FIC: Death of a Language
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sshg_smutTitle: Death of a Language
Author: Anonymous for now
Summary: Her silence had turned into a language, and he was on the verge of understanding it.
Prompter: Snapebraille4tu
Prompt: Night swimming. Stars falling. The realization that the world is coming to an end and this is their last night together... in this world. What comes next?
Warnings/Content: Character... death?
Notes: I read this prompt and was in love. An agonizing, transcendent, life-and-death sort of love. I hope I hit the right notes for you with this, prompter...
Read on AO3 / Read on Livejournal
It was warm—the kind of warm that you would normally have to go on holiday for.
"Wait!"
Hermione burst from the front entrance with a gasp, clutching the collar of her robes and heaving with exertion. She rested for a moment against the reinforced wood doors, searching wildly for his silhouette in the dark, and spotted it after several terrible seconds, the train of his long cloak trailing in the grass. She pushed away from the door and pummelled the steps in her haste to clear them, her aching legs unable to handle more than a brisk walk when she finally hit grass. Her throat was burning by the time she was able to catch up with him.
"We've almost got it," she pleaded, winded and clutching her side. "You can't give up now—"
"Wrong."
"What do you mean, wrong? We need to finish the calculations. Everyone has to work together; you know that. Everyone—"
"Everyone?" He stopped and rounded on her, his voice the sort of quiet that normally indicated an oncoming storm. She drew up short, afraid to meet his eyes. "An interesting choice of words. You see, I was under the impression that we were the only ones left working on a solution, and this only because we both refused to accept the obvious. There isn't one."
"There isn't one just yet, but we're close," she protested, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "If we just do our part—"
He stopped, covered his eyes with the palm of his hand, let out a short, incredulous laugh. Tried to open his mouth to speak, and more laughter bubbled out, uncontrollable and humourless. "If we do our part? What part is that? The part where we try another useless permutation of the equation? The part where we delude ourselves into thinking we have time? The part where we pretend everyone else is still at their stations, in their departments, working?" His voice trailed off in displeasure. "The part where we die?"
"We're not going to die, Severus, not if we do our part—if everyone—"
"Everyone is gone," Severus snapped, losing whatever patience he had been maintaining.
"But when they see what we've come up with," she tried again, her eyes boring into his, glassy and reflective, "when they see..." she trailed off in a whisper, looking away. "They'll come back."
When he didn't reply, she chanced another look at him, and flinched at his dispassionate stare.
"They will come back," she repeated, her voice shaking.
"They won't. There isn't anything to be done."
"I don't believe that." Hermione said with a choking sob, closing her eyes and slapping a hand over her mouth, as if it would save her from going to pieces.
"I think you do."
It was the closest to sympathetic she had ever heard his voice stray, and she squeezed her eyelids harder, the knot in her chest tightening so that she could barely breathe. So that she could no longer simply swallow her fear down and make it disappear. She clutched at her own shoulders, her own back, as if to wring the terror out of her own body. "Severus, please—"
"No. Stop this. Stop lying to yourself," he interrupted her angrily, before going quiet. When he spoke again, he seemed to have taken control of himself. "There is no solution. Sometimes, there simply is no solution. The end just comes." Every word fell on her like a layer of ash, pushing her to her knees. "It comes when it likes," he said, solemn, "and it comes without warning."
Hermione shook her head, wailing into her palm, and unable to speak.
"Hermione."
Her name, which he spoke so rarely, was like the chiming of a spirit bell suspended on a thread, a delicate contraption as like to ring as it was to clatter to the floor if handled in any number of improper ways.
"You were there for the broadcast. This isn't preventable now, if it ever was."
"Just because," she got out between short, ugly sobs, "governments have stopped enforcing official efforts, does not mean that we—" She pressed her lips together, unable to go on.
He gave her a moment before speaking.
"It may be a virtue not to give up hope, but it would be a far greater waste for humankind to spend its remaining hours in a useless struggle towards an unattainable solution." She heard his short sigh. "Everyone left, Hermione. Everyone. They went to be with their families, or to drink themselves to death; they're rounding off items on their bucket lists, fucking the love of their lives, staring at the sky, or cowering in fear in a locked room—but they're not at their work tables. It's over."
"How can you just—" She slammed both her fists down on the grass, her voice shaking with a fury that wasn't really directed at him. "—accept that?" Her fury crumbled almost immediately into another wave of grief that fell, in droplets, onto her sore knuckles.
"I only barely survived the last war. All the time I have had since then has been borrowed," he answered her in a dull tone. "Now the universe wants it returned."
Hermione looked down across the grounds, at the lake's agitated waters, and the light reflecting on it from the splintering sky. Then raised her head to look at Severus, his shuttered expression.
"I'm not ready to die," she admitted in a whimper, stars falling in the water of her eyes.
"And what about when you directly opposed Voldemort?"
"That was different."
"Was it?"
"Of course it was. Dying was a distant possibility, a gamble, a—a choice, even. This isn't." She shook her head, her tears silent. "We're powerless."
He let out a short, humourless laugh. "Power. What is power, exactly? Is it wealth, influence? If it's the ability to choose the way you live and die, then choose it now. How would you prefer to live? Working on something that makes you feel small and desperate, or indulging in existence one last time, free of consequence?" He set to work on unbuttoning his restrictive sleeves, letting the plain, silver cufflinks fall into the grass. "How would you prefer to die? In a drunken haze? In the water? With a needle in your arm? Shall I cast the killing curse?" His voice quieted, turned derisive. "Who would jail me now?"
"Some part of you would have to hate me, to cast that," she whispered, wiping at her sore eyes.
He ignored the remark.
It had been roughly 96 hours since all of the midwinter snow had melted, causing the lake to swell, the grounds to turn into a soggy mess. It had taken another 48 for the meltwater to seep into the earth, or to evaporate, leaving behind just a faint humidity in the soil, the grass that covered it a patchy yellow and brown. Scotland was experiencing its warmest recorded temperatures not just for January, but for July as well. Sudden changes in other areas of the world hadn't been nearly as tame: devastating earthquakes, catastrophic volcanic eruptions with calderas the size of small countries, the seas crashing down and devouring coasts as what remained of glacial ice melted. There had been so little warning.
At 2:37 a.m. CLST, on January 3, 2029, JESI astronomers manning the magic-enhanced telescope JELT had noticed what appeared to be a ring, a strange gap in the Oort Cloud that was distinct enough to cause alarm. They had immediately forwarded photos to several other agencies (NASA and AEB chief among them) for analysis, but before any replies could arrive, the anomaly moved, and they were able to draw their own disastrous conclusion: a rogue black hole had made an approach into the Solar System.
The Joint-Earth Space Initiative had been founded in February of 2009, in reaction to the fall of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. In the decade following the end of the second Voldemort war, it had become increasingly apparent that in several important ways, Muggle technology was beginning to outstrip the capabilities of magic. The Muggles' means of communication and storage of knowledge and information developed at a pace that became concerning—Obliviation simply wasn't as effective when protected information could be communicated halfway across the world, duplicated, and rendered untraceable, all within minutes, even seconds.
Magical governments first thought to recruit technologically-literate witches and wizards to the cause of spying on Muggles through their own internet. Not only did the idea spark major controversy within global wizarding society, it also proved to be near-impossible to implement. No witch or wizard literate enough in hacking was willing to censor the internet in the way that those governments were asking, and, anyway, they could do nothing to prevent sensitive information from being stored externally.
Muggle governments that had maintained a partnership with their magical counterparts were even less accommodating of the idea when it was presented to them next, with some threatening punitive action should the magical community step outside of their previously agreed-upon terms for Oblivation and knowledge suppression. Gradually, it had become apparent, even to the general wizarding public, that they were fighting an uphill battle, and one that they couldn't possibly win. They Muggle world was too well-connected, and theirs too small, too insular.
After campaigns, mass-protests, rallies, debates, hearings, and—in some areas of the world—outright revolt, the International Confederation of Wizards had voted unanimously to repeal the law that had for hundreds of years shielded their existence from Muggles.
On October 15, 2008, the world as everyone had known it changed forever.
Muggle media had referred to them as aliens, or else ridiculed them, painting their society as a hoax, a delusion shared by hundreds of thousands of humans that 'needed help'. There had been plenty of fear-mongering on both sides, fanned by news, articles, and discussions that were disseminated, lightning-quick, through Muggle cyberspace, or on their televised networks. It was difficult to determine just how close to all-out war the world had come.
Then something miraculous had happened: a partnership.
The road to worldwide cooperation had begun with a surprising venture between NASA and the Global Union of Astronomers. After several meetings behind closed doors which had been, according to several anonymous accounts, 'explosive', the two organizations had announced the formation of a new one: JESI.
