Chapter 4
And just as soon as he had her, she was gone, scouring the earth and heavens for the infernal pieces of a despot’s soul while he remained here— lost and broken and still haunting these castle halls that felt so terribly empty without her presence within them.
He wasn’t a ghost, he was a demon. One with so much blood on his hands that he could scarcely remember just how much. How many lives was he responsible for ending now? How many people must have been brutalized while he did nothing? To think of touching her tender flesh with these hands disgusted him.
But he brewed the antivenin anyway, hoping that just maybe he could survive and watch her build a life for herself from the distance.
Yes, that would be enough for him— to see her happy.
The next time he finally set eyes on her again, she appeared above his crumpled form on the floor of the Shrieking Shack and collapsed at his side in the thick pool of blood seeping from him.
“No, no, no,” she chants in a strangled breath, her trembling hands flitting over him.
She looks like a goddess, he thought. A battle-torn goddess, with her wild curls and bloodied and soot-smudged skin, come to whisk him away to whatever place lied beyond this earthly plane.
“Where is it, I know you have it…”
She desperately grasps at the empty vial next to his side and hurls it across the room. “Damn it!”
“Hermione,” he manages to rasp, seeking her gaze.
The only thing that exists to him in that moment is the warmth of her amber irises swimming with tears above him. He can’t feel his dying body or the bite of the hard wood floor beneath him or her hands clasped to his neck as she attempts to keep what little blood he has left inside— but he can feel his love for her.
And that is enough for him.
“I’m here, Severus,” she utters in a tremulous whisper, cupping his face and smoothing her blood-soaked thumb across his cheek. He thinks he might be grinning as she gives him an anguished smile.
“Stay with me, look at me— Please, you can’t, I love you so— so much, Severus…”
He realizes then that he would do anything to stay by her side, his deserving of her affection be damned— because she loved him. Because it was he who made her happy. He would do anything for her— repeat every scar and every sin, he would raze the entire earth for her if it meant he could simply have her look at him the way that she is right now… if he could stop her lovely face fading from his view as a pleasant warmth begins to consume him.
“Severus, look at me, open your eyes— Stop it! You promised, god damn it! You can’t leave me!”
Dying felt like swimming. Like drifting in a warm stream and feeling weightless. It felt like being in Hermione’s arms again and he could smell her hair and feel the warmth of her chest as she cradled his head while the cleansing caress of water glides across his skin.
It felt sublime.
Heavenly.
“Severus?” Her sweet voice calls to him. “Are you there?”
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