutabagas over her arm.

George shook his head as Hermione walked into the house. 'If I'd known a good reputation could get me months of access to Hogwarts's library and kitchens, I might have taken mine a bit more seriously,' he said enviously.

o0o

After depositing the rutabagas in the kitchen and ensuring that the others were occupied, Hermione warded the shed door with a Silent Alarm Charm, and she cast Muffilatio on the off chance that anybody was listening. Severus's journal was open atop a box of old Martin Miggs comics, and her quill was lying next to it. Hermione sat on an old suitcase trying to think of what she wanted to ask first.

This conversation would require delicacy and tact, two things that Hermione wasn't sure she possessed in sufficient quantities to find out what she wanted to know. What was worse, Severus obviously had access to her thoughts and feelings when she was writing, while she was ignorant of his. Still, the Dictoquill would make him think that she didn't trust him, and thus far, he'd given her no reason not to. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Figuring that honesty was the best policy, Hermione took up her quill.

'Severus, it's Hermione.'

What happened?

'One of my friends found me catatonic over your journal and had a fit.'

Are you all right?

'I'm fine.'

But you're troubled. What's wrong?

'What am I to you, Severus?'

I thought I'd told you as much the last time we spoke.

'I know what you've said, and I know what I felt when we were together, but there's too much I don't know about the magic on your journal, and it scares me that I feel this way about something that isn't even real.'

Was saving my life real for you, Hermione?'

'Of course it was.'

Do you think what I can do for you in Potions is real?

'That's just it, Severus. You've told me that you're an enchantment protecting the contents of the journal, but I haven't seen anything that looks like research. You told me there are other enchantments on the journal, but you haven't told me what they are or what they're intended to do. What I have seen is that you can read my emotions, enter my memories, and make me feel like I'm falling for you against my better judgement and the advice of my friends. We can't possibly be on even footing like this.'

Of course we can't be. You're the one who holds all the cards.

Hermione snorted. 'What bizarre logic led you to that conclusion?'

Don't you see, Hermione? I have no consciousness outside of you, and I have no physical contact with the world except through your memories. I need to be able to sense your thoughts. Otherwise, what would prevent you from lying to me like you did through the Dictoquill? When you wrote in my journal, you became my gaoler. I'm luckier than I can possibly say that you're intelligent and kind. But I am literally nothing without you.

Ginny's warning rang in her ears. 'I'm not your gaoler, Severus. I'm not the one who imprisoned you in the journal, and until you tell me what sort of magic holds you there, I can't do anything to help you.'

Her ink glistened on the page for a moment as he considered his answer.

I don't know what sort of magic created me.

Hermione swallowed hard. 'I don't know what to tell you, Severus. I'm sorry.'

Will you put me back where you found me?

'And let you renege on your offer to teach me Potions? I don't think so. But I can't let you back into my memories, Severus, and when you're tutoring me, I'll need to use the Dictoquill.'

You are determined?

'This is the only way it can be, Severus. Even you don't know the extent of the enchantments on the journal. You know far better than I do what magic you were capable of doing to protect your secrets. Would you ask me to expose myself to that?

He was silent for nearly a full minute.

No, I couldn't ask that of you. But I don't think I could stand being simply your Potions tutor, either. There's only one thing to be done.

'What is it?'

Give me to the Severus Snape in your life. He's the only one who knows exactly what I am and can either put me out of my misery or make it safe for you to confide in me. You say that he's a hero. If this version of me will no longer exist, then he'll be willing to honour my promise to help you.

While she was horrified at the thought of Professor Snape knowing about her feelings toward his younger self, she supposed that Professor Snape would likely be horrified about his younger self's feelings toward her, as well. Perhaps she and Professor Snape could manage to hold a détente for the duration of their association. However, she was certain that if she returned the book to Professor Snape she'd never see the Severus she'd grown fond of again.

'I will,' she wrote. She was surprised to find that a single tear had dripped from her chin to splash on the pages of the journal. It faded into the page.

Thank you, Hermione. You were right. It has to be this way.

'I'll miss you,' she whispered, stroking the page.

She heard the ghost of his voice in her ear. I will miss you, too.

And then they were in her memory, in the tall room filled with bookshelves, against which she was pressed by the length of his warm, hard body. His hands were buried in her hair, and his mouth was pressed against hers.

She nearly forgot to breathe. A belated inhalation cleared her vision, but she was still drowning in the heat of his mouth, unable to do anything other than to run her hands over him, feeling the firm strength of his arms.

When it was his turn to catch his breath, she seized the opportunity to explore his skin, nipping gently at his neck and unbuttoning his robes without conscious thought, needing only to touch him. His sides were smooth and warm, and her fingertips were tingling from the contact. He gasped when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his sternum, unable to stop herself from rubbing the palms of her hands across the pale skin of his chest.

Panting, he seized her, pulling her body to his. 'Hermione,' he whispered, 'if you keep doing that, I might not be able to stop.'

'Who said anything about stopping?' she asked, hardly recognising the rough whisper as her own. She tilted her hips against his, pressing his hardening arousal firmly against her. 'If this has to be goodbye, then let's make it a good one.'

A shudder went through his body. 'Gods, woman, the things you do to me!'

'The feeling is entirely mutual,' she said, taking his earlobe between her lips, running her tongue over the firm flesh. His answering growl heralded the beginning of the end.

The palms of his hands felt like fire against her skin, and the carpet was soft and thick beneath her. Time slowed, conscious thought dissolved, and all that mattered was assuaging the bone-deep ache within. When he slid into her, he made a soft sound that might have been a moan, but for the fact that there were tears running down his cheeks.

There were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as well, and he kissed her tenderly. She could taste the salt on his lips, and his gentle thrusts made her feel whole in a way that made her heart hurt. She ran her hands over his back and buttocks, attempting to memorise him with her palms and fingertips.

He looked almost apologetic when his thrusts became harder and less controlled, and she placed her hands on his buttocks, gently but insistently pulling him into her. He met her eyes, understanding what she needed, and angled himself upward so that he was rubbing himself against the upper part of her sex.

The contact was electric. Hermione let out a loud cry and began bucking uncontrollably upwards against him, feeling as if she would die from overstimulation if he continued hitting that particular spot, and yet fearing she would die if it stopped. Severus had also passed the point of no return, and he let out a loud hiss, pumping into her, channelling his desperation and ardour into the involuntary act of their climax.

Together, in the Room of Lost Dreams, they achieved catharsis.

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