Hermione was proud to have been one of the original 429 applicants selected for membership in the groundbreaking organization. Her excellent marks at Hogwarts, active involvement in cutting-edge Arithmancy research, and her decision to pursue higher-education at a Muggle university in physics, with a specialization in quantum electrodynamics, had made her an exemplary candidate. She had been the only one surprised at receiving the inevitable offer from JESI.
The organization's mandate had been simple. They were to research whether it might be possible to bolster current scientific knowledge and practices with magical ones in order to achieve interplanetary flight. Though there was resentment from both sides at first in their hastily-acquired facility, it dissipated quickly when it became obvious that Muggle engineering was not inelegant, slow, or inefficient, and that magic was not as simple as waving a stick and wishing for something to happen. Magic had its limitations and laws, just as Muggle technology did—but working together, there were suddenly astounding possibilities, loopholes.
Within the first year, they were churning out discoveries and improvements upon existing technologies and uses for spells that surpassed NASA and the GUA's wildest expectations—other Muggle space agencies quickly clambered to petition for the induction of their own country's scientists and engineers to the nascent organization, wanting a piece of the interplanetary pie for themselves. Over the next three years, five more JESI research centres had opened in different locations around the world, collectively employing thousands of magic users and Muggles who just wanted to take humanity into its next great age of exploration. If nothing else, JESI became an example of the great heights that humanity could achieve if it would only integrate its differences instead of fearing them.
The world looked on, enthralled. Reaching for the stars became not a race against one another, but against the limitations that nature had thought to set for them as a species.
On June 21, 2014, NASA announced that they would welcome applications from magic-using individuals for their Astronaut Candidate program. Fourteen days later, in a joint press conference with JESI and the GUA, the reason became clear: they were ready to begin preparations for a manned mission to Mars, and in the spirit of their revolutionary cooperation, it was only fair that both Muggles and magic users be considered equally for the historic voyage.
On March 13, 2027, four years after the third manned interplanetary mission had concluded safely, humanity put their world on hold into order to watch—in person, or on screens—their single greatest gamble as a species be carried successfully out of Earth's atmosphere and into space. The crew was to undertake an exploratory mission of unspecified duration this time, which would carry them out of the Solar System completely. It had been understood that there was no guarantee that they would ever be able to return.
Hermione had decided to step down after that, the constant pressure of the job having slowly built into something unbearable—the constant deadlines, chronic lack of sleep, and ever-present knowledge that an unnoticed miscalculation on her part, however small, always had the potential to cause catastrophe. Her resignation had been accepted, but not without her supervisor first convincing her to remain in the organization as a consultant in the very rare case that they might need her expertise.
'Very rare' turned out to be at least once a month, but it had been an improvement in Hermione's books—and she never had been able to resist a good puzzle.
After years spent living full-time in the United States, returning to the United Kingdom had been bittersweet. So much had changed; she was on the periphery of most of her friends' lives, and it was not a simple thing to slot herself back into them. She had been saved from the wistful pain of trying to rebuild a life in a country she no longer recognized by an unexpected job offer from Minerva. The Arithmancy professorship at Hogwarts had been her ticket to a quieter life, in one of the only places on the planet that she could truly still call home.
It had taken less than two years for it all to come crashing down. Then another 327 hours for Hogwarts to empty, for governments of the world to declare that all hope was lost, and for Hermione, on the grounds of the place she had always thought could withstand anything, to face that truth.
"I wouldn't have agreed to cast it," Severus said, his low voice jolting her back into her body, into the present, where she belonged.
"Cast what?"
"The killing curse. I would have refused you."
"Severus, I never would have dared to ask."
Hermione, in her exhaustion—the kind that was indefinite and far-reaching—managed to get back up on her feet, the skin around her eyes feeling dry now, and leathery. She saw that he had thrown off his heavy cloak, that it pooled in the grass around him, an artefact of a time when January had meant 'cold' and Potions Master had meant 'bastard in billowing outerwear'. Hermione allowed herself a malapropos snort.
At this, he raised an eyebrow.
"It's nothing."
Severus turned away from her just as an ill-formed smile melted from her lips.
"Do you know what I wanted to be when I was very little?"
"I know that you're about to tell me."
"We had an assignment where we had to draw what we wanted to be when we grew up—of course that seemed unattainable, then. Being an adult. What a funny idea that was. But we indulged our teacher. There were doctors, and ballerinas, firemen, veterinarians, dentists—well, I had no interest in copying my parents, I knew that, at least. What I drew was a cake."
He glanced back with a skeptical frown at that.
"No, I really did. When my teacher asked me why, apparently I told her something like, 'it makes people happy', which I suppose she took to mean that I wanted to be a baker. 'That sounds lovely, Hermione,' she said. But that wasn't it. I wanted to be a cake. All of my classmates loved cake, and it was a forbidden sort of thing in my home—very rare that we indulged in one. So that was my answer. I wanted to be a whole cake, one that everyone would be delighted just to see." Thinking of her parents, and how they had gently teased her about it over the years gave her a watery smile. She sniffed, and took a breath, wiping one of her eyes while she let the story hang in the air between them. "That's the sort of person I am," she finally said, watching his back, the way his crisp white shirt had become rumpled in the heat, stuck to his skin. "I want people to like me."
"Obvious, the moment you raised your hand the first time in my classroom."
Hermione smiled a bitter smile, thinking of her young self with deliberate tenderness. "I know."
There had been no reason to interact with Severus outside of (unreciprocated) pleasantries during meals or staff meetings for the first four months of her stint as a professor at Hogwarts. She hadn't seen him in well over a decade, and though he had surprised her by being far less rude than she had remembered, he had still maintained a distinctly unapproachable air, so she had left well enough alone. Hermione had not wanted for friendly conversation though, with most of the other professors eager to ask after her experiences as a mag-engineer working for JESI—happy afterwards to answer her questions about their own areas of interest as well. And compared to the intensive projects she had participated in during her time with JESI, teaching classes full of children had been... well, it depended on the day, really, she had to be honest. Hermione still found herself feeling overwhelmed several times a week, withdrawing into her quarters to read or pursue what she affectionately referred to as 'flying pig' research.
The kind that was all about the long, drawn-out process, rather than unlikely, or even impossible result.
It had been a weekday evening, and after an unsuccessful search through the Hogwarts library for reference material, Hermione had tried paying a visit to Filius, to see whether his personal collection of books might have what she needed. It hadn't (though they had managed a wonderful chat). He'd sent her off to Minerva with a chuckle (though Hermione hadn't relished bothering the headmistress so late in the evening), and Minerva, with a dry look at Hermione's explanation of the sort of reference she was seeking, had quickly directed her to Severus. It wasn't any secret that he preferred decanters and books to people. She had been even less enthusiastic about bothering him than she had been about bothering Minerva.
Asking him for help had been rather anticlimactic. He had made her wait at the door to his quarters, and returned with two small volumes that he had cautioned her to return 'intact' (as if she were in the habit of defacing books). Upon returning them (a little later than she probably should have, admittedly), she had talked her way into the sitting room, and the rest, as they say, was history.
He was the sort of miserable sod who did all he could to make a person and their questions feel unwelcome, while never actually forcing them out. He certainly had a way with silence, but Hermione found that that was something she could work with. She began to think of spending time with him as her 'blue moon' project.
Because, once in a blue moon, he would look almost happy to see her. Would laugh at something she said before he could catch himself.
Severus proved himself to be an exceedingly perceptive man—not merely intelligent—when she could get him to commit to a conversation. He had a habit of coming to conclusions (often correct) before she had given him all the pieces of a problem, a result, no doubt, of his propensity for rational thinking and a personal library the size of, well... it was large. Much like her, he had no interest in fiction, preferring to spend his time on fact instead. She had spotted a classic novel early on in the clutter of one of his overstuffed bookshelves, and she could remember his reaction word for word.
'Thank you', he had said in a tone that hadn't sounded grateful in the least. 'I'd been searching for this.' He'd scowled at its cover and then tossed it into the rubbish bin by his writing desk.
That had been the first time Hermione had called him by his first name.
His whole name, come to think of it—middle name included.
She'd rescued the poor paperback and placed it in the care of the Hogwarts library. She hadn't been about to let it collect dust in her own chambers.
After that, things had been different. He'd begun attending more meals in the Great Hall, invited her into his quarters (not overtly, but the way he moved aside right away upon opening the door was telling), and let her join him on his rounds sometimes. He thought best when he was in motion, it seemed, when he passed through the quiet halls of the castle. Not that that stopped Hermione from chattering away, filling the silence the way she always did. It was a sort of incontrollable impulse, one that embarrassed her, whenever she thought on it afterwards. But Severus never complained or told her to leave.
