CHAPTER 84: FOLLOWING THE PHOENIX, PT 2

The cell was two by two meters, with a hard stone bench along one side and a bucket in the corner. The metal grate had closed behind the nice Auror man, but the Patronus remained, smiling warmly at her as it floated up and down the little cell.

She was quite sure that this was not how it was supposed to go, but she wasn't about to complain.

It was cold here, despite the Patronus. She huddled up on the bench, wishing that she had a blanket. Wishing that she was anywhere but here, that it all hadn't happened, that she could still be good, that she wasn't a crazy cold-blooded murderess who would try to kill a fellow student in a moment of anger...

Why had she done that? Harry had seemed to be convinced that she hadn't, and for an instant during the trial she had wanted desperately to believe it. But he was wrong. She remembered the act with crystal clarity, and what logical alternative explanation could there be? She had been so convinced that Draco was plotting against her, and then, somehow, she had snapped. She would never have thought she held that kind of darkness inside her, but she did know enough about Memory Charms that you couldn't just create several weeks worth of obsession out of thin air. And why had she been so convinced? It had to be insanity because he hadn't been plotting against her, she had had no reason to believe that he had been, and he had testified under Veritaserum that he had really tried to help her –

She felt horribly sick and her breath caught again, but she pushed away the tears. She had cried most of yesterday and this morning, in the detention cell looking out on the Dementor that had guarded her during her trial, and now she was simply exhausted. She couldn't bear to cry again. She had been so, so scared, and now the worst had happened, and she was still scared. She should probably sleep, but what if she woke up and the badger wasn't there anymore? The Auror couldn't leave his Patronus with her indefinitely, he would need it to guard himself, and he would need to sleep, too.

And when it was gone, she'd be left to the Dementors. She remembered, all too well, how she had felt on the day the Dementor came to Hogwarts. How it took away all the brightness, all the love, showed her her family and friends lying dead, and the terrible sadness of dying alone. Then, she had run. But now there wouldn't be anywhere to run to, nowhere to stop them from taking away all her happy memories of her parents and her friends, and instead making her relive her worst memories over and over again. And she had a pretty good idea which memory that would involve in particular. Draco Malfoy, sending curses flying through the air with violent energy, until he dealt the ending blow with a hex that sent her crashing against the wall and drew blood from her cheek. The feeling of her blood temperature dropping, getting angrier than she'd ever been in her life. And then – then she'd...

Hermione forced herself to push those thoughts aside. These might be her last hours of not having to think about it, why torture herself already? And there was one thing that she needed to do.

From a pocket of her robes, she recovered the little wax-sealed paper, marked 42. She had carried it around since Harry had given it to her. Once, it had accidentally gone into the laundry with her robes and had come out wrinkled, but otherwise apparently unharmed. The Aurors had not confiscated it, because they had only checked her for magical items.

She had remembered it, of course, when she was sitting in her detention cell, with Professor Flitwick standing guard by her side. But she had known that she should not read it yet; they had used Legilimency on her and might do so again. Harry had made it very clear that this was dangerous knowledge. But now, there would be no reason to read her mind anymore, would there? And maybe even without a wand, this would help against the Dementors, somehow.

With trembling fingers, she broke the seal, and unfolded the paper. By the silvery light of the Patronus, she read:

Since ancient times, Death has roamed the earth.
And it casts its shadows into the world.
The approach of Death drains your power.
The fear it exudes drains your happiness.
The kiss of Death destroys all that you are.
And it takes away the people we love.
But never believe that Death cannot be defeated.
Through science and magic, either or both, Homo sapiens can fight.
And we can win.
We are not there yet.
But either by our hand, or by that of our children, or our children's children.
We will end this dark stain upon the world.
Until Death is just a faded memory from dark times past.
And people won't have to say goodbye anymore.

She read the paper three times (even though she had memorized the words after the first time). Death. If Death was the answer, what was the question?

What is a Dementor?

She knew instantly that Harry was right. It fit so perfectly. The way they looked like a rotten corpse. And how the Dementor had shown her her parents dead, her friends dead –

The badger nuzzled her briefly. Animals did not understand about dying, and so they were not afraid. But she was, she was terrified – both of dying and of losing the people she cared about – and that was why the Dementor had affected her so. Most of the Ravenclaws had also not been able to cast a Patronus. Were they more afraid than others? Or were the other Houses better at persuading themselves not to think about it?

