Harbinger
By Bambu
Summary: Severus Snape has been pardoned by Ministry decree, but not everyone is pleased that he has returned to teaching at Hogwarts.
Disclaimer and Author's Notes: The wondrous world of J.K. Rowling's imagining does not belong to me, nor do I financially profit from it. The underlying source material belongs in its entirety to J.K. Rowling (save where she has sold her rights to various entities). Other than my readers' enjoyment, I make no other profit from my fanfiction.
This story was written in 2008 for the SS/HG Exchange on Live Journal. My recipient was the amazingly talented Foxestacado. Of the three prompts available, I cherry-picked and twisted prompts 1 and 3:
1: Hermione graduates from Hogwarts, Snape is still a teacher at Hogwarts. He gets himself into a snag, and she finds out that in addition to being a snarky, dark, short-tempered bat-like teacher, he actually is a vampire, and only a few teachers know. Bonus points for great interaction between Snape and other teachers. EXTRA EXTRA bonus points for a mentally and magically strong Harry.
3: Vulnerable and psychologically insecure Snape post-war, he requires Hermione's (and others') help in overcoming his difficulties, and finding a life after Hogwarts and without the guidance/dominance of two masters. During his time mending, he realizes the value of both Harry and Hermione, and bonds with Harry and their mutual love for his mother, while also realizing the similarities between Lily and Hermione. Please don't make this a sappy romance! I'm looking for a mature and slow-growing relationship story that probably works best as a gen!fic.
I've additionally employed a couple of conjectures bandied about the fandom post-Deathly Hallows. As a result, if there are any similarities between this work and any other it's entirely unintentional, I assure you. Much gratitude goes to my intrepid beta team of Snarkywench, who checks everything, Talesofsnape, who checks for congruity, and Lifeasanamazon, who joined the team to Brit-pick for me.
Warnings: Some graphic imagery, some violence, and a possible erotic moment or two. There will be spoilers for the entire seven-book series, including judicious application of elements from Deathly Hallows epilogue.
~o0o~
Prologue: In which Hermione Granger and Harry Potter take matters into their own hands.
Harsh sunlight shone through the windowpanes, both broken and unblemished, casting blotchy patterns throughout the Great Hall of Hogwarts where the lingering miasma of horror was buoyed by the relief of triumph. The Weasley family clustered together in the barely contained chaos, its two dark-haired satellites hovering at the edge of the familial solar system. In the center of this small universe, George Weasley's head bowed against the inescapable reality of his twin's death while his siblings and parents offered comfort through their presence and shared grief. Standing adjacent to Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger clung to Harry Potter, her fingers wrapped around his as if they were Devil's Snare. Ron's attention was turned wholly inward as he and his elder brother, Percy, bonded over the traumatic moments of Fred's death.
In the broader expanse of the great room, Aurors, mediwizards and other Ministry personnel dodged like so many comets through the living and the dead, intent upon their own tasks: diagnosing and healing the wounded; cataloguing and verifying the loyalties of the dead; or interrogating the survivors.
When Hermione, Harry, and Ron had returned to the Great Hall two hours before, they had been dragged to a swift, but concise, debriefing with Kingsley Shacklebolt and three Aurors who were never introduced. Harry never did get the sandwich he had hoped to find, and the three friends had been unceremoniously placed under Percy Weasley's care. Hermione's only consolations were in Dolores Umbridge's absence and in watching Percy ignore his own battle-inspired resignation and seize his authority. Under his direction sections of the Great Hall had been cordoned off, including one area for his family and those who had fought so bravely against the Death Eaters and Voldemort's army.
At the edge of the cordoned-off area, Luna Lovegood sat with unfazed equanimity on a cracked bench, holding a dressing to Cho Chang's arm. Dean Thomas sat on the floor with his back against the wall, a broken leg held in place by a neatly braced contraption of tree limbs and strips of cloth. His body was angled in such a manner that the foot of his undamaged leg rested against one of Luna's shoes while he patiently waited for medical assistance. They didn't speak, but there was no need.
Nearby, in a rough-hewn triage area, a Healer applied sticky salve to Lavender Brown's ruined face while the blonde lay barely conscious upon a makeshift bed. Fenrir Greyback had severely wounded the seventh year Gryffindor before finally falling under the dual onslaught of Neville Longbottom's and Ron Weasley's wands. Fortunately, Hermione's and Sybil Trelawney's earlier efforts – including the unorthodox use of crystal balls – to defend Lavender from the werewolf had severely weakened him. Although he had later fought with the feral viciousness of a cornered beast, Greyback had been quickly dispatched.