By the end of that first school year, Hermione had begun to think of Severus as her friend. Her closest friend, even. He was not forthcoming about, well, anything—but he was a good listener, and chances were, if she brought up a topic, he would know at least something about it, or else could quickly pick up the thread and follow whatever she was talking his ear off about. She didn't receive unexpected compliments, and she would never hear sympathetic nothings when she told him of a problem, a worry, or a fear, but in his own reserved way, he spoke volumes.
During the summer between her first and second years of teaching, Hermione had stayed at the castle—she hadn't been the only one, but she'd be hard-pressed to remember exactly who else had been there aside from Severus. She had joined him most days during those months to brew supplies for the infirmary in anticipation of the coming school year, enjoying the opportunity to brush up on her very rusty potions skills (he'd smirked and chuckled more at her during those months than he had at any other point). For the first while, she had been able to rationalize their partnership as an enjoyable necessity: she was helping the school and spending time with her cantankerous friend, fellow professor.
Then she began to feel certain words and thoughts turn into her own language of silence.
Into things she simply could not voice.
It had continued like that into the school year, with him gradually speaking more, and her gradually speaking less, as if they had pooled their conversational resources, had to draw from the same finite source. Hermione had found herself watching him more, sad in a way that felt achingly familiar. In a way that she had not wanted to acknowledge, even to herself.
When the news had reached her by hologram, it had been all over her face. Despite the confidential nature of the report she had been given, Hermione had not been able to keep from sharing it with Severus. Luckily for her, he was considerably better at keeping volatile secrets than she was. 'A black hole?' He had asked in a drawl, deceptively unconcerned. 'Finally. Just what this planet always needed.'
His sense of humour was still atrocious, but there were worse defence mechanisms out there.
Severus had nowhere near her level of expertise in Arithmancy, but he had been more than capable of following her calculations, doing extra reading on his own, or asking the occasional (grudging) question. His skill with maths wasn't half-bad either, but an entire adulthood of not using any had limited his ability to keep up with her considerably. In the first 220 hours, they had spent all their spare time in one another's quarters, pouring furiously over Hermione's calculations, over the work and schematics that had been securely owled to her, following the hologram, by her old supervisor at the original JESI research complex. Severus had abandoned his own research, experiments in his laboratory languishing and spoiling.
It had felt like there had still been hope.
Then the public had begun to notice. Increased meteor showers. Strange weather patterns. Mounting disasters. And finally, a noticeably bright spot that sometimes showed up during the day, sometimes at night. NASA's hand had been forced. In a joint statement with several other organizations, like JESI, the GUA, and AEB, NASA had revealed the cosmic threat they had desperately been trying to curb. Despite assurances that they were doing all they could, working round the clock to find a defence, the world changed overnight. All the students were pulled from Hogwarts within 72 hours, and without students there, most of the professors left as well, hurrying home to their own families. Businesses stopped operating, and workers left their posts en-masse, time overtaking money as the most valuable currency on the planet.
It had been 7.5 hours since the last of their colleagues had vacated the castle, leaving Severus and Hermione alone with their desperation, their failing calculations communicated over two-way hologram with what remained of JESI. Herrmione knew every hour, minute, and second by heart, felt each one pass with a shudder. Had felt the growing silence on the other line of the hologram terminal even more keenly.
Hermione got to her feet, leaving her own cloak behind. She was soaked in sweat, her pattered blouse almost translucent in places, and she could feel her hair taking in the heat and humidity, spreading subtly up towards the sky. Once, it would have annoyed her—now she thought of her stubborn hair with a nostalgia that bordered on despair. Her chest felt tight still. Maybe it would now, for the rest of her life.
"Shall we go sit by the lake?"
"Shouldn't you leave to be with your friends?" He turned to look at her out of the corner of his eye, tone deceptively blank.
"No—Severus," she said, her voice going quiet as she tried to control the pang of hurt that the words had caused her. "Don't you understand?"
He said nothing, but she could tell he was listening.
"I'm already with one." She swallowed down the tears trying to force their way out of her. "Obviously. You."
His eyes went back to studying the horizon.
"Please," she managed, after a stretch of uncertain quiet, "let's go sit by the lake."
The breeze filled her blouse as they walked down towards the water, slipped through the spaces between buttons, made her feel almost as though she were floating. The band of her otherwise loose wool trousers (they had been appropriate for working in the still-cool dungeons) trapped heat around her middle, some of it funnelling down her legs, into her too-heavy boots. Those, she took off immediately, as soon as they reached the lakeside. She tossed her socks aside too, letting her toes sink into the warm, gritty sand at the water's edge.
The thing of it was, Hermione thought, when she let herself look up, all the way up—the black hole was beautiful to look at, like a second sun, a burning star not yet close enough to them to produce daylight. But they felt its ravenous heat. The Earth may have been tearing itself apart just to be near it—or to escape it, she didn't know—but for the sky beyond their little world, the black hole was just another passing storm. A child digging in the dirt and forgetting to pat the soil back into place afterwards. Shooting stars continued to pass overhead, some among them meteorites who would crash down on other, unlucky parts of their planet. She tried not to think too long on the probabilities involved in one hurtling towards the castle grounds. At least they would be able to attempt protective spells against it if it breached the atmosphere.
Magic was tethered to their planet. To them. It couldn't survive on its own, in space.
"How petty, all of our problems were."
She came back down to earth, clasping her hands in front of her belly and approaching his side.
"Blood purity. Species. Race. Class. Wealth. Power. Sex. Birth. Death." He rattled off each word in his low, disgusted tone. "We had so little sense, so little idea of our place in the cosmos, that we searched for useless quarrels at home."
"Maybe they are petty now," Hermione allowed, after a moment. "But they mattered then." She thought a little more, then assured him, as much as herself, "our lives weren't a waste, Severus."
She could see the lines of his displeasure from the side of his face.
"I think we were doing quite well, actually, these last few years."
He shook his head. "All of it, for nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," she found herself snapping. The knot in her chest tightened. "We may not have... a future." She took a steadying breath, to let the truth settle there, between them, her temper settling with it. "But all of it did matter. It matters that we have a past that we can remember while we're still able, that not all of it was bad. There were good things about us, as people, as a planet. There was good."
"I suppose."
"Coming from you, that's a monumental concession," Hermione sniffed, half with mirth, and half with unbearable sadness.
"I thought you might appreciate my being agreeable for once."
Hermione tried to speak, but could only shake her head, the tears leaking out whether she wanted them to or not. She pressed a hand over her mouth, and just breathed through them as they ran down on either side of her face.
"You shouldn't cry," he murmured, staring straight ahead. She couldn't tell if he had meant for her to hear.
"Severus." She breathed his name when she pulled her hand away from her mouth. "There's something I regret."
His eyes stayed glued to the landscape.
"And I don't know how—" She stopped herself, closing her eyes, more tears falling. She tried again. "I'm glad you're here."
She expected him to say nothing, but the nothing was a phrase, one she was on the verge of understanding.
"I think, actually..." she trailed off, trying to get herself under control, but she couldn't stop crying. "You've become the most important person in my life."
She couldn't say the rest.
Before she could think better of it, she turned to stand in front of him, reached out to lay a hand on his chest.
Just one, just once.
His eyes snapped to hers, containing more fear than she had ever seen in them.
"You can tell me to stop," she whispered shakily, tears still running down her cheeks.
He didn't.
She lay her other hand next to the first, could feel his heartbeat underneath his thin shirt, a layer, among many, that he never seemed to take off—that alone was almost enough for her. But the longer her hands stayed there on his chest without being shoved away, the harder it became to accept that as an appropriate end to her longing. She stepped forward, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. To neck muscles that were permanently tense.
He flinched at the gentle touch, but still didn't stop her.
She took a last step towards him, and pressed her body against his, closing her eyes and allowing herself breathe him in. She had thought about what it would feel like, when he was standing near her in either of their quarters, when they were discussing modifications to their equations over cluttered desks, when she could watch him, unnoticed, as he did something perfectly ordinary that made her feel restless. Every minute for the past 327.5 hours, she had stood near him and told herself, the world can't afford any distractions.
As if her feelings, her inconvenient feelings, would be the cause of its destruction.
She reached up to run the ends of his hair through her fingers. Pressed a small, tentative kiss to the hollow of his neck. And finally, she felt his fingers slide over her back, then the palms of his hands laid flat, locking her in a crushing embrace, his nose brushing past her temple and into her hair. She said his name, sobbed it, maybe, too stunned that he hadn't pushed her away, to manage anything more coherent.
