Saving a Death Eater

By Bambu

I know. You're gasping in shock right now, aren't you? It's been a really, really … really long time. There's good news though. The story's complete! I'm simply revising and polishing the final chapters before posting them.

In honor of Leviosa! I thought this a perfect time to post.

I wrote the first chapter of this story an hour after I closed the last page of book seven, which was within hours of its release. I'd stayed up all night after the midnight launch, and I couldn't sleep until I had at least saved Snape from being discarded on a filthy floor. I never intended to continue the story, but I was overwhelmed by those asking me to write more, and so I did. The biggest obstacle was that I didn't really have a plot, and so I flailed more than a little. If you're still reading, thank you, thank you! I really hope you enjoy it.

Author's Notes and Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers and thanks may be found in chapter one. Please note in the dream sequence, snippets of three scenes have been paraphrased from Hermione's perspective. Some of that dialogue may be directly found in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

~o0o~

Chapter Seven: Funeral Dirge

"I counted on Miss Granger to slow you down."

In her cozy bed, Hermione tossed under the duvet, her brow wrinkling, eyelids twitching as her dreams morphed, grew darker.

"I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. He flicked the wand he had used to kill Snape and swept from the room without a backward glance.

Hermione whimpered in her sleep.

"Take . . . it…. Take . . . it…."

Hermione understood Snape immediately and conjured a flask for Harry. Trembling, she offered the container to her friend, and his hands shook as he accepted it, but he resolutely captured the memories being offered by their most challenging and least liked teacher.

Harry filled the flask with the silvery, wispy threads of Snape's memories.

"Look . . . at . . . me…." Snape whispered, and his hand which had been holding on to Harry dropped to the floor. Snape moved no more.

A low moan thrummed in Hermione's throat.

"How did you get into my vault?" Bellatrix screamed, her expression one of mad fury. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

With every nerve ending in agony, Hermione sobbed her answer. "We only met him tonight! We've never been inside your vault … It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy?" screeched Bellatrix. "Oh, a likely story!"

Hermione kicked at the covers, hands clenching and flexing.

She ran full tilt for the room at the end of the black hallway, an exit to the Department of Mysteries. Harry and Neville kept pace, panting beside her … they burst into a small, dark, cluttered office and slammed the door behind them.

"Collo—"she cried, but before she could complete the incantation, the door burst open and the two Death Eaters came hurtling inside.

With a cry of triumph, both yelled: "IMPEDIMENTA!"

Hermione was knocked off her feet, backwards into a bookcase, where she was promptly deluged in a cascade of heavy books.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" yelled the Death Eater nearest Harry. "IN AN OFFICE OFF—"

"Silencio!" Hermione cried, and the man's voice was cut off. She could still see his mouth moving through the hole in his silver mask.

He was thrust aside by his fellow Death Eater who raised his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus!" shouted Harry, and the Death Eater's legs and arms snapped together. He fell forwards, onto the rug at Harry's feet, stiff as a board and unable to move.

Hermione said, "Well done, Har—" Her voice cut off as a streak of what appeared to be purple flame sliced across her chest. "Oh!" she exclaimed, as if in surprise, and crumpled onto the floor.

The last thing she heard before unconsciousness claimed her was Harry's shout. "HERMIONE!"

Brow furrowed in distress, Hermione tossed her head, pressing against her pillow as if to back away and negate the memories preventing peaceful sleep.

Directed by Voldemort, Hagrid entered Hogwarts' courtyard, Harry's limp body draped across his arms. Bellatrix Lestrange cackled madly when Professor McGonagall screamed, "NO!" but the sound was drowned by Hermione's own shrieked denial. "No!"

Ron and Ginny's grief was equally and immediately vocal. "No!" "Harry! HARRY!"

A tree branch scraped against the glass of Hermione's bedroom window, and she jerked upright, heart thundering in her chest. Grabbing her wand, she slid from the bed, angling herself into the corner to have line of sight to both window and door.