While Hermione had grown used to the sight and stench of death over the past hours, the noise remained a harsh buzzing in her skull; if she had been thinking clearly, she would have recognized symptoms of shock. Indeed, a full five seconds passed before she realized Arthur Weasley was speaking to her.
"… back to the Burrow with us?"
As she had so often in the past, Hermione sought out Ron's reaction to his dad's invitation, only to find him staring in morbid fascination at Lavender. Hermione's benumbed heart twinged painfully at the sight, but she understood his fascination and distress. All the Weasleys knew what it was like to live with the repercussions of Greyback's violations, regardless of whether the victim was ex-lover or brother.
"Hermione?" Harry's question interrupted her train of thought.
She swung her head in his direction, absently noting the dark circles under his eyes and his gaunt cheeks, attesting to their months' of privation. "What?"
"We've been invited to the Burrow. Do you want to go?"
"I'm sorry." She blinked, attempting to focus. "I wasn't paying attention."
Arthur squeezed her shoulder. "Quite understandable given the circumstances."
Hermione looked up at the man she considered her surrogate father. His grime-smeared face bore the signs of his loss, and he looked every second of his fifty-plus years, but there was no gainsaying his generous nature.
"Thank you for thinking of me," she said. Her eyes inadvertently strayed to the long line of tables where the dead had been laid out, unerringly finding Fred's body, where it was covered by his mother's tatty cloak. Hermione swallowed hard, ignoring the tight ball of nausea in her stomach and the burning in her eyes. "I don't want to intrude."
At her side, Harry nodded his head and his fingers tightened their grip on hers. "Hermione's right, Mr. Weasley. Professor McGonagall said we could stay with her for a couple of days. It might be better if we remained here."
"Are you certain, Harry?"
"We'd like to come over later to the house if we may?" Hermione phrased it as a question.
"You're always welcome. You're like family, you two." The older wizard managed a smile; it wavered, but it was fueled by genuine affection. Taking Harry's free hand, Arthur shook it, man-to-man. "Thank you for everything you've done to save our world." He then patted Hermione's shoulder before ushering his family out of the Hall and to the daunting task of reclaiming their fractured lives.
Ron and Ginny were the last to leave. Ron, characteristically tongue-tied in the face of overwhelming emotion, merely said, "See you, Harry, Hermione," before following his brothers.
Ginny stared at Harry and Hermione's clasped hands for a long moment. She glared at the older witch but spoke to Harry. "Will you come and see us tomorrow?"
To his credit, Harry didn't relinquish Hermione's hand, but his shoulders straightened. "I'd like that, Ginny. I'd like to spend some time with you."
The hard line of Ginny's mouth softened. "I'd like that, too. It's going to be horrible … these next few days." Her hazel eyes filled with renewed tears.
"Ginny, I'm so sorry," Hermione said, dropping Harry's hand to hug the redhead as tightly as she had two hours before. They clung to one another for a brief, lung-squashing moment, whatever unresolved issues might lie between them immaterial in the face of such devastation.
Finally, Ginny released Hermione and brushed the tears from her cheeks. "Right. Well, I'd better go or they'll send Charlie to get me." Before she reconsidered, Ginny stepped past Hermione and kissed Harry on the lips. "Come tomorrow, Harry. We have a lot to talk about." Then, with a fierce look over his shoulder at an openly staring Cho Chang, she spun on her heel and followed her family out through the hex-ravaged doors.
Seeing Harry's heightened color, Hermione asked, "Are you all right?"
His fingers touched his lips, his eyes focused on the door. "Yeah. Maybe."
With the departure of the Weasleys, Hermione felt as if a suffocating layer of cotton wool had been lifted from her. She scrubbed her face with her hands and glanced around the Great Hall. In one corner, the bedraggled Malfoy family was being questioned individually by Aurors whose official robes were embellished by a bright yellow armband.
In what would remain a vivid memory for the rest of her life, Hermione recalled Lucius Malfoy shouting his son's name with desperate fear while standing, defenseless and battered, in the midst of the Great Hall, backlit by red, green, and yellow curse trails. The man had never seen the virulent red jinx which knocked him off his feet, but his agony was such that she would never forget. He had struggled to his feet, continuing his quest to find Draco, limping and bleeding onto the filthy floor. The irony of it being a zealous pureblood leaving a trail of muddy blood wasn't lost on Hermione, but there had been no time for further contemplation as she had raced to engage Bellatrix Lestrange who had just attempted to kill Ginny.
