- Prologue -
The Aftermath
It was over. Finally over. The fighters had gathered in the Great Hall, some mourned lost family, and friends that would never see another dawn. Others clung to those they had left. A small contingent of Aurors, sent by Rufus Scrimgeour had corralled the remaining Death Eaters into a classroom, and warded them inside, before collecting the fallen Death Eaters.
Nymphadora Tonks openly wept at the body of Bellatrix Black-Lestrange.
"She looks so like my mom, this could have been her!" The metamorphmagus sobbed into the shoulder of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
All around the school, destruction was evident. Doors blown from their hinges, scorch marks on the ceilings. Scattered suits of armour lay where they had been blasted to pieces in their protection of Hogwarts. Some portraits had been slashed, having been hit with Sectumsempra, or Diffindo. The infirmary was completely full, each bed containing an injured warrior. Poppy Pomfrey scurried round, sending her small team of underage students to give what potions they could to numb the pain, until she herself, could confirm their diagnoses.
And the Saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, sat in a corner of the Great Hall, head in hands. His ever faithful friend, the brains of the Golden Trio had her arms wrapped around him, protectively. Together, they grieved for every witch and wizard, every giant and centaur, every family decimated, every colleague lost, every friend who would never laugh again. But most of all, they grieved for the boy with the dirt on his nose, the chess player extraordinaire, the hot-tempered keeper, the strategist of their team of three. They grieved for Ronald Bilius Weasley, their best friend.
Hermione spoke first, her head rising slightly, to show her red-rimmed eyes to the rest of the world. Her voice wavered, and was rough from the tears she had shed.
"I... I knew that one of us... one of us would probably... not be here..." She gasped out, shoulders shuddering. "But, I... I guess I always thought it would be me, you know?" When she received no response, she endeavoured to continue. "I mean, I was the most likely to... you know. I did the equations, I factored it all in. Who would they aim at, of the three of us? Not you, Harry, you were for him to duel. So who do they choose? The pure-blood or... or me, the... Mudblood? I thought it was obvious. I went into this battle knowing I would... die. And I was ready to die for you Harry, it would have been so right to die for this cause. He wouldn't blame you, you know? Just like I wouldn't have blamed you. We knew what we were doing, when we followed you. We knew what could happen."
"Knew what you were doing when you were twelve, did you?" Harry raised his head, his eyes too, red-rimmed behind his glasses, voice bitter. "Knew what you were getting into then? Because that's when this started, Hermione, from Halloween, when we saved you from the troll. Let's face it, if he hadn't known me, Ron wouldn't be... wouldn't be..." He trailed off, wiping fiercely at the tears that threatened to spill over once more. "I'm going to go see Dumbledore; he needs to know what happened today."
"Professor McGonagall already told him that we won, Harry. He knows." She placed a restraining hand on his forearm. "I know you feel responsible, but what happened wasn't your fault. We..."
"I know, 'Mione. I just need to talk to him, I need for him to tell me that it was worth it. I need him to tell me it's okay I'm still here." Hermione nodded slowly.
"I'll go to the Weasleys," She unwrapped her arms from Harry. "They understand; they lost him too." Harry clasped her hand in his, almost desperately.
"No, don't you leave me too!" His voice was reedy, and plaintive, a world of difference away from the strong, feral roar it had been only hours earlier, when he had rushed into battle. "Come with me, 'Mione. Stay with me." Hermione looked up, into her best friend's bottle green eyes, and smiled tightly.
"Always." She threaded her arm through his, and they supported each other as they picked their way through the throngs of people in the Great Hall. A few offered condolences to the pair, more still gave thanks to Harry. Hermione was worried about Harry, but she couldn't quite work out why. He shook the hands of any, and all who offered, and listened to everything that was said, with an air of sincerity. He thanked those who fought, and gave the families of the fallen sympathy. Perhaps, Hermione thought to herself,it'sthatheseemstobesocalm.
However, before she had time to elaborate on this idea, Mrs. Weasley appeared in front of them.