Her brain felt like it was flying, finally connecting the dots. The Patronus Charm didn't run on magic, Mr. Lupin had said. It ran on all those bright warm feelings Dementors took from you. It was like turning away from Death, focusing on all the good things of life instead, and concentrating them into one solid block of life force that Dementors could not touch. But you couldn't do that if you knew you were doing it, you couldn't focus on life while thinking of death, it would be like trying not to think of a pink elephant.

Then I will cancel the Patronus Charms, and prevent any more Patronuses from being cast. And then my Dementor is going to Kiss everyone here who voted to send a twelve-your-old girl to Azkaban. That was the other competitor for the worst memory of her life, the things Harry had almost done after she had pleaded for his help. And now she understood how he would have done it. All that would have to happen was for the Wizengamot and the Aurors to know the secret. Then Harry would have been the only one in the room able to cast a Patronus, and he could simply move it in place to only protect the faction on Dumbledore's side of the room. How could he even have contemplated it? Or had the Kiss been a bluff, and would he have protected the Lords and Ladies after all, once he gained power over them?

She turned back to the note. There was also the second part, and that was probably important. The note didn't just offer the secret of Dementors' nature, but also the clue to fighting them. Was this the happy thought he had used to cast a Patronus? It wouldn't look like people think Patronuses should look, that's what Harry had said. Anyone who saw it would know there was something strange going on. How would a Patronus come out, when it was cast not with enjoyment of life, but with defiance of death?

And would she be able to do it? Harry had read a lot of science fiction. But the keyword there was fiction. Sometimes he talked of the bright, shining future of humanity, and he really believed that, but it all just seemed like a fantastic dream to her.

But was it? Could it be done? Harry wanted to study magic experimentally, merge the wizarding and Muggle worlds, discover the secret of immortality and colonize the Solar System, that's what he had told her on the very first day they'd met. And he might even be able to pull it off, if he stopped doing stupid stuff like threatening to kill off half the political structure of Magical Britain, and focused on reading more books. His discovery of partial transfiguration proved that scientific knowledge really could improve magic. Little though she had liked to admit it before, if anyone could do the impossible, it was Harry, even if most of what he did was just tricks.

Maybe Harry's bright future was just a fantastic childhood dream. But Martin Luther King had had a dream too, and while it hadn't quite come true yet, the world was well on its way. Maybe it could be done.

It would be rather marvelous if her parents would not wither with age and die at 80, but stay by her side. It would be wonderful if wizards or Muggles or a combination could figure out how to cure Alzheimer's disease – Harry's first idea might not have worked, but there were plenty of things they hadn't yet tried, like bringing together a specialist healer and actual patients to think of one obvious example – and cancer, and aids, and all those other diseases for that matter. If they could do away with the International Statute of Secrecy, and wizards could help Muggles in underdeveloped countries, if they could stop world hunger and inequality, if discrimination for race, gender and sexual orientation in the Muggle world would disappear as it had in the wizarding world. If wizards could drop their biases against Muggleborns – like Harry had apparently already convinced Draco Malfoy to do – and even work together with Muggles and members of other magical races. If she and Harry, and Padma and Hannah and Susan and all the others, and her parents and Professor McGonagall and everyone would live for a thousand years, without wars or Dark Lords, if they could learn to go to other planets and terraform them, if she could have children and grandchildren, and even get to know her own great-great-great-great-grandchildren some day –

It would be rather marvelous indeed.

She looked around at the small cell, with a stone slab for a bed and a bucket for a toilet. It might be the right kind of thought to cast a Patronus Charm, but without a wand, it wouldn't do her much good. She was still in Azkaban, and there she would remain until she died, alone. There was only one thing left to do for her that would help the world, and that was to tear up the paper, and never give anyone cause to use Legilimency on her.

There might be a bright future in store for humanity, but it didn't seem like Hermione Granger would be a part of it.

"I had not expected to see you here, Minerva."

She turned around, feeling rather like a rabbit caught stealing carrots. The mighty old wizard stood behind her, lowering his wand. She had sneaked into his Phoenix Price room, but apparently, she had not been careful enough.

"And so I see that you have shifted your loyalties to Harry Potter," he sighed. "I cannot blame you. For what you have seen of me today, it is the right and proper thing to do."

