Chapter 13
"The Road To Eden"
For a good portion of his life Severus had been a gruesome individual and he was not at all ashamed to admit it. He’d been morbid about death as a young boy and later as a grown man he’d been considered quite eccentric over his hobbies and tastes.
He was obsessed with death.
Well, not obsessed. Curious, perhaps, was a better way of saying it. He had an entire book collection on near-death experiences from other wizards and Muggles, copious notes from seminars on magical death and the afterlife, and had written his own accounts on what he’d experienced each time his heart stopped. Which had been too many for comfort, now that he thought about it.
But this. This. His mind, thirsty for knowledge and experience, had overloaded nearly ten minutes before when he and Harry had begun falling through the abyss. Not falling, though, not really–sliding was a good way of putting it. He tumbled face first, upside down and sideways through nothingness that made their every breath explosively loud. Harry had grasped him around the chest and neck and wasn’t letting go, his young heart beating like a wild thing against Severus’ chest. They fell for eternities, dark and light, shadow and sunlight, where there was nothing but the absolute nothingness of this. Of death.
It frightened him. Down to the very marrow of his bones, down to the heat of his blood and the heaving of his heart.
He prayed, to Merlin, to the Muggle God, to anyone who would listen. Let us be safe, let us be safe!
When they landed, when they finally touched ground, it wasn’t with the hard impact he’d expected. It was as if he’d been knocked to the ground, not fallen a million miles down into hell. It didn’t wind him but the impact was enough that he closed his eyes and didn’t dare open them, resting, body aching and the chain around his neck digging painfully into the side of his throat, where it was stretched taut between himself and Harry.
Severus didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t dare to. Harry was lying beside him, limbs tangled, his racing heart pressed tightly to Severus’ with only a bit of skin between them to mark the fact that it was two bodies instead of one. He held the young man as tightly as he could, hating the moment when he’d have to open his eyes.
Which was coming. Which was close. Anything could be around them, they could be in danger.
Severus opened his eyes.
He and Harry--Harry who lay trembling against him--were lying closely together. He could smell the young man’s fear, his shampoo, even the soft, spicy, distinctive scent of his sweat. He heard crickets, and frogs somewhere nearby, and the sweet sound of fairies singing in the sunlight.
Above him, seemingly miles and miles above him, a canopy of tree branches blocked most of the light, but instead of feeling gloomy, it felt like...like magic. Little fairies trilled through the branches and ivy that grew down to the ground, insects and spiders happily making their homes. Deer ate from low lying bushes and the spongy grass nearby, seemingly totally unconcerned over his and Harry’s presence. They looked back at him once before resuming their gentle grazing.
The wide majesty of the enclave made him feel very small and insignificant indeed. The trees rustled in the soft, warm breeze, carrying insects and buzzing bees, butterflies and birds. It was timeless, it was forever, it was everything he had ever imagined paradise to be. The air was pleasantly warm and it smelled of lavender and honeysuckle, fresh grass and trees after a summer rain. This place had the smell of cleanliness, of purity, that did not exist in the natural world any longer.
He closed his eyes silently and breathed.
Peace. Not the fabricated kind, where danger lurked right under the covers of twilight, waiting to leap on it’s prey. No, here in this place there had never been fear, danger, anger, or hatred.
His ancestors of ancient times must have felt this–a life where nothing had to be worried over other than finding food and resting, lounging in the patches of streaming sunlight that broke through the gentle canopy above. Safety, love.
Joy.
Joy that did not last. Joy that morphed and changed into unspeakable, undeniable, awe. Pleasure he had never felt raced through him and his very soul cried out in ecstasy, transformed into a shout of pleasure.
Before him, towering high above the leafy, flower and ivy covered moors, sat a tree. His mind raced to catalogue what he was seeing, if it could possibly true or if it was because he was a wizard to the marrow. This tree, the only thing he could ever remember truly believing in, was an enormous ash tree that held together the nine planes of existence. She sat in all of her majesty before them like the pillar of the world, awe inspiring and utterly, completely, beautiful.
"Severus."
He looked up, only aware of the tears filling his eyes when he blinked and felt them caught in his lashes. The boy was sitting on the bed of moss and ivy, trembling, pale as a ghost but obviously pleased they were alive. The chain hung between them, the fastening charm keeping it still. "Potter. Are you all right?"
"I will be. What is this place?"
"I have no idea."
Severus watched, delighted, as the boy looked up and his face over-spread with pleasure, awe, and the same joy Severus himself was feeling. "God, it’s...it’s beautiful," Harry whispered, rapt. "There’s...there’s worlds hanging from the branches, Severus, look!"