That had been then.
Hermione would never like them, and her worst nightmares were associated with the terrifying and painful moments in their home, but the Malfoys' love for one another was something she could admire. Even though it was tragically unfair that Fred had died, she was generous enough to be glad the Malfoys had found each other.
Deliberately turning her head from the white-haired family, Hermione assessed the rest of the room. The walls were scorched and large blast holes dotted the giant stones. Up above, the ceiling's enchantment had been broken, and for the first time, plain wooden rafters could be seen. The sight saddened her, and she chose to look at people instead of the drastically altered but familiar surroundings. There were yellow-armbanded Aurors stationed in key locations, including a cluster surrounding Kingsley Shacklebolt who was holding an animated discussion with Minerva McGonagall and four very old members of the Wizengamot (whose clean robes stood out like a splash of blood on a pristine snow-blanketed field.) Hermione correctly guessed the yellow bands marked Kingsley's hand-picked team, and if she needed proof, she only had to look at the Aurors in her immediate vicinity. They all wore the distinctive armbands.
Her visual circuit ended with her best friend. He was watching her.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"Dunno," Harry replied. Then he waved his hand in a broad arc. "It's probably too much to hope for a sandwich in all this."
"It seems disrespectful to be hungry, but it's most likely why I've been feeling a trifle woozy."
"Are you all right?" His voice changed, grew sharper. "Do you have any cuts? Are you bleeding?"
"I have some bruises and my clothes are singed, but I don't think I'm bleeding." Suddenly, she gasped. "Harry!"
"Hermione?" He grabbed her and one of the nearby Aurors came to abrupt attention. "Where are you hurt?"
"I'm all right. I'm fine." But her eyes were huge in her pale face. "Really."
With obvious reluctance, and much patting of her arms, he released her. The Auror relaxed, but his gaze passed over them more frequently than before.
Hermione slipped her wand into her hand and cast a nonverbal Muffliato in the Aurors' direction. Using the spell reminded her again of the detail they'd neglected. Harry's nostrils flared as he felt the anti-eavesdropping spell's distorting wave wash over him. Nonetheless, Hermione pitched her voice so only he could hear. "I've just remembered Professor Snape. We have to do something."
Green eyes flicked in the direction of the Aurors and Harry pinched his lips so tightly they were outlined in bloodless white. He waited until he had himself under control, and then said, "Yeah, we can't leave him like that. We – I owe him too much."
"We all do."
"Let's go."
He would've turned, but Hermione's hand on his arm stayed his departure. Then she stepped closer, right against him, as if overwrought by the events of the day.
"Hermione?" questioned Harry uncertainly, but his arms encircled her.
She ignored him and leaned her forehead on his shoulder, allowing her tangle of hair to screen her face as she surreptitiously looked to see who was watching. Some attention was to be expected, and numerous people glanced in their direction before continuing with their responsibilities, but only Cho remained avidly fixated on Harry. Hermione's lip curled in derision at the opportunistic witch; as far as she was concerned, the former Ravenclaw had squandered her chance.
Using the white noise created by Snape's spell, Hermione said quietly, "I think we should go alone. The professor wouldn't want to be found like that. You know, on the floor."
Harry closed his eyes tightly, his face a grim mask, and she could feel the tension in his arms. "He hated that place."
"It's too cruel that he died there. I don't want anyone else to see that." She released him and stepped back. "How do we go without, you know, an escort?"
Harry smirked, and then, for a fleeting second, he looked like the neglected little boy she'd first met, the one entranced by the reality of magic. "I have my dad's cloak," he said, "and I have an idea."
Despite the grisly past few hours, Hermione almost laughed. They had learned a lot about gallows humor, these two young veterans. "I know all about your ideas," she said, "and I'm not sure–"
"You'll like this one. Trust me?"
"With my life."
Her response straightened his spine as he subtly cancelled Snape's spell, and then, with a final piercing look, he seized her hand, pulling her toward the nearest Auror, a hard-faced woman of indeterminate years. He said, "My friend and I haven't eaten for a couple of days."
The Auror gave Harry and Hermione a glint-eyed once-over. "You may not wander off, Mr. Potter. We have our orders."
Hermione gave it a try. "We understand, but maybe someone could go with us to the kitchens while we find something to eat."