He pulled away at that, and took her face gently in his hands, looking into her eyes with an expression she had never seen on him before. Severus looked the way she felt. He leaned down to kiss her, just a slow brush of the lips, and then he lingered there, sliding one of his hands around to support the back of her head, while their lips stayed a breath apart. When he didn't move, Hermione leaned up to give him another tentative kiss. With a ragged breath, Severus deepened it, tangling his fingers in her unruly hair and rooting her there, to the earth, with him.
Hermione's fingers trembled as she reached out by feel for the top button of his shirt, her fingers slipping several times over the tiny, fabric-covered spheres, but she eventually unbuttoned them all, and pulled his shirt out from where it had been tucked into his trousers. Laid both of her hands on bare skin and murmured his name against his lips.
Severus' hands fell from Hermione's cheek, from the back of her head, and hurried to unbutton her blouse, both of their chests heaving as they broke apart for air. Hermione reached up to run her hands along his arms, his wiry muscles moving beneath his shirtsleeves as he worked to undress her. When her palms slid over his shoulders, he bent to kiss her exposed collarbone, then the top of one of her breasts, wrapping his arms around her lower back to support her as the last button came undone. Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair again, cradling the back of his head as his kisses went further, until she felt him undoing the clasp of her bra one-handed. His fine, stubbornly black hair slipped through her fingers like water when he straightened again, kissing her neck as he went. Letting her hands fall to his shoulders, she leaned into the caress, meeting his lips with equal desperation when they finally came back to her own.
Severus brushed her blouse from her shoulders, and when she let her arms fall, helped pull the sleeves from her wrists. He shrugged out of his own shirt without fanfare, and then slid his fingers over the straps of her bra, pulling them down over her shoulders only when she leaned forward to kiss him in reassurance. Hermione could feel his thumbs skirt the sides of her breasts, the slight touch electric, and then he bent his head again, this time to kiss skin that had just moments ago been covered. Hermione couldn't help the ragged breath that escaped her when she felt his tongue press against one of her nipples. Then swallowed a moan when he covered it with his mouth, sucked on the sensitive skin.
Hermione pulled gently on either side of Severus' face, brought his lips back up to her hers, and then reached down between them to unfasten his trousers. His fingers fell to her waist, then further, to slide into her back pockets, to pull her lower body against his.
Her surprised laugh at the interruption in her self-appointed task came out breathy, was then quieted by a bruising kiss, by being cradled against his body. His erection pressed into her belly and she parted her lips in invitation, touching his with the tip of her tongue. His tongue slid along hers without hesitation, a soft, slow tease as he relaxed his hold on her lower body. Hermione seized her chance, reaching between them again to finish what she had started. Severus kicked off his dragon-hide boots, then reached for her waist again, his hands meeting in the middle to unhook and unbutton her trousers. They were loose enough that they fell in a puddle at her feet as soon as he let go.
His, she had to work partway down his legs, until he brushed her hands away, stepping out of them impatiently. His fingers reached immediately for the waistband of her knickers, pushed just slightly past it and stayed there until she placed her hands over his, applying a gentle, insistent pressure. The wet spot that had already formed in her knickers stuck to her labia, sent a jolt of pleasure through her as Severus peeled the fabric away from her sensitive skin. Her hands shook with adrenaline as she reciprocated, carefully pulling the band of his pants over his hard cock, then pushing the garment down his thighs until it fell of its own accord.
He nearly lifted her feet off the ground when he pulled her against his body this time, the both of them, every inch of their bodies, exposed. He kissed her hungrily, and she responded in kind, pushing her tongue past his lips, giving him a taste of what she was prepared to give him. The humid night air and the anticipation combined, their bodies hot and heaving for breath. A wet spot formed where the tip of Severus' aching cock pressed against Hermione's belly again.
Hermione tugged at him until he turned, putting the lake at his back. Then she took one of the hands that had been cupping her bottom and tried to pull him down onto the sand, onto his knees.
"Here?" He asked in a low tone, lips brushing her ear.
"Please," she murmured back shakily. "I want—"
He covered her lips with his again. Kneeling, his cock jutted out between them, so that she could no longer resist reaching out to stroke it. He groaned in the back of his throat, his mouth fully occupied with hers. Severus' legs disappeared into the water, and when the lake swelled again in the muggy breeze, it came up far enough to lick her knees. It felt like bathwater. Reflected the entirety of the night sky.
He leaned forward, one of his hands supporting her lower back, and helped her lie down completely onto the sand, one of his knees insinuating itself between her legs.
All she could think of was how it would feel when his cock finally filled her.
Hermione spread her legs wide, could feel the blood rushing, pulsing in her clitoris. The air hitting her wet centre made her moan and wrap her arms around Severus' neck, pulling him fully on top of her. His hair fell, brushed against the sides of her face, and he stared into her eyes, as if trying to memorize them—take their image into his next life. She stared back, no longer worried about him understanding what her silences meant. Hoping he would.
She could feel the tip of his cock brush her opening, and she tightened her arms around his neck insistently, moaning when he kissed her, pressed the velvety skin of his cock more firmly against her entrance.
She felt his ragged exhale over her lips when he finally thrust all the way in, and she let out a cry, her fingers digging into his back, wanting his body to cover her, his cock to fill her completely. His grit his teeth when he pulled out and thrust back into her the second time, groaning at the sensation. She pulled his face back down to hers, pressed their lips together, panting already, then gasping as he started to thrust in earnest, grinding steadily against her clitoris until she cried out again, her orgasm suddenly washing over her, pulsing around the cock still inside her body.
She held on to him desperately as he kissed whatever part of her he could reach, chasing his own climax. When it hit him, he was like a man possessed. He plunged into her body, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her tightly, as though she had begun to float away. She wrapped her legs and arms more firmly around him as his breathing slowed, hands splayed, wishing she could envelop his entire body. His cock continued to twitch inside her.
Severus brushed some of the sweat-soaked hair away from Hermione's forehead, cupped her cheek. "I never thought—"
"Me neither," Hermione agreed, lips trembling as she tried to keep her returning sadness in check. Her eyes filled with tears anyway.
"At least we have the rest of our lives together."
"Don't joke about that," Hermione admonished him, pressing her lips together so that she wouldn't let out an inappropriate laugh, the tears starting to spill over onto her cheeks.
"I'm not joking," he assured her, quiet.
Again, he wore that nameless expression.
Severus lifted Hermione, sat up and brought her to his chest, buried his face in her neck, in a cloud of her hair. Breathed her in. Kissed her when she hugged him back with her whole body, shaking with an overabundance of emotion that she could not parse into sections or name.
When finally he had turned soft enough to slip from her entirely, he helped her to her feet, pulled her to wade into the water until it was up to their collarbones. Comets continued to fly overhead, the stars winking at them, their light crisp and safe in faraway galaxies, distant pasts. Hermione could almost convince herself that they were floating together in space, hands loosely clasped, stars flowing all around them.
The moon approached, ballooned into the whole sky. Hermione could see every crater, every shadow and crevice. Words stuck in her throat.
Every word.
It was incredible, the most incredible sight she had ever witnessed, and Severus' hand tightened over hers, their fingers interlacing in the agitated waters of the lake.
The moon touched the atmosphere of Earth.
And everything was light.
Fire.
In the empty vacuum of space, drifted a shard that had once belonged to a core unlike any other. At length it was pulled, reeled in like a fish by a new giant.
Gaseous and toxic, it roiled with confusion at its place in the greater cosmos.
Like any entity, it struggled constantly towards purpose.
Through the hostile atmosphere the shard fell—burning, but not burning up.
It dropped like the stone it was, in its coat of metal, with its heart of ice, an egg tumbling through the turbulent waters of an unwatched pot.
Fell down and down, through the sulphurous blood of the giant, until it came to rest against its rocky outer core.
Where slowly—it melted.
It spoke to the core of a language, of the building blocks that turned turmoil into order.
The core wept.
Wept a compound from another life.
An imprint that had exacted an unfathomable price on its progenitors—its language always borrowed, never created.
Beyond the shore, water stretched out past the horizon, on and on, as far as the eye could see, and then farther still. Aside from the crashing of the waves, of wind whistling between rocks, it was silent. There was simply nothing.
No.
That wasn't right.
Because there was a figure, all in black, staring out to sea. It didn't move, or look back, just stayed where it was, the cloth that covered it motionless in the nascent ocean's breeze.
"Severus."
The word sounded right.
The figure reacted to the sound, turned so that its eyes were visible.
Eyes that glittered, black and bottomless, in the light of a strange sun.
"Severus," she breathed again.
And he stared into her eyes, into the memory of their past life, let out a ragged breath.
"I've been watching for—I've lost count. I don't think this is our Earth."
She took her place at his side.
"What should we name it?"
"Nothing."
He took her hand. She threaded their fingers together.