"I know this," he murmured. "Do you remember anything at all from your theory classes?"
Even in death, the boy had the decency to blush. "A little."
"Let me give you a refresher course," Severus answered, as if it was totally normal for the two of them to be sitting on a forest floor, fairies and butterflies fluttering around them, with their bare toes gently digging into the warm mother earth. "Life is as we interpret it. We learn from what we see, from how we perceive our outside stimuli. The same goes for death–we take it in as we think we see it. This, Harry, is how I see my heaven."
"Hmm." Harry glanced around himself, taking in the peaceful woods and animals. "Well, if you weren’t a ponce before..."
Severus glared. "I believe as I am the one of the two of us who understands death to a degree, I created this place through the power of my magic and my mind, and the actual environment is different for every wizard."
"A very interesting theory, Severus Snape," came a warm voice from behind them, "but answer me this if you please: If this is how you interpret your heaven, how on earth am I, of all people, here?"
Severus glanced over his shoulder and blinked. The man crouched behind them was handsome, with brown hair that flowed deeply over his shoulders, and a thin beard that did nothing to hide the smile that quirked his lips. He wore simple robes of pewter and black, long and flowing around slender, simple trousers made of thick wool. His weapons were shiny in the sunlight.
His sharp sword pierced the mossy ground as he leaned against it, matching the long lengths of his chain mail. It was a spectacular sword, crafted with steel and emeralds, but the marks on the metal showed that it was not a sword crafted simply for show–it had seen its fair share of combat.
He looked vaguely familiar, in the way that someone did when you passed them in a street and then noticed them later in the restaurant where you were having dinner, but there were far more important things for Severus to consider as to where he'd seen a dead man before.
Namely, not becoming one himself.
"No ‘hello', Severus? No ‘nice to meet you'? Surely, you have not forgotten every polite manner your mother spanked into you," the wizard murmured, his eyes, a deep green shades darker then Harry's own, sparkling with mirth. "For shame, little Slytherin." Those same eyes turned to Harry, who hadn't said a word, but was holding himself proudly and aggressively. "Well look at you. You would be one of those bloody Gryffindors."
"Yes, I am," Harry replied, his chin lifted, his own eyes flickering warily. "Who are you?"
The man shifted his weight and Severus counted his whatever prayers he had that the sword wouldn't move from it’s spot in the mossy grass. "Surely you have seen my portrait in that school of yours." He tipped his head. "Who are you, little snake?"
"Harry. Harry Potter," the young man said, lifting his chin again and making the wizard before him laugh. "You're a fine one to speak of manners; I've introduced myself and now I should be obliged to know your name, sir."
"Oh, yes. Gryffindor, indeed. What a fiery spirit you have, little snake," the wizard said, eyes dancing with mirth. "You asked me my name, proud one, and you shall have it. You may call me Razalas."
That shut Harry up with a furrowed brow.
"I have come to guide you both." Razalas lifted his great head to look over them at the tree. "You both assume a great deal about where you are, but I'm afraid this place is not for young wizards such as yourselves to understand, though I applaud you for your limited deductions."
Severus bristled slightly, knew Harry was bristling more under the needling, but resolved to be calm until he knew just what was going on. "You honor us, but I must ask–why were you chosen?"
"Ahh," At that, Razalas laughed again, a great, boisterous laugh that put Severus somewhat at ease. "Indeed, why have I been chosen? I asked that of myself as you were both entering this realm. Come now, I will explain as we walk. Though the tree appears to be close, she is farther than she seems. Were you injured in your journey?"
Severus shook his head and managed to pull himself to his feet, helping Harry up as well. Razalas stood at Severus' height, though he was twice as wide. It made him feel minuscule, something Severus had not felt for quite a long time–a feeling which only increased when the man lifted his enormous sword and sheathed it with a rough clang. "We are well."
"Yes, I see," he said, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. "My companion will be quite amused by the pair of you, I'm sure. Come along now... follow my path, and I shall see if I can explain to you what is going to be asked of you before you may claim your prize."
The man started off through the brush, walking easily in his chain mail and metal gear. Severus and Harry, armed with nothing but their wands, the sword at Harry’s hip, and the stone swinging on its chain between them, followed. Harry looked uneasy, the Slytherin in him obviously wary of this stranger, and Severus nodded to him. He understood, entirely–he wasn’t totally comfortable here either, and he kept slightly in front of Harry as they walked, if only to shield the younger man should the need arise.