"Oh, Harry dear! Hermione!" She threw her arms around her two surrogate children. "He would be glad… that you lived, that you saved the world. I w… wanted to let you know, I don't blame you, not for anything. You were true friends to him, and he loved you both. I'm glad that you found each other, and that you shared all that you did. You will always be welcome in our home, and you will always have a place in my heart, no matter what." Molly let out a hiccoughing sob, kissed each of their heads, before making her way back to the rest of her family.
Harry didn't look up at the rest of the Weasleys, it would be too much for him. They all looked so similar, with the fiery hair, and the freckles. And now they were one less, just as so many other families.
After Molly's rather loud outburst, people seemed to realise that they wished to be left to themselves, and so they managed to leave the hall much more quickly than they had thought possible.
As they traversed the many staircases, on their way to the seventh floor, both teens were silent. They nodded at any portraits they passed, Hermione and Harry sharing a grin at Sir Cadogan's silent salute.
Finally, they stood before the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The once fearsome Gargoyle was shattered; its 'life' given protecting Tamsin Applebee, a young Hufflepuff, from Walden Macnair's Avada Kedavra.
Hermione waved her wand, her non-verbal Wingardium Leviosa removing the remnants that stood in front of the entrance. Together, they stepped into the entryway, and onto the moving staircase. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Hermione, more for his comfort than hers.
The heavy wooden door loomed in front of them, Harry ran a hand across the smooth, unblemished wood reverently, before pushing it open. The office looked very similar to when Dumbledore had occupied it. The most obvious difference being the difference in chairs.
Dumbledore's chair had been lilac coloured, and very squishy. One couldn't look at it without wishing to curl up in its cushioned depths. Snapes's chair, however was made of wood, so dark it was almost black. The seat and back were frugally padded green silk, with twisted silver snakes. The desk too, was now much darker.
Looking around, Harry realised that most of the changes in the room, were merely colour-based. Where Dumbledore had had a light and airy office, Snape's was dark and forbidding. Hermione gasped, as her eyes came to rest on the portrait of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
In a manner typical to the former headmaster, he did not occupy a traditional chair, he sat, legs tucked under himself, on a rose-coloured beanbag. His robes were sunflower-yellow, and his pointy wizard's hat had been replaced with a fluorescent-green top hat. His beard was longer than ever, and seemed to take up more room than the whole of his body. But the most brilliant thing about his portrait, was his eyes, even painted, they held a mischievous twinkle.
"Harry, my dear boy! You did it! You saved us all! Well done!" His voice was just as Harry remembered, slightly hoarse, but very joyful. "Ah, but you mustn't be here talking to me! You should be out celebrating! Voldemort is gone! Gone for good, I tell you!"
"But at what cost?" Harry interrupted. "If you could see the way things are now… How will we ever put things right again?"
"Oh, Harry, that's not for you to worry about. Kingsley will see to the Ministry, now that Scrimgeour is gone, Hagrid will see to the creatures, the wolves, giants and the like, Severus will see to the school, and you three will be free to live your lives!"
"Scrimgeour is still Minister. The wolves, giants and the 'like' are being taken into custody, no matter whose side they fought on, thanks to Umbridge. Snape is dead on the floor of the shrieking shack, by Nagini. And, Ron… Ron was lost too." Harry's voice, which had began as a roar, faded to a mere whisper, but Dumbledore didn't seem to notice the boy's obvious pain.
"But Severus lives! If he were dead, his portrait would be here, with us!" Several other paintings nodded, and mumbled their agreement.
"We saw him die, Professor!" It took an effort for Hermione to keep her voice even. "Nagini all but ripped his throat out."
"He is not dead." Dumbledore repeated. "But that does not necessarily mean he is well. You must find him!" Hermione rolled her eyes at this, but Harry brightened.
"Come on, 'Mione. We can save him!" Harry tugged on her arm. "We don't need anymore death today." He shot her a pleading look, and Hermione lost her opposition.
"Fine, Harry. But let me stop by the infirmary for some potions. We can check for any other people, farther out. The Auror's haven't checked outside yet."
- HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP - HBP -
Hermione barely managed to hold herself together, as they crawled through the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack. Due to the low ceiling, they had to move at an agonizingly slow pace, for as the tunnel twisted upwards, and they could see the dim patch of light, that signalled the opening into the shack, the raspy breathing that Hermione had tried to convince herself was her imagination, got louder. And louder. And louder still.
Hermione shot out of the tunnel, and threw herself at her former teacher. He lay prone, and unmoving on the floor, but he breathed, but he lived.
"Harry, my bag! The red, round bottle, the sapphire blue vial, marked anti-venin, dittany - clear, round bottle, and the other clear one too, it's in a rectangular bottle, with a cork." She waved her wand in a complicated motion over his body, causing black smoke to rise. "Hmm, better be strong…a green pain potion, dark purple with a cork stopper, and dreamless sleep."
Harry searched through the satchel Hermione had brought with her, like most of her bags, it now utilized an undetectable extension charm, which made his task much more arduous.
Meanwhile, Hermione herself was paying no heed to Harry's efforts. All of her considerable brain power was focused on knitting together Snape's neck. It was a very complex task, as Nagini had ripped right through his windpipe, and his voice-box. After several, painstaking minutes, she lifted her wand and sat back on her haunches, reaching for the line of potions that Harry had fished from her bag.
She ordered them carefully, mumbling to herself as she gently poured them down Snape's throat.
"Anti-venin, sapphire, clean the blood. Sano Pulpa, heal the throat, clear, rectangular vial. Now…" Her hand froze over the vial, Harry started, nervously.
"It is the right one, isn't it?" He asked, fingers twitching.
"Yes, it is." She sighed. "It's just not going to be very pleasant. Wiggenweld never is, especially with the amount of pain he's in."
"Wiggenweld? But that'd mean he'd taken…? But he must have been so close to…? He had some with him? Who carries…?" He was interrupted by a rasping voice; Hermione had given Snape the purple Wiggenweld potion.
"Dumbledore suggested that the Draught of Living Death could be used to fake my own death, to protect the memories that you would need to survive." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "As I am, quite obviously, still alive, I assume you would like the memories, Potter?" Snape sat up, scrabbling around for his wand. Harry and Hermione sat, dumfounded for a beat, before Hermione chimed in.
"No sir, you already did." Harry and Snape now looked confused. "We won, sir. Voldemort is dead. Do you remember anything?"
"Of course I do!" He sounded affronted. "I was standing over here, like this…" At this point, Snape stumbled to his feet, before falling to the floor in a dead faint.
"What happened?" Harry rushed over to the Professor, who, once more, lay prone on the floor. Hermione waved him off, and moved her wand in wide circles over his body.
"Fuck." She swore. Harry's eyes widened. She pointed her wand at her bag. "Accio blood-replenishing potion!" She coaxed the potion down his throat, before repeating the circles with her wand, muttering something that, to Harry's ears, sounded suspiciously like 'stupid fucking spell'.
"Ennervate!" Hermione's wand was above Snape's head now. The dark onyx eyes slowly flickered open.
"What did you do?" He hissed menacingly, to which Hermione merely smiled.
"Glad to see you're feeling more like yourself, Professor. Here, I have a pain potion for you, then I'll give you some dreamless sleep, and take you to the field hospital we've set up in the Great Hall." Snape narrowed his eyes, but swallowed the potions that Hermione gave to him obediently.
As his eyelids drooped shut again, Hermione directed Harry to gently rub the dittany onto the Professor's neck, to try to lessen the scarring. She sat back on her haunches, and in her mind ran through all of the medi-witch procedures she had been working on with Poppy Pomfrey.
"Will he be okay?" Harry asked, startling her slightly.
"Yes." She smiled a little then. "Yes. He'll be fine." Her smile widened. "Come on, let's go give him to Poppy. She'll love having him back." Harry grimaced in response; he knew all too well how over-eager Madam Pomfrey could become with her 'regular' patients.
"Mobilcorpus!" Hermione didn't stop grinning all the way back to the castle.
