The Funeral Portrait by the French Press, Chapter 5.
The feeling of comfort one finds in the familiar provides a sense
of security and well-being in a forbidding world.
This, he assumes, is one of the reasons for Hermione's mind to
have conjured such a prison for herself to remain.
He isn't certain yet whether it is a spell or her brain keeping
her locked away, but each time he has delved into it, he has
come away feeling unsettled. He gazes out the window at the
street below, and Severus sighs as the pedestrians go about
their day. It feels like everything is on a
loop at present, and he wonders when they will be able to break
the cycle. Turning away, Hermione's
comatose form comes into view. She looks the same as ever,
though after what occurred last time he was inside her head.
He struggles to look at her, shame blooming from deep within
his chest. Severus Padma is standing in the
doorway now with concern written on her face.
Don't look at me like that, he says quietly.
She walks in and stands beside him at the foot of Hermione's
bed. If it's too difficult, don't.
Severus interrupts. I will do this.
They fall silent, the room feels suffocating even though barely
more than 1/3 of it is taken up by the bed and medical
equipment. He swallows the lump in his
throat and it slides down to sit heavily in his gut.
Instead. He takes a deep breath and
occludes to calm himself down, emptying his mind of negativity
and racing thoughts. All right, let's get this over
and done with. Padna summons the trolley as
usual while he draws out everything he needs to link
himself to Hermione. When they are all set up and the
damp Unicorn hair is wrapped around them, the chill of the
potion making him shiver, he looks to his associate and nods.
She is ready and waiting, and he can see a glimmer of something
like anxiety in her eyes. Clearly, he isn't the only one
concerned that revealing the truth to Hermione might cause
her to boot him out of her mind and raise even stronger mental
Shields. Sucking in a deep breath, he
closes his eyes, exhales slowly, and dives in.
When he reopens his eyes, he is sitting on the sofa in the
apartment. He is alone with nothing save
the soft echo of the tap dripping in the kitchen.
The sound reverberates in his head, so he stands up and
strides swiftly to tighten the faucet.
Without the noise, the flat is eerie, and he almost loosens it
so that he won't be left alone with only his thoughts for
company. Indeed, his mind is a dangerous
place to be on his own, if history is any indication.
Severus spots the clock over the mantle when he returns to the
sitting room. It is 449 in the evening in the
dream world, and he expects Hermione will return from work
shortly after five. He knows by now that she is
disillusioned with her job and spends the nights poring over
the notes of her arithmetic studies.
Her mind is fascinating, even in this fabricated place.
She is a keen student. He found her enthusiasm annoying
when she was a child, but as he had got to know her better while
they were trapped in that safe house together, he came to
appreciate and enjoy it. Severus misses her and all their
lengthy conversations and debates over a vast spread of
academic topics. The small glimpse he is afforded
of that remarkable woman when he's inside her head is a mere
tease. He sits back down and crosses
one leg over another, bombing his foot impatiently.
They still hadn't worked a way to time his arrival in the
dream. When the long hand moves over
the five, the door to the flat opens and Hermione walks in,
looking haggard. His chest tightens a little
before he can stamp down the emotion that seizes him.
Immediately, he is on his feet and crossing the room to greet
her. He needs to start this encounter
off the right way. She is in his arms seconds later
and he breathes out a sigh of something like relief as his
nose becomes buried into the Halo of her curls.
She smells so good and familiar and he wonders if it is his
memory or if it is a projection of her mind.
Her cold nose touches the exposed skin of his throat.
Apparently in her dream world he wears his shirts unbuttoned at
the throat. This is a far cry from reality,
where his buttons are like a security blanket.
Bad day? He rumbles, unbelievably so.
She mutters into his skin. He feels for her.
Even in her dreams, she is tortured.
Would you like to talk about it? No, she answers, pulling back to
gaze up at him. Her brown eyes are a little dull
in colour instead of shining with warmth as they usually did.
How was your day? A stab of guilt radiates through
him. Same as ever.
He replies vaguely. Her eyes sharpen and she
releases him, hugging her arms around her own body instead.
Something he said, or perhaps even the way he said it, has set
off a warning bell in her head. He can see a new tension in the
shoulders that wasn't there before.
It is time, he thinks, firming his resolve to get through it
painlessly. Hermione, we need to have a
talk. She eyes him suspiciously but
nods. Yes, we do, let's go sit down.
She sits at the opposite end of the sofa from him, her arm's
still wrapped protectively around herself, as if she
expects some sort of attack. He is strangely pleased by this.