The hard-faced witch crossed her arms in denial, and Hermione's quixotic temper, stretched beyond breaking, snapped. "Look," she said angrily, "Harry died today. And then he faced off against Voldemort." She ignored the sharp gasps of those within hearing range. "I'd say he deserves a damn sandwich if he wants one!"
The Auror straightened to her full height, her face a mottled red. "You little –"
"Bones!" A senior Auror's sharp commanding tone brooked no refusal. "Shut it! Escort them to the kitchen. If Potter and his friend are hungry, then let them eat. I, for one, don't want to explain to Shacklebolt, our provisional Minister of Magic, why you've denied The Boy Who Lived Twice a bit of nosh."
The muscles of the woman's jaw bunched in anger, but she stepped aside, waving Hermione and Harry ahead of her in an exaggerated flourish of courtesy.
It took them ten minutes to reach the kitchens. They were forced to step around suits of armor and statues, piles of jagged metal and pulverized stone from where they had been demolished defending the castle. The damage was extensive and heartbreaking. Harry swore when he saw the shattered remains of the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
Once they reached the broken kitchen door, it had taken several minutes to persuade the Auror to wait at the entrance. Harry and Hermione stood quietly just out of Bones' line of sight, waiting for a house-elf to pause in the middle of meal preparation. The kitchen appeared to have been bypassed during the conflict while its denizens had bravely ventured into the melee outside, and from appearances, there had been few casualties amongst the diminutive squad's ranks. Once Harry and Hermione had been spotted, it was the work of a moment before the two friends held chip butties in their hands. They thanked the house-elves profusely, and then Harry draped his father's hand-me-down around his and Hermione's shoulders. Together, in long-practiced synchronization and without a shred of remorse, they invisibly slipped past Auror Bones guarding the door.
By the time they reached the site of the Whomping Willow, Hermione was licking the grease from the last chip off her fingers, but she cried out at the sight which greeted them. The Whomping Willow, planted the year Remus Lupin arrived at Hogwarts as a were-pup, had been uprooted by one of Voldemort's giants and tossed aside as if it were nothing more than a toothpick.
The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack had collapsed.
"Bollocks!" Harry swore vehemently.
"I don't think they've got round to resetting the Anti-Apparition wards yet. If you're willing to try, we could give it a go," she suggested.
The corner of his mouth quirked. "You've certainly had a rapid descent into rule-breaking, Hermione."
She giggled. "At least this won't get us expelled. Splinched maybe but not expelled."
In the distance, they could hear people shouting their names. Apparently Auror Bones had discovered that her charges were missing.
"I'd rather take a chance on splinching." Harry anchored his arm to her waist, and said, "You lead the Side-Along."
Hermione bit her lip in consternation. "Are you all right, Harry?"
"Fine," he said impatiently. "Let's go."
"Are you sure? I mean, you died."
He shifted his feet. "I'm just tired. It's nothing to go on about."
She sniffed but let the subject drop. "Ready?"
"Yeah."
Placing her left hand on Harry's shoulder, she grabbed a fold of the Invisibility Cloak; then holding her wand in her right hand, Hermione shifted her weight onto her right foot, pulling Harry into the spin of Apparition. They squeezed through time, space, and beyond the confines of Muggle physics to arrive with a small pop at the fence post where they had once thrown snowballs at Draco Malfoy.
The Shrieking Shack was as she remembered; no amount of lush spring foliage in the perpetually neglected garden could disguise its weathered and dilapidated state. The front door and one set of broken windows had been unblocked, and the overgrown walkway showed signs of recent trespass. Death Eaters, her mind automatically supplied. There were no Aurors in sight, nor were there sounds of any human activity, yet the preceding months had been a harsh taskmaster for the young fugitives and they were alert.
Together, they held their wands at the ready and cautiously passed through the perimeter fencing and up the front steps. This time Harry led while Hermione made certain they weren't followed; she obscured their tracks with a silent spell and a wave of her wand. She would never forget their near-fatal experience in Godric's Hollow, and at the top step, she jabbed and hooked the slender length of vinewood in the shape of the letter 'j', whispering, "Hominum revelio!
After a long beat, she whispered, "Nothing."
He leaned in close. "Shouldn't Snape show up on the scan?"
"It only reveals living humans." Privately, she thought, nothing's waiting for us except the body of a man clever enough to dupe us all and save our lives in the process.
The front door squeaked when Harry opened it. He and Hermione stood to one side, just in case, allowing sunlight to fill the doorway, spilling into the room where they'd so recently been. However, when Harry and Hermione peeked around the frame, there was a significant difference from the tableau they remembered.