"If we watch long enough, I suspect it will name itself."
Author: Anonymous for now
Summary: Her silence had turned into a language, and he was on the verge of understanding it.
Prompter: Snapebraille4tu
Prompt: Night swimming. Stars falling. The realization that the world is coming to an end and this is their last night together... in this world. What comes next?
Warnings/Content: Character... death?
Notes: I read this prompt and was in love. An agonizing, transcendent, life-and-death sort of love. I hope I hit the right notes for you with this, prompter...
Read on AO3 / Read on Livejournal
It was warm—the kind of warm that you would normally have to go on holiday for.
"Wait!"
Hermione burst from the front entrance with a gasp, clutching the collar of her robes and heaving with exertion. She rested for a moment against the reinforced wood doors, searching wildly for his silhouette in the dark, and spotted it after several terrible seconds, the train of his long cloak trailing in the grass. She pushed away from the door and pummelled the steps in her haste to clear them, her aching legs unable to handle more than a brisk walk when she finally hit grass. Her throat was burning by the time she was able to catch up with him.
"We've almost got it," she pleaded, winded and clutching her side. "You can't give up now—"
"Wrong."
"What do you mean, wrong? We need to finish the calculations. Everyone has to work together; you know that. Everyone—"
"Everyone?" He stopped and rounded on her, his voice the sort of quiet that normally indicated an oncoming storm. She drew up short, afraid to meet his eyes. "An interesting choice of words. You see, I was under the impression that we were the only ones left working on a solution, and this only because we both refused to accept the obvious. There isn't one."
"There isn't one just yet, but we're close," she protested, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "If we just do our part—"
He stopped, covered his eyes with the palm of his hand, let out a short, incredulous laugh. Tried to open his mouth to speak, and more laughter bubbled out, uncontrollable and humourless. "If we do our part? What part is that? The part where we try another useless permutation of the equation? The part where we delude ourselves into thinking we have time? The part where we pretend everyone else is still at their stations, in their departments, working?" His voice trailed off in displeasure. "The part where we die?"
"We're not going to die, Severus, not if we do our part—if everyone—"
"Everyone is gone," Severus snapped, losing whatever patience he had been maintaining.
"But when they see what we've come up with," she tried again, her eyes boring into his, glassy and reflective, "when they see..." she trailed off in a whisper, looking away. "They'll come back."
When he didn't reply, she chanced another look at him, and flinched at his dispassionate stare.
"They will come back," she repeated, her voice shaking.
"They won't. There isn't anything to be done."
"I don't believe that." Hermione said with a choking sob, closing her eyes and slapping a hand over her mouth, as if it would save her from going to pieces.
"I think you do."
It was the closest to sympathetic she had ever heard his voice stray, and she squeezed her eyelids harder, the knot in her chest tightening so that she could barely breathe. So that she could no longer simply swallow her fear down and make it disappear. She clutched at her own shoulders, her own back, as if to wring the terror out of her own body. "Severus, please—"
"No. Stop this. Stop lying to yourself," he interrupted her angrily, before going quiet. When he spoke again, he seemed to have taken control of himself. "There is no solution. Sometimes, there simply is no solution. The end just comes." Every word fell on her like a layer of ash, pushing her to her knees. "It comes when it likes," he said, solemn, "and it comes without warning."
Hermione shook her head, wailing into her palm, and unable to speak.
"Hermione."
Her name, which he spoke so rarely, was like the chiming of a spirit bell suspended on a thread, a delicate contraption as like to ring as it was to clatter to the floor if handled in any number of improper ways.
"You were there for the broadcast. This isn't preventable now, if it ever was."
"Just because," she got out between short, ugly sobs, "governments have stopped enforcing official efforts, does not mean that we—" She pressed her lips together, unable to go on.
He gave her a moment before speaking.
"It may be a virtue not to give up hope, but it would be a far greater waste for humankind to spend its remaining hours in a useless struggle towards an unattainable solution." She heard his short sigh. "Everyone left, Hermione. Everyone. They went to be with their families, or to drink themselves to death; they're rounding off items on their bucket lists, fucking the love of their lives, staring at the sky, or cowering in fear in a locked room—but they're not at their work tables. It's over."
"How can you just—" She slammed both her fists down on the grass, her voice shaking with a fury that wasn't really directed at him. "—accept that?" Her fury crumbled almost immediately into another wave of grief that fell, in droplets, onto her sore knuckles.
"I only barely survived the last war. All the time I have had since then has been borrowed," he answered her in a dull tone. "Now the universe wants it returned."
Hermione looked down across the grounds, at the lake's agitated waters, and the light reflecting on it from the splintering sky. Then raised her head to look at Severus, his shuttered expression.
"I'm not ready to die," she admitted in a whimper, stars falling in the water of her eyes.
"And what about when you directly opposed Voldemort?"
"That was different."
"Was it?"
"Of course it was. Dying was a distant possibility, a gamble, a—a choice, even. This isn't." She shook her head, her tears silent. "We're powerless."
He let out a short, humourless laugh. "Power. What is power, exactly? Is it wealth, influence? If it's the ability to choose the way you live and die, then choose it now. How would you prefer to live? Working on something that makes you feel small and desperate, or indulging in existence one last time, free of consequence?" He set to work on unbuttoning his restrictive sleeves, letting the plain, silver cufflinks fall into the grass. "How would you prefer to die? In a drunken haze? In the water? With a needle in your arm? Shall I cast the killing curse?" His voice quieted, turned derisive. "Who would jail me now?"
"Some part of you would have to hate me, to cast that," she whispered, wiping at her sore eyes.
He ignored the remark.
It had been roughly 96 hours since all of the midwinter snow had melted, causing the lake to swell, the grounds to turn into a soggy mess. It had taken another 48 for the meltwater to seep into the earth, or to evaporate, leaving behind just a faint humidity in the soil, the grass that covered it a patchy yellow and brown. Scotland was experiencing its warmest recorded temperatures not just for January, but for July as well. Sudden changes in other areas of the world hadn't been nearly as tame: devastating earthquakes, catastrophic volcanic eruptions with calderas the size of small countries, the seas crashing down and devouring coasts as what remained of glacial ice melted. There had been so little warning.
At 2:37 a.m. CLST, on January 3, 2029, JESI astronomers manning the magic-enhanced telescope JELT had noticed what appeared to be a ring, a strange gap in the Oort Cloud that was distinct enough to cause alarm. They had immediately forwarded photos to several other agencies (NASA and AEB chief among them) for analysis, but before any replies could arrive, the anomaly moved, and they were able to draw their own disastrous conclusion: a rogue black hole had made an approach into the Solar System.
The Joint-Earth Space Initiative had been founded in February of 2009, in reaction to the fall of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. In the decade following the end of the second Voldemort war, it had become increasingly apparent that in several important ways, Muggle technology was beginning to outstrip the capabilities of magic. The Muggles' means of communication and storage of knowledge and information developed at a pace that became concerning—Obliviation simply wasn't as effective when protected information could be communicated halfway across the world, duplicated, and rendered untraceable, all within minutes, even seconds.
Magical governments first thought to recruit technologically-literate witches and wizards to the cause of spying on Muggles through their own internet. Not only did the idea spark major controversy within global wizarding society, it also proved to be near-impossible to implement. No witch or wizard literate enough in hacking was willing to censor the internet in the way that those governments were asking, and, anyway, they could do nothing to prevent sensitive information from being stored externally.
Muggle governments that had maintained a partnership with their magical counterparts were even less accommodating of the idea when it was presented to them next, with some threatening punitive action should the magical community step outside of their previously agreed-upon terms for Oblivation and knowledge suppression. Gradually, it had become apparent, even to the general wizarding public, that they were fighting an uphill battle, and one that they couldn't possibly win. They Muggle world was too well-connected, and theirs too small, too insular.
After campaigns, mass-protests, rallies, debates, hearings, and—in some areas of the world—outright revolt, the International Confederation of Wizards had voted unanimously to repeal the law that had for hundreds of years shielded their existence from Muggles.
On October 15, 2008, the world as everyone had known it changed forever.
Muggle media had referred to them as aliens, or else ridiculed them, painting their society as a hoax, a delusion shared by hundreds of thousands of humans that 'needed help'. There had been plenty of fear-mongering on both sides, fanned by news, articles, and discussions that were disseminated, lightning-quick, through Muggle cyberspace, or on their televised networks. It was difficult to determine just how close to all-out war the world had come.
Then something miraculous had happened: a partnership.
The road to worldwide cooperation had begun with a surprising venture between NASA and the Global Union of Astronomers. After several meetings behind closed doors which had been, according to several anonymous accounts, 'explosive', the two organizations had announced the formation of a new one: JESI.