It means she is alert and ready to do what she needs to in order
to protect herself. I have something to tell you,
but it will not be easy for you to hear, He says quietly.
All I ask is that you allow me to speak my peace, all right?
She agrees. He takes a deep, steadying
breath. I don't quite know where to
begin, but I suspect you have been feeling something is amiss
between us for some time. She nods, but he can guess from
the way she is gnawing on her lip that she is anxious, so he
continues. I know you must have imagined
all kinds of scenarios, but it is not what you think.
I am not the Severus who is so often here with you.
Confusion is written all over her face.
Who are you then? I am exactly who I am.
I am Severus Snape, but not from this place, from another
timeline. He shakes his head.
No, I am from outside of your mind.
She stares at him with her mouth agape and then shakes her head
no. He gives her a few seconds to
process before saying. I wish this was a lie, but sadly
that is not the case. You are trapped, locked within
your own mind. This place in its entirety is a
fabrication, A projection. Though I have not yet discovered
if your mind is creating this as a protection or if it is part of
the curse. Curse.
He realises he has skipped a part of the story erroneously.
You were struck down by a curse in the final conflict, one that
has rendered you comatose, or so we suspect.
We, Heather Patil and myself, he explains.
We have been working together to find out what happened, how the
curse functions, who cast it, and how we can use all this
information to dismantle and release you from it.
She is no longer looking at him, her eyes cast down to her hands
that rest in her lap. The quiet in the room makes him
feel choked until she looks up finally in disbelief.
You can't be serious. This is so far fetched.
I can assure you I would not wish this upon anyone, he vows.
Especially not you. Her mouth opens and closes a few
times as she struggled to find the words.
How long have I been here? A little over 8 months so far.
He answers. I, I don't.
Her voice trails off as the cogs were visibly in her mind.
Her face becomes flushed and he watches as she swallows.
So all of this, the other Severus, he isn't real.
Severus shakes his head. He is also a projection, part of
your mind's attempt to comfort you while you've been trapped
here. He hears her breath should her
back in her throat. There were times when I thought
he seemed off. Was that because you were here?
She asks. Likely yes.
Her cheeks balloon with even more colour.
There are things I, we, I forced myself on you last time.
I'm. He waves it off, determined not
to allow her to feel guilty or embarrassed.
It was as much as his fault, if not more so.
He had known he could have put a stop to it.
Don't trouble yourself over that.
She appears somewhat relieved when he says this, so she begins
before falling silent again. Suddenly, curiosity makes him
ask. What gave me away?
Oh, the first thing I noticed was that you brought me a quill
instead of a Biro. She tells him.
There were a few other things. You used your wand instead of
wandless magic, and you always seemed a little hesitant.
Not like the hue my mind has apparently decided to conjure
up. I wish I could explain why I
chose you. We were much thrown together in
the safe house at the end of the war.
Perhaps your mind is associating being safe with me, He suggests.
This was his leading suspicion, and when her brows raise and she
nods, it appears she agrees with him.
Yes, she whispers, that must be it.
He watches her carefully as a myriad of emotions cross her
face. The longer they are silent, the
more her face falls and soon tears are tracking down her
cheeks. She looks away from him, her
head bowing as her shoulders begin to shake.
He wants to reach out to her, to take her into his arms, comfort
her and let her know she is not alone.
When the sobs grow in volume, he ignores his instinct to keep
away from her, slides closer to her on the sofa and wraps his
arms around her. Every single racking shake of
her body as she cries and trembles against him vibrates
through his body. He rubs her back with one hand,
wishing he could take this pain away from her.
The front of his shirt feels soaked.
Severus gently rocks her against him and after a while the tears
subside and she gasps for breath as she tries to calm herself.
When she sits back and he releases her, she looks utterly
mortified. I'm so sorry.
Whatever for? He asks.
Well, aside from everything we've already mentioned and from
my outburst just now, there are things that you don't know.
Everything about what I've been experiencing.
He says thoughtfully. I am aware that in this place
you've been in a relationship with my counterpart.
Her face turns redder than seems possible.
Oh gods. She mutters, covering her face
with both hands. Do not think on it.
He tries to reassure, though, whether for her or himself, he
is uncertain in the mind. Acts in peculiar ways when we
experience trauma. There was.
She begins, before stopping to swallow.
He whips out his wand to summon a box of tissues and holds it
out to her. She takes a few to dry her
cheeks and blow her nose quickly, and manages to pull
herself together a little more in the process.
I should start at the beginning, Hermione says.
I was alone, and here in this place.
I thought you'd died at the end of the war.