Had the Protego Totalum failed? Had Death Eaters found her … them? The stench of her fear-induced sweat assailed her nostrils.

It was still dark, but the pale gray of pre-dawn lightened the night sky. Outside, wind blew through the trees, but in the house, there was silence save for Hermione's stifled breathing. After several frightening minutes, she realized there was no one else in her room. "Hominem revelio," she whispered, casting the spell in a wide array. Someone was in the guest room. Another quick flick and silent incantation proved the person was Harry.

The shield hadn't failed; Harry had simply recast it.

A gust of wind lashed the elm in the garden, and a branch scraped against Hermione's window followed by a spatter of rain.

She drew a ragged breath and clenched her shaking hands.

Then, quite suddenly, the enormity of the past eleven months overwhelmed her. Convulsive sobs shook her still too-thin frame as she curled into a fetal position in the corner of her childhood bedroom.

Fleetingly, Hermione wondered whether the cost she had paid to help free the wizarding world from Voldemort's tyranny was worth it.

Harry was worth the price.

Ron— not just Ron, but the whole Weasley family was worth the price.

Teddy was worth the price.

She remembered Narcissa Malfoy's desperation to reach her son, and how tightly Draco's parents had held him in the Great Hall. Maybe they were worth the price.

Snape. Saving his life was definitely worth the effort.

But there were so many who had paid more: Remus, Sirius, Fred, Tonks, Professor Dumbledore and … No. She couldn't think in terms of numbers. There were too many.

Hermione shuddered and hiccupped, wiping tears and snot from her face. She was exhausted. Haunted. Grief-stricken.

Shakily, she rose to her feet, and with a flick of her wand, she refreshed the linens before making her way to the bathroom. When she opened the door to the hall, Harry was just reaching for the knob.

"All right?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Hermione peered into his face, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. She shrugged. "I will be. When did you get here?"

"Late. I didn't want to wake you."

"You could've." She followed Harry down the stairs, tying the belt to her dressing gown.

"If there'd been any reason—" He paused in the doorway leading to the kitchen, his head turning toward the lounge. "When I was little," he said, eyes firmly fixed on the television, "I always wanted to be allowed to eat breakfast in front of the telly."

Hermione recognized the phrase 'when I was little' as a euphemism for 'imprisoned in a cupboard,' so she waved her hand toward the lounge. "Go ahead. I'll bring cereal, shall I? We can make a morning of cartoons. It'll be as if we were five and best friends."

Harry pulled her into a quick hug. "We are best friends, and if we'd known each other then, we'd still be best friends."

Hermione blinked rapidly forcing back incipient tears. She nodded, and gave him a little shove. "Go on. Find us something to watch. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Harry grinned and dashed into the lounge, snatching the remote control from the top of the television set.

True to her word, three minutes after Harry had settled on a channel, Hermione entered the room, carrying a tray laden with all the ingredients for a child's indulgent breakfast. Glancing at the screen, she said, "I expected The Simpsons, or even Postman Pat. Why a naturespecial?"

"I've never been anywhere, Hermione. I'm really looking forward to going with you to Australia. I mean – of course, I'd go with you to find your parents, but I'm also looking forward to seeing more of the world."

Hermione seated herself next to her putative brother and spoke as she poured milk over her cold cereal. "I knew what you meant, Harry. If things go as well as they should—"

Harry snickered, then practically keeled over he laughed so hard.

"Harry!"

"It's me!" He stuttered through his amusement. "Nothing ever goes as well as it should." Hermione just stared at him, cereal dribbling off her spoon. "What?" he asked.

With her free hand, Hermione poked his shoulder. "You're alive. Riddle's dead. I think that went pretty well."

Harry shrugged. "There is that."

They were quiet for a minute before he reached for the box of cereal. Grinning, he spooned mini sugar bombs into his mouth and settled into the corner of the couch before turning his attention to the educational program.