"You see this tree, as beautiful as she is, is not your goal," Razalas said, stomping through the brush. "The worlds she bears are meant for the Gods, for those who rule these places, and for god-like travelers, unlike yourselves, on quests where the very world they belong to hangs in the balance. As you might realize, neither of you are Gods–you cannot cross her mighty branches. What you must find will be amongst the roots but to attain access, you must answer the riddle given to you by the beings who live along the path. The roots sustain the worlds which they hold up, and one wrong answer can send the world you love and know into ruin."
"No pressure," Harry muttered, and they both looked up as Razalas laughed again.
"You have the tongue of a true Slytherin, little snake, and yet I see why Gryffindor’s idiotic hat placed you in his own house. Your bravery, or perhaps ignorance, is refreshing."
"Forgive him," Severus answered, shooting a glare down at the young man beside him and jerking on the chain to get the younger man closer so he didn’t do something unfortunate like strangle himself. "He has never known when to hold his tongue." Then under his breath, for Harry's ears alone, "It would be very nice if you could possibly refrain from insulting our guide until we have discovered what we need."
"I can see that. And yet, it is what draws those who care for him like moths to a flame. Ahh, but no matter, for my story is still untold, and you must listen if you wish to succeed." Razalas glanced at them. "Many of our kind, wizards and Muggles alike, seem to enjoy moralizing the world and their existence, putting themselves in a much broader painting than what is truth. Since the dawn of time Wizards have tried to understand what is so special about the World Tree, and have created a complex system of theories around it all when it is really simply indeed. The roots hold the tree standing–spirituality, mentality, and physical endurance. Before you leave this place you must understand these roots and their relation to the others, for without one the rest wither."
Severus nodded firmly. "Yes, we understand."
"At the end of your journey you will find your prize and many more besides, but you must remember–you have precious little time. Your Dumbledore came here, many, many years ago, and called upon us to guard this invaluable treasure until the time came when the guardian and the keeper would come to retrieve it." Razalas turned to them, his eyes meeting theirs. "I have never seen two souls more ready to endure the trials that have been laid before them."
They walked in silence for some moments. The air, so sweetly scented with jasmine, seemed to make Severus sluggish and slow...he wanted to curl up on one of the tree boughs and sleep forever.
The sweet smell of Harry’s skin was soft in the air between them, and his eyes, bottle green and sharp, kept glancing up before lowering, thoughtfully. It was almost as if this place had brought down all of the tall walls they’d built around themselves, made it them against the world instead of each other.
He had not felt any one moment of peace in decades. In this place, in this world of magic and life and perfection, he was being offered those moments with nothing asked in return, offered by the handfuls, the droves.
Severus exhaled slowly.
"All right, Severus?"
No. He was in no way all right. "As much as I can be. Are you feeling well?"
"A little run down; lethargic, but otherwise, I’m fine," Harry whispered back, and just because the Gods were shining down on Severus today, he had the pleasure of seeing Harry’s lip quirk. "I like this place. I almost wish we didn’t have to leave."
"As do I, but we have work yet to do."
Beside them, Razalas spoke, as if he hadn’t been listening to them. "Your path will lead down into a well. Three nameless maidens live in their cave there. Take care not to insult them." His lips curved. "I have made that mistake time and time again. Perhaps your young friend would do well to remain silent."
Harry’s fingers twitched. "What do they want from us?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"I cannot say, little snake." Razalas’ voice was serious. "There is one last bit of wisdom I am permitted to give you, and so it shall be. Severus, you are as jaded as a person can possibly be, and Harry, you have no faith in anything but your own two hands. Despite that, the one thing you do believe in, the one thing you both share, is your faith in Hogwarts. You believe in what it stands for, unconditionally; you believe in the teachings the school enforces, and you believe you will always remain safe, so long as you live there. Keep that faith with you, and you will succeed."
"I wasn’t wrong," Severus said, both in surprise and unease. "This place does not truly exist, then?"
"That is not your place to ask," Razalas said with a smile in his voice. "It exists so much as you know it, you feel it. I am real–I am a spirit. Everyone you will meet is real, and you must not forget that. Though this place was created from your hearts, the people along it are as real as you and I."
"You're being cryptic. Again," Harry muttered.
Razalas smiled. "I live--so to speak--to confuse you."
Harry didn't deign to respond, and Razalas smirked, pushing back a curtain of ivy and stepping through it. In a clearing beside the road, on a tree stump covered in flowers, sat another wizard. His boot rested along a raised root of the stump and he was cleaning and sharpening a dagger with the practiced hand of a man who had done this very thing many, many times before. He was red headed with a strong, chiseled jaw and freckles over his nose and cheek bones, resembling, to Severus’ surprise, a Weasley more than anything else. Though his hair was a deep shade of strawberry, it was masculine, tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong and falling down his back. His sword sheath sat discarded and empty beside him, and unlike Razalas, he wore only leather armor, soft and pliable with the Hogwarts crest on the front.