Hermione was proud to have been one of the original 429 applicants selected for membership in the groundbreaking organization. Her excellent marks at Hogwarts, active involvement in cutting-edge Arithmancy research, and her decision to pursue higher-education at a Muggle university in physics, with a specialization in quantum electrodynamics, had made her an exemplary candidate. She had been the only one surprised at receiving the inevitable offer from JESI.
The organization's mandate had been simple. They were to research whether it might be possible to bolster current scientific knowledge and practices with magical ones in order to achieve interplanetary flight. Though there was resentment from both sides at first in their hastily-acquired facility, it dissipated quickly when it became obvious that Muggle engineering was not inelegant, slow, or inefficient, and that magic was not as simple as waving a stick and wishing for something to happen. Magic had its limitations and laws, just as Muggle technology did—but working together, there were suddenly astounding possibilities, loopholes.
Within the first year, they were churning out discoveries and improvements upon existing technologies and uses for spells that surpassed NASA and the GUA's wildest expectations—other Muggle space agencies quickly clambered to petition for the induction of their own country's scientists and engineers to the nascent organization, wanting a piece of the interplanetary pie for themselves. Over the next three years, five more JESI research centres had opened in different locations around the world, collectively employing thousands of magic users and Muggles who just wanted to take humanity into its next great age of exploration. If nothing else, JESI became an example of the great heights that humanity could achieve if it would only integrate its differences instead of fearing them.
The world looked on, enthralled. Reaching for the stars became not a race against one another, but against the limitations that nature had thought to set for them as a species.
On June 21, 2014, NASA announced that they would welcome applications from magic-using individuals for their Astronaut Candidate program. Fourteen days later, in a joint press conference with JESI and the GUA, the reason became clear: they were ready to begin preparations for a manned mission to Mars, and in the spirit of their revolutionary cooperation, it was only fair that both Muggles and magic users be considered equally for the historic voyage.
On March 13, 2027, four years after the third manned interplanetary mission had concluded safely, humanity put their world on hold into order to watch—in person, or on screens—their single greatest gamble as a species be carried successfully out of Earth's atmosphere and into space. The crew was to undertake an exploratory mission of unspecified duration this time, which would carry them out of the Solar System completely. It had been understood that there was no guarantee that they would ever be able to return.
Hermione had decided to step down after that, the constant pressure of the job having slowly built into something unbearable—the constant deadlines, chronic lack of sleep, and ever-present knowledge that an unnoticed miscalculation on her part, however small, always had the potential to cause catastrophe. Her resignation had been accepted, but not without her supervisor first convincing her to remain in the organization as a consultant in the very rare case that they might need her expertise.
'Very rare' turned out to be at least once a month, but it had been an improvement in Hermione's books—and she never had been able to resist a good puzzle.
After years spent living full-time in the United States, returning to the United Kingdom had been bittersweet. So much had changed; she was on the periphery of most of her friends' lives, and it was not a simple thing to slot herself back into them. She had been saved from the wistful pain of trying to rebuild a life in a country she no longer recognized by an unexpected job offer from Minerva. The Arithmancy professorship at Hogwarts had been her ticket to a quieter life, in one of the only places on the planet that she could truly still call home.
It had taken less than two years for it all to come crashing down. Then another 327 hours for Hogwarts to empty, for governments of the world to declare that all hope was lost, and for Hermione, on the grounds of the place she had always thought could withstand anything, to face that truth.
"I wouldn't have agreed to cast it," Severus said, his low voice jolting her back into her body, into the present, where she belonged.
"Cast what?"
"The killing curse. I would have refused you."
"Severus, I never would have dared to ask."
Hermione, in her exhaustion—the kind that was indefinite and far-reaching—managed to get back up on her feet, the skin around her eyes feeling dry now, and leathery. She saw that he had thrown off his heavy cloak, that it pooled in the grass around him, an artefact of a time when January had meant 'cold' and Potions Master had meant 'bastard in billowing outerwear'. Hermione allowed herself a malapropos snort.
At this, he raised an eyebrow.
"It's nothing."
Severus turned away from her just as an ill-formed smile melted from her lips.
"Do you know what I wanted to be when I was very little?"
"I know that you're about to tell me."
"We had an assignment where we had to draw what we wanted to be when we grew up—of course that seemed unattainable, then. Being an adult. What a funny idea that was. But we indulged our teacher. There were doctors, and ballerinas, firemen, veterinarians, dentists—well, I had no interest in copying my parents, I knew that, at least. What I drew was a cake."
He glanced back with a skeptical frown at that.
"No, I really did. When my teacher asked me why, apparently I told her something like, 'it makes people happy', which I suppose she took to mean that I wanted to be a baker. 'That sounds lovely, Hermione,' she said. But that wasn't it. I wanted to be a cake. All of my classmates loved cake, and it was a forbidden sort of thing in my home—very rare that we indulged in one. So that was my answer. I wanted to be a whole cake, one that everyone would be delighted just to see." Thinking of her parents, and how they had gently teased her about it over the years gave her a watery smile. She sniffed, and took a breath, wiping one of her eyes while she let the story hang in the air between them. "That's the sort of person I am," she finally said, watching his back, the way his crisp white shirt had become rumpled in the heat, stuck to his skin. "I want people to like me."
"Obvious, the moment you raised your hand the first time in my classroom."
Hermione smiled a bitter smile, thinking of her young self with deliberate tenderness. "I know."
There had been no reason to interact with Severus outside of (unreciprocated) pleasantries during meals or staff meetings for the first four months of her stint as a professor at Hogwarts. She hadn't seen him in well over a decade, and though he had surprised her by being far less rude than she had remembered, he had still maintained a distinctly unapproachable air, so she had left well enough alone. Hermione had not wanted for friendly conversation though, with most of the other professors eager to ask after her experiences as a mag-engineer working for JESI—happy afterwards to answer her questions about their own areas of interest as well. And compared to the intensive projects she had participated in during her time with JESI, teaching classes full of children had been... well, it depended on the day, really, she had to be honest. Hermione still found herself feeling overwhelmed several times a week, withdrawing into her quarters to read or pursue what she affectionately referred to as 'flying pig' research.
The kind that was all about the long, drawn-out process, rather than unlikely, or even impossible result.
It had been a weekday evening, and after an unsuccessful search through the Hogwarts library for reference material, Hermione had tried paying a visit to Filius, to see whether his personal collection of books might have what she needed. It hadn't (though they had managed a wonderful chat). He'd sent her off to Minerva with a chuckle (though Hermione hadn't relished bothering the headmistress so late in the evening), and Minerva, with a dry look at Hermione's explanation of the sort of reference she was seeking, had quickly directed her to Severus. It wasn't any secret that he preferred decanters and books to people. She had been even less enthusiastic about bothering him than she had been about bothering Minerva.
Asking him for help had been rather anticlimactic. He had made her wait at the door to his quarters, and returned with two small volumes that he had cautioned her to return 'intact' (as if she were in the habit of defacing books). Upon returning them (a little later than she probably should have, admittedly), she had talked her way into the sitting room, and the rest, as they say, was history.
He was the sort of miserable sod who did all he could to make a person and their questions feel unwelcome, while never actually forcing them out. He certainly had a way with silence, but Hermione found that that was something she could work with. She began to think of spending time with him as her 'blue moon' project.
Because, once in a blue moon, he would look almost happy to see her. Would laugh at something she said before he could catch himself.
Severus proved himself to be an exceedingly perceptive man—not merely intelligent—when she could get him to commit to a conversation. He had a habit of coming to conclusions (often correct) before she had given him all the pieces of a problem, a result, no doubt, of his propensity for rational thinking and a personal library the size of, well... it was large. Much like her, he had no interest in fiction, preferring to spend his time on fact instead. She had spotted a classic novel early on in the clutter of one of his overstuffed bookshelves, and she could remember his reaction word for word.
'Thank you', he had said in a tone that hadn't sounded grateful in the least. 'I'd been searching for this.' He'd scowled at its cover and then tossed it into the rubbish bin by his writing desk.
That had been the first time Hermione had called him by his first name.
His whole name, come to think of it—middle name included.
She'd rescued the poor paperback and placed it in the care of the Hogwarts library. She hadn't been about to let it collect dust in her own chambers.
After that, things had been different. He'd begun attending more meals in the Great Hall, invited her into his quarters (not overtly, but the way he moved aside right away upon opening the door was telling), and let her join him on his rounds sometimes. He thought best when he was in motion, it seemed, when he passed through the quiet halls of the castle. Not that that stopped Hermione from chattering away, filling the silence the way she always did. It was a sort of incontrollable impulse, one that embarrassed her, whenever she thought on it afterwards. But Severus never complained or told her to leave.