I was distraught and in pain. And when I went to your funeral
to hear the reading of your will, you left everything to me,
including a letter That, well, that's not so important.
Then you showed up at my door, still alive, and you never left,
working from here and saying you weren't ready to return to the
wizarding world yet. I suppose now that makes sense.
Severus eyes widen and he nods. Whenever I have been here, I am
unable to leave this flat. She sighed, wringing her hands
in her lap. It was all a lie.
My mind has played tricks on me, and for what?
As I said, quite possibly to protect you, either from the
curse or from yourself. He is concerned about her
current state now, worried that they've delved too deeply too
soon, and decides to weave it back in.
Heeler, Patil and I have been working towards figuring all of
this out, and now that you are aware of it, we hope that you
will be able to help us piece together the puzzle.
How can I possibly be of help to you like this?
She asks, her face and voice displaying the hopelessness she
feels. We will work it out.
He promises. Severus feels a tug in his chest
as further words escape him. He cannot promise anything, but
there is a determination within him not to give up fighting for
her, grappling for her freedom. Without a thought to what he is
doing, Severus holds out one of his hands to her, palm up so as
to invite her. She accepts and grasps onto it
tightly, almost desperately, as though she is worried if she
lets go of him, he would disappear, never to return.
They fall silent again, though now the room is charged with a
mix of despair and hopefulness, A strange combination, but at
least now it feels like there is some hope.
They remain this way until he feels the potion tethering him
to her begin to fade, and he looks up at her, face pained at
having to depart so soon. The potion that links us is
wearing off. He tells her gently.
I will be back, but for now, please take care of yourself
Hermione, Know that we are working to bring you back to the
real world. She nods, but he can tell that
she is more upset than she is letting on.
I understand. She says, rubbing her thumb over
the top of his hand. Thank you, Severus.
He inclines his head again and as the potion finally wears off
he blinks and he no longer sees her red rimmed eyes or tear
stained face. She blinks rapidly, whipping her
head around the room and finding it to be empty.
Her hand, which moments ago had been gripping his, is now empty
and a desolate feeling settles inside her.
She is alone. It hits her like a ton of
bricks. She is all alone now, and no
amount of crying, begging, or hoping was going to bring back
the Severus she has been living with these past months.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Hermione jumps to her feet and
checks every room in her tiny flat, desperately seeking out
her partner, her lover, her friend.
But he is nowhere to be found. It was not all just some dream.
She is in the dream. Fuck, her voice echoes in the
otherwise empty flat, and she sinks to the floor, collapsing
against the wall nearest her. Her arms wrap around her knees
and she draws them close, leaning her forehead against
them as she struggles to get her breathing under control.
The panic attack sets in faster than she expects, and soon her
chest feels painfully tight, like she might burst with every
subsequent breath she heaves. What feels like an hour passes
by, though realistically it has probably only been minutes.
When she is able to collect herself, Hermione stands and
drags her feet as she moves into the kitchen.
Everywhere she looks, she sees Severus leaning his hip against
the bench as they talk. With his back to her as he brews
her tea, sitting at the table discussing and debating with
her, challenging her. Their love wasn't real.
He wasn't real. She can hardly believe it, but
there is no other explanation. It was all the delusion her mind
had concocted and she has no idea why even the real Severus
wasn't able to give her that answer.
It should have been obvious to her that it was all imagined.
There is no world that exists in which Severus Snape could
possibly be in love with her. Really, it is her own fault for
believing it was real in the 1st place.
She was supposed to be the smartest witch of her age, and
yet she was so easily fooled by her own mind.
Tears blur her vision as she reaches for the kettle and fills
it with water. She has no idea why she does it,
especially given that she isn't likely to die here if she
doesn't eat or drink. She switches on the hub anyway
and sets the kettle to boil. It is a habit ingrained from
years of using tea to soothe herself in a myriad of
situations. Sad tea.
Angry tea. Tired tea, sick tea.
She uses it like a plaster, a crutch, shaking her head.
The tears drip from her face to splash down on her shirt and the
bench. They aren't real, but it all
feels real. It is no wonder she found it
impossible to discern this dream world she is trapped in from
reality. Though it does explain why
Severus never left. The kettle begins to scream,
startling her from her racing thoughts.
Hermione switches off the hob and fills a mug with water,
dunking a tea bag into it, unable to find the motivation to
make the proper tea she knows Severus prefers.
It doesn't matter. He wasn't real after all.
The reality of her situation settles in her stomach like a
ball of lead as she sinks into a chair at the kitchen table,
praying that the real Severus can find a way to get her out.
Her unwavering faith in his abilities is all she has left.