She could not find the words to reassure him, perhaps because his conclusion was not entirely unfounded.

"Tell me, Minerva," he continued after a short pause. "You have known me long, and as well as anyone still alive. Have I lost myself to darkness today?"

"What?" she said in genuine surprise. "Albus, no!" She had resented him, had been angry at him for overriding Harry's clever and generous plan to save Hermione. Like she had resented his decisions so many times before, during the last war. But she had always understood why he acted as he did. She might not like it – and she knew he hated it – but the simple fact was that time and again, the resulting events had proved his wisdom. When Albus had finally stopped following his heart, and had started administrating the war efforts in the ruthless but sensible way advocated by Mad-Eye instead, far fewer people died.

The old wizard's lips pressed together tightly before he spoke. "For the greater good. I have sacrificed so many, for the greater good. Today I condemned Hermione Granger to Azkaban for the greater good. And what is worse, I tried to persuade the hero to do the same. A first-year child, as innocent as I once was in his love and more dangerous even than Lord Voldemort in his anger, and I tried to tell him that he must sacrifice friends or even kill innocents for the greater good."

The ancient wizard looked so pained, so broken, that she felt all her resentment trickle away. What had been going on between him and Harry?

"Albus, stop being silly," she said firmly. "You are not Grindelwald, and nor is Harry. I know you did what you had to do today." She paused for a moment, considering. "And my first loyalty remains to you. But I am also doing as I must. Hermione might not yet be lost, Albus. Harry thinks we can save her."

"Ah?" The headmaster hesitated. "And I suppose you came here for something of hers?"

She shook her head. "Just a wand for her to use." Harry had asked her whether she could arrange a wand that could not be traced back to them, and she had nodded, and come here. As many people who had died in Albus's wars, there were plenty of wands in this room, not all of them broken, and some of them from before Ollivander's time or from foreign wandmakers. It was much harder to use another wizard's wand, but Harry had said that the wand would only be needed for minor magics, and as long as she took all the wands that might work, they could give Hermione the best match and put back the rest. She had not told Harry about this room, of course. It was too sad, too powerful for a child to be confronted with. She had simply told him that she would be right back.

Albus silently looked at her for a long moment, and she felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. She was uncomfortable stealing from the good man, but it was for an honorable purpose, and she knew that he would never betray her when he discovered the theft. "I am certain that most of the people here would have been happy for their wands to be used in that way."

The old man nodded slowly. "But what good will it do her to have a wand?"

"I don't know," she confessed. Harry had fired off questions at her, making notes and crossing things out on his parchment, but hadn't really taken the time to explain himself. "Harry mentioned that she might learn to cast a Patronus Charm even there, but he did not say how. We talked about a lot of other things she might need a wand for too, but I think he rejected some of them."

"So he does not intend to free her, at least?"

"He would never risk her soul!"

The old wizard looked grave. "Did he say he wasn't planning to?"

"Yes. At least, I think he did."

Albus sighed deeply. "Wait here."

The old wizard disappeared between the pedestals. Moments later he was back, carrying a wand she did not recognize.

"Give her this one. I daresay she can use it almost as well as her own."

Minerva blinked in surprise at that. How could the old wizard possibly know that? Even Garrick Ollivander could not choose a replacement wand just by sight.

And then she blinked again, because she realized the implication.

"So you are not stopping me from doing this?"

He smiled feebly. "It might have been a long time ago, Minerva, but I was sorted into Gryffindor as well. I know that sometimes we must put aside what is wise, and do what is right."

"Albus... thank you."

The old wizard bowed his head.

"I will do more, if you will let me. I shall come with you to Azkaban, and help with whatever plan Harry has concocted. He has the intellect to match Lord Voldemort's, but he is not yet wise enough to fully understand the consequences of his actions, and I fear for him, and for you, if you should go unguarded."

"You would do that?"

"Oh yes," he sighed. "It is madness, of course. If anything goes wrong, the price will be far too high, and when next Lord Voldemort strikes, we may all be doomed. But that is not certain."

Fawkes, who sat on his shoulder, let out a triumphant battle cry. Albus smiled, and stroked the creature.

"I fear I have come too far from what I used to believe. Perhaps there is a better way. This once, I will follow the phoenix again."