By the end of that first school year, Hermione had begun to think of Severus as her friend. Her closest friend, even. He was not forthcoming about, well, anything—but he was a good listener, and chances were, if she brought up a topic, he would know at least something about it, or else could quickly pick up the thread and follow whatever she was talking his ear off about. She didn't receive unexpected compliments, and she would never hear sympathetic nothings when she told him of a problem, a worry, or a fear, but in his own reserved way, he spoke volumes.
During the summer between her first and second years of teaching, Hermione had stayed at the castle—she hadn't been the only one, but she'd be hard-pressed to remember exactly who else had been there aside from Severus. She had joined him most days during those months to brew supplies for the infirmary in anticipation of the coming school year, enjoying the opportunity to brush up on her very rusty potions skills (he'd smirked and chuckled more at her during those months than he had at any other point). For the first while, she had been able to rationalize their partnership as an enjoyable necessity: she was helping the school and spending time with her cantankerous friend, fellow professor.
Then she began to feel certain words and thoughts turn into her own language of silence.
Into things she simply could not voice.
It had continued like that into the school year, with him gradually speaking more, and her gradually speaking less, as if they had pooled their conversational resources, had to draw from the same finite source. Hermione had found herself watching him more, sad in a way that felt achingly familiar. In a way that she had not wanted to acknowledge, even to herself.
When the news had reached her by hologram, it had been all over her face. Despite the confidential nature of the report she had been given, Hermione had not been able to keep from sharing it with Severus. Luckily for her, he was considerably better at keeping volatile secrets than she was. 'A black hole?' He had asked in a drawl, deceptively unconcerned. 'Finally. Just what this planet always needed.'
His sense of humour was still atrocious, but there were worse defence mechanisms out there.
Severus had nowhere near her level of expertise in Arithmancy, but he had been more than capable of following her calculations, doing extra reading on his own, or asking the occasional (grudging) question. His skill with maths wasn't half-bad either, but an entire adulthood of not using any had limited his ability to keep up with her considerably. In the first 220 hours, they had spent all their spare time in one another's quarters, pouring furiously over Hermione's calculations, over the work and schematics that had been securely owled to her, following the hologram, by her old supervisor at the original JESI research complex. Severus had abandoned his own research, experiments in his laboratory languishing and spoiling.
It had felt like there had still been hope.
Then the public had begun to notice. Increased meteor showers. Strange weather patterns. Mounting disasters. And finally, a noticeably bright spot that sometimes showed up during the day, sometimes at night. NASA's hand had been forced. In a joint statement with several other organizations, like JESI, the GUA, and AEB, NASA had revealed the cosmic threat they had desperately been trying to curb. Despite assurances that they were doing all they could, working round the clock to find a defence, the world changed overnight. All the students were pulled from Hogwarts within 72 hours, and without students there, most of the professors left as well, hurrying home to their own families. Businesses stopped operating, and workers left their posts en-masse, time overtaking money as the most valuable currency on the planet.
It had been 7.5 hours since the last of their colleagues had vacated the castle, leaving Severus and Hermione alone with their desperation, their failing calculations communicated over two-way hologram with what remained of JESI. Herrmione knew every hour, minute, and second by heart, felt each one pass with a shudder. Had felt the growing silence on the other line of the hologram terminal even more keenly.
Hermione got to her feet, leaving her own cloak behind. She was soaked in sweat, her pattered blouse almost translucent in places, and she could feel her hair taking in the heat and humidity, spreading subtly up towards the sky. Once, it would have annoyed her—now she thought of her stubborn hair with a nostalgia that bordered on despair. Her chest felt tight still. Maybe it would now, for the rest of her life.
"Shall we go sit by the lake?"
"Shouldn't you leave to be with your friends?" He turned to look at her out of the corner of his eye, tone deceptively blank.
"No—Severus," she said, her voice going quiet as she tried to control the pang of hurt that the words had caused her. "Don't you understand?"
He said nothing, but she could tell he was listening.
"I'm already with one." She swallowed down the tears trying to force their way out of her. "Obviously. You."
His eyes went back to studying the horizon.
"Please," she managed, after a stretch of uncertain quiet, "let's go sit by the lake."
The breeze filled her blouse as they walked down towards the water, slipped through the spaces between buttons, made her feel almost as though she were floating. The band of her otherwise loose wool trousers (they had been appropriate for working in the still-cool dungeons) trapped heat around her middle, some of it funnelling down her legs, into her too-heavy boots. Those, she took off immediately, as soon as they reached the lakeside. She tossed her socks aside too, letting her toes sink into the warm, gritty sand at the water's edge.
The thing of it was, Hermione thought, when she let herself look up, all the way up—the black hole was beautiful to look at, like a second sun, a burning star not yet close enough to them to produce daylight. But they felt its ravenous heat. The Earth may have been tearing itself apart just to be near it—or to escape it, she didn't know—but for the sky beyond their little world, the black hole was just another passing storm. A child digging in the dirt and forgetting to pat the soil back into place afterwards. Shooting stars continued to pass overhead, some among them meteorites who would crash down on other, unlucky parts of their planet. She tried not to think too long on the probabilities involved in one hurtling towards the castle grounds. At least they would be able to attempt protective spells against it if it breached the atmosphere.
Magic was tethered to their planet. To them. It couldn't survive on its own, in space.
"How petty, all of our problems were."
She came back down to earth, clasping her hands in front of her belly and approaching his side.
"Blood purity. Species. Race. Class. Wealth. Power. Sex. Birth. Death." He rattled off each word in his low, disgusted tone. "We had so little sense, so little idea of our place in the cosmos, that we searched for useless quarrels at home."
"Maybe they are petty now," Hermione allowed, after a moment. "But they mattered then." She thought a little more, then assured him, as much as herself, "our lives weren't a waste, Severus."
She could see the lines of his displeasure from the side of his face.
"I think we were doing quite well, actually, these last few years."
He shook his head. "All of it, for nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," she found herself snapping. The knot in her chest tightened. "We may not have... a future." She took a steadying breath, to let the truth settle there, between them, her temper settling with it. "But all of it did matter. It matters that we have a past that we can remember while we're still able, that not all of it was bad. There were good things about us, as people, as a planet. There was good."
"I suppose."
"Coming from you, that's a monumental concession," Hermione sniffed, half with mirth, and half with unbearable sadness.
"I thought you might appreciate my being agreeable for once."
Hermione tried to speak, but could only shake her head, the tears leaking out whether she wanted them to or not. She pressed a hand over her mouth, and just breathed through them as they ran down on either side of her face.
"You shouldn't cry," he murmured, staring straight ahead. She couldn't tell if he had meant for her to hear.
"Severus." She breathed his name when she pulled her hand away from her mouth. "There's something I regret."
His eyes stayed glued to the landscape.
"And I don't know how—" She stopped herself, closing her eyes, more tears falling. She tried again. "I'm glad you're here."
She expected him to say nothing, but the nothing was a phrase, one she was on the verge of understanding.
"I think, actually..." she trailed off, trying to get herself under control, but she couldn't stop crying. "You've become the most important person in my life."
She couldn't say the rest.
Before she could think better of it, she turned to stand in front of him, reached out to lay a hand on his chest.
Just one, just once.
His eyes snapped to hers, containing more fear than she had ever seen in them.
"You can tell me to stop," she whispered shakily, tears still running down her cheeks.
He didn't.
She lay her other hand next to the first, could feel his heartbeat underneath his thin shirt, a layer, among many, that he never seemed to take off—that alone was almost enough for her. But the longer her hands stayed there on his chest without being shoved away, the harder it became to accept that as an appropriate end to her longing. She stepped forward, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. To neck muscles that were permanently tense.
He flinched at the gentle touch, but still didn't stop her.
She took a last step towards him, and pressed her body against his, closing her eyes and allowing herself breathe him in. She had thought about what it would feel like, when he was standing near her in either of their quarters, when they were discussing modifications to their equations over cluttered desks, when she could watch him, unnoticed, as he did something perfectly ordinary that made her feel restless. Every minute for the past 327.5 hours, she had stood near him and told herself, the world can't afford any distractions.
As if her feelings, her inconvenient feelings, would be the cause of its destruction.
She reached up to run the ends of his hair through her fingers. Pressed a small, tentative kiss to the hollow of his neck. And finally, she felt his fingers slide over her back, then the palms of his hands laid flat, locking her in a crushing embrace, his nose brushing past her temple and into her hair. She said his name, sobbed it, maybe, too stunned that he hadn't pushed her away, to manage anything more coherent.