Severus didn’t think it possible to be more shocked when Razalas leaned over and pressed a none-too-chaste kiss to the red-head’s upturned lips.
"SALAZAR! Not Razalas!" Harry suddenly said, eyes wide. "You! You’re Salazar Slytherin! Not...not Razalas! Oh, you bastard."
Merlin.
Severus felt his eyes go wide and his knees go weak. And Harry had just called him...Merlin. He dropped his head into a half bow in front of the man to whom his House pledged allegiance, and didn’t he feel like an idiot. If this was Salazar then the red head with him was none other than–
Oh, Merlin.
Potter, for his part, just glared grumpily, and Severus elbowed him sharply. "Bow!" He hissed.
After a moments more glaring Harry did so, and then straightened hastily with Severus.
"Took you long enough," Salazar grumbled, mischief in his eyes as he caressed the red heads back. "I thought I would have to tell you myself. And did, in a fashion." He smirked. "My journey with you is complete. May your lives be well in the hands of this buffoon."
"And yet, you adore me, my handsome snake," the red headed man said, amused at Harry's outburst, as his dancing blue eyes lifted first to Salazar. "Razalas?" he asked softly, then moved them to the two shocked travelers. "Greetings." He smiled, charmingly. "You are Severus and Harry, no?" Salazar sat beside him on the stump and irritatingly took the dagger out of the red heads hands, to start cleaning it himself with mutters under his breath. "Harry Potter. I have heard your name whispered through these trees for a very long time–they call you the savior of the wizarding world, little one."
Harry, who was apparently utterly irked about continuously being called ‘little’, squared his shoulders. "Unfortunately, I know that."
Salazar muttered angrily to himself, stabbing the cloth between the rubies of the dagger's handle. "How sad, that this is where my line will end, with a mentally unstable miscreant monster of nature as my last living ancestor. Bastard of my loins, he is."
"Yes, he is," the red headed wizard answered to placate the man beside. "Forgive me, Harry Potter. I am Godric Gryffindor–my portrait hangs in your common room, does it not?"
Ahhh. Now Harry caught on, and Severus fought the roll of his eyes as the younger man stared, stunned.
"Yes, it did," Harry said softly. "When I was at school–but you were blond and brown eyed."
"Can't be any better than mine, they always paint me as an old man with flowing grey beard," Salazar interrupted, muttering under his breath. "They do not understand that I never lived long enough to go grey, though I am thankful of it–I would have made a dreadful elderly person."
"Salazar, are you trying to irritate our guests?" Godric asked, gazing back at him.
"No, I'm just trying to make sure they're worth wasting our time making sure they survive." Surly? Because of his Last Heir being an insane murderer? Never.
Godric heaved a very deep sigh. "It's not a waste of time, Salazar. We are doing Albus Dumbledore a favor, and that's rarely a waste of time. It's not my fault that your Heir turned out to be a murderer and mine turned out to be a hero. It's not his fault either."
"... you know Dumbledore?" Harry blinked.
Godric favored him with a kind smile. "Everyone knows Albus Dumbledore, Harry. On both sides of the Veil."
"Meddling old codger that he is," Salazar grumped. "Didn't even trust us enough to carry through our promise, but had to send someone with a bloody message through to remind us!"
They were saved from more of Salazar's retorts when an ice cold breeze whisked past them, making Severus, even in his jumper, shiver. Harry did the same beside him, goose bumps flying across the skin under Severus’ hands. Godric sighed. "Ah, they call for us. Come now...Salazar, take care to return safely. And be careful with my knife."
Salazar rolled his eyes again, and spoke not to his oblivious lover, but to Severus and Harry. "Be safe, little snakes, and may you find what you seek on your journey."
Godric rose, unfolding his limbs, and it amused Severus that the man stood as tall as Harry. He was a compact little wizard, though he radiated strength and power which reminded Severus very much of Dumbledore. The air around him almost tasted scarlet and gold. "Are you both ready, then?"
"As much as we'll ever be," Harry said, quietly.
Godric tipped his head, and after a moment's regard of Harry, nodded. "Let us go."
Harry kept his grip tight on his sword, and was quiet until they'd gotten out of Salazar's earshot. Then he looked up at Severus, and gave a half-grin that was almost sad at the edges. "Well, at least now we know where you get it from."
OR
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