Green eyes avidly watched lush visual images of an African river delta, sweeping vistas telescoping into close-up images of hippopotamuses grouped in family units, ambling along the river's bank or soaking ear-deep in the murky water. The narrator's voice competed with the crunch of cereal, and from time-to-time, Harry and Hermione paused to listen. "Symbiosis describes close interactions between two or more different species. In some instances, the two organisms cannot survive if separated, while in others, the different species live together by choice."

Hermione scooped a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, eyes widening in reaction to the narration. "The interaction which provides benefits to both species is more commonly referred to as mutualism."

Harry turned his head to stare at Hermione.

"Most well-known is the relationship between hippos and oxpeckers." A series of panoramic images depicted hippopotami in their native habitats, white birds perched on their shoulders as others flew into land on broad backs and rumps.

After several minutes, neither Harry nor Hermione were eating. In fact, Hermione felt rather nauseous. During the next advert, she said softly, regretfully, "I think I was wrong about S.P.E.W."

Harry dipped his chin. "You tried to help."

"Why didn't they teach this, Harry?" Disappointment, horror, and bitterness tainted her thoughts, spilling into the tone of her voice. "Why didn't someone tell me? Did you hear what the narrator said? 'the two organisms cannot survive if separated'! I could've hurt – even killed – someone … Kreacher or Winky … or Dobby."

Haltingly, Harry said, "Maybe if Sirius had listened, had treated Kreacher more kindly…."

Hermione waved her hand at the television. "If this is correct, and it seems likely, it's more than just being kind. Symbiosis," she said, and the wealth of cynical comprehension shone in her expression. "Kreacher was alone for so many years, Harry."

"With that horrid portrait," Harry said as set his bowl on the table, "not to mention the Horcrux in the house."

"Kreacher's different now."

Harry nodded, a slight smile curving his lips. "He led the Hogwarts house-elves against the Death Eaters, Hermione. Yeah. I'd say he's different."

"He benefitted from better treatment. So have we," she replied. "Think of how well he cared for us last summer."

"And yesterday."

"And yesterday," she agreed. Their eyes met in accord. "We can't just leave him behind, Harry."

"We won't." Harry retrieved the remote control and changed the channel while Hermione contemplated her most recent, and rather discomforting paradigm shift.

By nine o'clock they were ready for the day. Although neither was prepared to say good-bye to Fred, they would be at his services. Hermione wore a subdued, classic Muggle jacket and pencil skirt while Harry's charcoal gray suit fit him as if tailored to his frame. He stood before the hall mirror, adjusting his tie. "Thanks for hemming the trousers," he said.

"Of course. I'll meet you in an hour." Hermione pressed the Caduceus pin attached to the lapel of her jacket.

When she arrived in the Hippocratic Ward to see her erstwhile professor, he was sulking. However, she was relieved and encouraged there was no sign of a hovering attendant, or the gauze she had last seen orbiting Snape to soak up the continual leak from his brutal neck wound.

"Is it true?" Snape asked as soon as she was near enough to hear his question.

"It depends."

He narrowed his eyes. "Pomfrey said you held me for hours when I was first brought to the ward. Is that true?"

Heat colored her cheeks and she avoided looking directly at him. "It is."

"Why?"

Startled, she looked up and into his remarkable dark eyes.

With a subtle gesture, he cast a spell, and then Hermione's brain felt as if it had been invaded. Scenes flickered behind her eyes, a card index for a reader to peruse.

Hermione followed Harry, crawling through the opening and into the filthy, dusty … bloody main room of the Shrieking Shack.

"Take . . . it…. Take . . . it…."

Hermione understood Snape immediately and conjured a flask . . . and Harry filled the flask with the silvery, wispy threads of Snape's memories.

Hermione knelt beside her friend, assistance a whisper away. Her jeans hiked up, and her skin brushed the scarred wooden floor.

Unable to disconnect from Snape's intrusion, she flitted from memory to memory.