There was no corpse.
The puddle of blood – thick, coagulated, and dried brown in some spots –remained, but it had been disturbed, almost as if someone had dragged Snape's body through it, or taken a shoddy stab at siphoning off the liquid.
There was no need to cast Lumos as, in addition to the doorway, sunlight streamed through the unboarded window. The room was quite bare. The peeling paper still curled in yellowed strips, the walls remained grimy, and the crate Harry had moved to enter from the underground tunnel was exactly where it had been left.
Harry took one cautious step into the room followed closely by Hermione. They were supposedly undetectable, but the sun cast their shadows onto the floor. Harry groaned. "Bugger!" he said, and pulled the cloak off before stepping fully into the building.
Hermione didn't answer; instead she whirled at a rustling noise, something scrabbling on the floorboards beyond the far side of the crate. "Professor?" she said softly, moving toward the noise.
Harry avoided the blood as if it were Snape's actual body. "Hermione," he said in an indecipherable tone.
"What is it? Oh! Oh, my." There, hidden by the crate and staring at them through yellow eyes, blood coating its beak, neck, and chest feathers, was a large gray and white owl. For one long moment, Hermione was completely baffled. "What is it doing here? Is it one of the school's owls? Is it hurt? Where's the professor?"
The owl seemed disinclined to move, and Hermione kept staring at the blood coating the front of its chest and beak. She knew very little about owls, only bits gleaned from interactions with Hedwig – whose loss still rankled – and Pigwidgeon and Errol.
Harry had turned his attention from the bird and was examining the room. There were no footprints, nor other signs that Snape's body had been dragged into another part of the building. "It must've come in through the window." He pointed, saying, "Look, there are claw marks in the middle of the blood. That must be where it landed. Maybe it is hurt. It could've been hit by a deflected spell."
Hermione nodded in agreement, and stepped closer to the bird, her tender heart hating to see anything in pain, but the owl shifted on its claws, its wings unfurling awkwardly in alarm. "Shhhh, shhhh," she said soothingly. "I don't want to hurt you." At her next step, though, the owl clacked its beak, and Hermione paused. "Harry, I don't think it wants me to come any closer."
"We'll tell Hagrid. He'll know what to do for it. But Snape isn't here, Hermione. I think someone–"
"What are you two doing?" Sharp, strident tones shattered the quiet.
Instantly, Harry and Hermione crouched, spinning toward the front door and the origin of the voice. They raised their wands to defend themselves, and Hermione automatically cast,"Protego".
Her Shield Charm flared brightly in the small room, protecting them against their adversary.
However, there was no adversary at the front door.
Instead, they were confronted with none other than Hogwarts' librarian. Madam Pince was clearly the worse for her staunch defense of the school; her gray-streaked hair tumbled around her face in lank strands, and her dressing gown was torn and scorched, but she held her wand steadily in one hand. "Shacklebolt has people searching everywhere for you."
"We … er … we wanted to help Professor Snape," Hermione explained, her singed robes hiding the owl from the librarian's sight.
"Professor Snape?" Madam Pince said in startled surprise, and then stared at the spilled blood. "So much blood," she whispered, and her chin wobbled before it firmed. Her black eyes darted about the room. "Where is he?" she demanded.
The conditioning of years drew immediate answers from the two friends. "We don't know," Harry replied.
Hermione silently cancelled her Shielding Spell then answered the question. "He was here earlier."
"We didn't want anyone to find him here … like this." Harry rolled his hand, palm up, indicating the interior.
"That isn't your concern." The librarian's stare remained fixed on the large pool of blood.
"He should be everyone's concern, Madam Pince," Hermione said staunchly, earning her an indecipherable look.
Harry added an accolade. "He was a hero."
"Let the Aurors handle it." Pince's hand had wrapped around the doorknob, her knuckles white from her grip. "You should return to the castle where you belong. Go straight back, Mr. Potter. They need to see you. It reminds them it's all over."
Harry carefully skirted the perimeter of Snape's body print. "All right."
When Hermione stepped away from the crate, Pince saw the owl. Her face paled until she resembled nothing more than an alabaster statue. "Strige," she whispered, her voice cracking on the word.
"Madam Pince?" Hermione asked. "Are you all right?"
The older woman shook her head, her eyes never leaving the large owl. "I'm tired, Miss Granger. I'll wait for the Aurors to arrive."
There was nothing more to be said, and Harry left the building first, his shoulders slumped in sorrow.
~o0o~