He pulled away at that, and took her face gently in his hands, looking into her eyes with an expression she had never seen on him before. Severus looked the way she felt. He leaned down to kiss her, just a slow brush of the lips, and then he lingered there, sliding one of his hands around to support the back of her head, while their lips stayed a breath apart. When he didn't move, Hermione leaned up to give him another tentative kiss. With a ragged breath, Severus deepened it, tangling his fingers in her unruly hair and rooting her there, to the earth, with him.
Hermione's fingers trembled as she reached out by feel for the top button of his shirt, her fingers slipping several times over the tiny, fabric-covered spheres, but she eventually unbuttoned them all, and pulled his shirt out from where it had been tucked into his trousers. Laid both of her hands on bare skin and murmured his name against his lips.
Severus' hands fell from Hermione's cheek, from the back of her head, and hurried to unbutton her blouse, both of their chests heaving as they broke apart for air. Hermione reached up to run her hands along his arms, his wiry muscles moving beneath his shirtsleeves as he worked to undress her. When her palms slid over his shoulders, he bent to kiss her exposed collarbone, then the top of one of her breasts, wrapping his arms around her lower back to support her as the last button came undone. Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair again, cradling the back of his head as his kisses went further, until she felt him undoing the clasp of her bra one-handed. His fine, stubbornly black hair slipped through her fingers like water when he straightened again, kissing her neck as he went. Letting her hands fall to his shoulders, she leaned into the caress, meeting his lips with equal desperation when they finally came back to her own.
Severus brushed her blouse from her shoulders, and when she let her arms fall, helped pull the sleeves from her wrists. He shrugged out of his own shirt without fanfare, and then slid his fingers over the straps of her bra, pulling them down over her shoulders only when she leaned forward to kiss him in reassurance. Hermione could feel his thumbs skirt the sides of her breasts, the slight touch electric, and then he bent his head again, this time to kiss skin that had just moments ago been covered. Hermione couldn't help the ragged breath that escaped her when she felt his tongue press against one of her nipples. Then swallowed a moan when he covered it with his mouth, sucked on the sensitive skin.
Hermione pulled gently on either side of Severus' face, brought his lips back up to her hers, and then reached down between them to unfasten his trousers. His fingers fell to her waist, then further, to slide into her back pockets, to pull her lower body against his.
Her surprised laugh at the interruption in her self-appointed task came out breathy, was then quieted by a bruising kiss, by being cradled against his body. His erection pressed into her belly and she parted her lips in invitation, touching his with the tip of her tongue. His tongue slid along hers without hesitation, a soft, slow tease as he relaxed his hold on her lower body. Hermione seized her chance, reaching between them again to finish what she had started. Severus kicked off his dragon-hide boots, then reached for her waist again, his hands meeting in the middle to unhook and unbutton her trousers. They were loose enough that they fell in a puddle at her feet as soon as he let go.
His, she had to work partway down his legs, until he brushed her hands away, stepping out of them impatiently. His fingers reached immediately for the waistband of her knickers, pushed just slightly past it and stayed there until she placed her hands over his, applying a gentle, insistent pressure. The wet spot that had already formed in her knickers stuck to her labia, sent a jolt of pleasure through her as Severus peeled the fabric away from her sensitive skin. Her hands shook with adrenaline as she reciprocated, carefully pulling the band of his pants over his hard cock, then pushing the garment down his thighs until it fell of its own accord.
He nearly lifted her feet off the ground when he pulled her against his body this time, the both of them, every inch of their bodies, exposed. He kissed her hungrily, and she responded in kind, pushing her tongue past his lips, giving him a taste of what she was prepared to give him. The humid night air and the anticipation combined, their bodies hot and heaving for breath. A wet spot formed where the tip of Severus' aching cock pressed against Hermione's belly again.
Hermione tugged at him until he turned, putting the lake at his back. Then she took one of the hands that had been cupping her bottom and tried to pull him down onto the sand, onto his knees.
"Here?" He asked in a low tone, lips brushing her ear.
"Please," she murmured back shakily. "I want—"
He covered her lips with his again. Kneeling, his cock jutted out between them, so that she could no longer resist reaching out to stroke it. He groaned in the back of his throat, his mouth fully occupied with hers. Severus' legs disappeared into the water, and when the lake swelled again in the muggy breeze, it came up far enough to lick her knees. It felt like bathwater. Reflected the entirety of the night sky.
He leaned forward, one of his hands supporting her lower back, and helped her lie down completely onto the sand, one of his knees insinuating itself between her legs.
All she could think of was how it would feel when his cock finally filled her.
Hermione spread her legs wide, could feel the blood rushing, pulsing in her clitoris. The air hitting her wet centre made her moan and wrap her arms around Severus' neck, pulling him fully on top of her. His hair fell, brushed against the sides of her face, and he stared into her eyes, as if trying to memorize them—take their image into his next life. She stared back, no longer worried about him understanding what her silences meant. Hoping he would.
She could feel the tip of his cock brush her opening, and she tightened her arms around his neck insistently, moaning when he kissed her, pressed the velvety skin of his cock more firmly against her entrance.
She felt his ragged exhale over her lips when he finally thrust all the way in, and she let out a cry, her fingers digging into his back, wanting his body to cover her, his cock to fill her completely. His grit his teeth when he pulled out and thrust back into her the second time, groaning at the sensation. She pulled his face back down to hers, pressed their lips together, panting already, then gasping as he started to thrust in earnest, grinding steadily against her clitoris until she cried out again, her orgasm suddenly washing over her, pulsing around the cock still inside her body.
She held on to him desperately as he kissed whatever part of her he could reach, chasing his own climax. When it hit him, he was like a man possessed. He plunged into her body, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her tightly, as though she had begun to float away. She wrapped her legs and arms more firmly around him as his breathing slowed, hands splayed, wishing she could envelop his entire body. His cock continued to twitch inside her.
Severus brushed some of the sweat-soaked hair away from Hermione's forehead, cupped her cheek. "I never thought—"
"Me neither," Hermione agreed, lips trembling as she tried to keep her returning sadness in check. Her eyes filled with tears anyway.
"At least we have the rest of our lives together."
"Don't joke about that," Hermione admonished him, pressing her lips together so that she wouldn't let out an inappropriate laugh, the tears starting to spill over onto her cheeks.
"I'm not joking," he assured her, quiet.
Again, he wore that nameless expression.
Severus lifted Hermione, sat up and brought her to his chest, buried his face in her neck, in a cloud of her hair. Breathed her in. Kissed her when she hugged him back with her whole body, shaking with an overabundance of emotion that she could not parse into sections or name.
When finally he had turned soft enough to slip from her entirely, he helped her to her feet, pulled her to wade into the water until it was up to their collarbones. Comets continued to fly overhead, the stars winking at them, their light crisp and safe in faraway galaxies, distant pasts. Hermione could almost convince herself that they were floating together in space, hands loosely clasped, stars flowing all around them.
The moon approached, ballooned into the whole sky. Hermione could see every crater, every shadow and crevice. Words stuck in her throat.
Every word.
It was incredible, the most incredible sight she had ever witnessed, and Severus' hand tightened over hers, their fingers interlacing in the agitated waters of the lake.
The moon touched the atmosphere of Earth.
And everything was light.
Fire.
In the empty vacuum of space, drifted a shard that had once belonged to a core unlike any other. At length it was pulled, reeled in like a fish by a new giant.
Gaseous and toxic, it roiled with confusion at its place in the greater cosmos.
Like any entity, it struggled constantly towards purpose.
Through the hostile atmosphere the shard fell—burning, but not burning up.
It dropped like the stone it was, in its coat of metal, with its heart of ice, an egg tumbling through the turbulent waters of an unwatched pot.
Fell down and down, through the sulphurous blood of the giant, until it came to rest against its rocky outer core.
Where slowly—it melted.
It spoke to the core of a language, of the building blocks that turned turmoil into order.
The core wept.
Wept a compound from another life.
An imprint that had exacted an unfathomable price on its progenitors—its language always borrowed, never created.
Beyond the shore, water stretched out past the horizon, on and on, as far as the eye could see, and then farther still. Aside from the crashing of the waves, of wind whistling between rocks, it was silent. There was simply nothing.
No.
That wasn't right.
Because there was a figure, all in black, staring out to sea. It didn't move, or look back, just stayed where it was, the cloth that covered it motionless in the nascent ocean's breeze.
"Severus."
The word sounded right.
The figure reacted to the sound, turned so that its eyes were visible.
Eyes that glittered, black and bottomless, in the light of a strange sun.
"Severus," she breathed again.
And he stared into her eyes, into the memory of their past life, let out a ragged breath.
"I've been watching for—I've lost count. I don't think this is our Earth."
She took her place at his side.
"What should we name it?"
"Nothing."
He took her hand. She threaded their fingers together.
"If we watch long enough, I suspect it will name itself."