Alarms flared in a colored array above Snape's hospital bed, and a persistent whine rent the quiet industry of the ward. Poppy Pomfrey attempted to calm him down, but Snape struck out blindly, hitting her in the chest.

Hermione rushed to the far side of Snape's bed and grabbed for his hand as it scrabbled at the drain tube. Pulling his hand away, she cradled it against her chest, crooning. "Hush. You're safe, you're safe. I know you're in pain, but you will be healed."

Snape's eyes opened and stared at Hermione.

Her smile could rival that of Molly Weasley the moment she had learned Bill would live after Greyback's attack.

"Granger – Hermione?" Snape asked, his voice cracked and hoarse, and little more than a grating whisper.

"Yes. I promised you would be safe. You are, and you're going to be well."

He stared at her for a long moment before his eyes closed.

Hermione didn't feel when he left her brain, but when she blinked, she knew he was gone. She sank into the chair at Snape's bedside, and furious, she hissed at him. "Was that necessary? I've already told you— What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

"I had to make certain you weren't harboring delicate—"

"Oh, my God! I do not fancy you! Even if I saw you mostly naked… er—" Her words tumbled from her mouth like pebbles in the surf as anger and embarrassment vied for prominence. "I respect what you've done Professor Snape." She almost didn't see him flinch, but her tone softened. "The sacrifice—"

His jaw had dropped, but it was quickly followed by a sneer. "Oh, Christ! I'm not a hero."

"Not a typical one at least. You are, however, brave. And you helped us."

He raised a hand in a universal gesture to halt. "You said naked."

Primly, she replied. "Mostly naked."

"Granger, 'mostly naked' doesn't lend credence to your contention about not harboring a fancy—"

Flustered, she tried to explain. "I was naked, too! I—I mean, you couldn't see me— No! Wait. Erm! It was your memory." At his blank incomprehension, she gestured rather wildly with her hands. "You saw what happened in the shack!"

He curled his lip briefly, and then said, "Neither of us was naked."

"No. No, that's not what—," she sucked in a calming breath, "—when we were in the shack, I was on the floor—"

"Obviously."

"During that time—" Hermione shifted in the chair, crossing her left leg over the right. There, obscured by her dark stockings, was the thin silver line of Snape's memory wrapping her slender ankle as if it had been tattooed in place. "—this memory strand attached itself to me."

Snape's eyes widened and he leaned forward. Regrettably, it was too much activity and a bell chimed in alarm. His face blanched.

Hermione leapt to her feet, panic racing along her spine. Quickly, she assisted him as he reclined, and watched as his breathing regulated. With a sigh of relief, she leaned against the foot of his bed. "May I tell you about this tomorrow? I have to be at the Burrow by ten."

Snape opened his mouth, but then his eyes raked over her attire and he pinched his lips in a tight line. "You may, but I do not want to listen to some panegyric listing my better qualities when you return. As far as you know I have none."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Granger—"

"I haven't put you on a pedestal," she insisted. "I know more than you realize. You-Know-Who—"

"Can't say his name?" Snape sneered. "It's Vol—"

"NO!" Hermione exclaimed, hand raising in a universally recognized gesture. "Stop!"

Snape's head jerked back in reaction to her command; immediately, he grimaced in pain. One hand rose to press against the bandages on his neck.

Alarmed by his reaction, Hermione took a small step forward. "I'm sorry to startle you, but it's the taboo on his name. We don't know if it's been deactivated. It's tracked by the Ministry and maybe others. I don't want them to use it to discover you here."

Begrudgingly, Snape acknowledged, "A fair point."

She smiled as if she had received Outstandings in all her NEWTs; as far as she knew it was the first time Snape had ever acknowledged her intellect in any way. "I really must go now, but I just wanted to say thank you."

"I didn't do it for you."

One of the on-duty healers interrupted any reply Hermione might have made. The man in green healer's robes held a pre-measured vial, but appeared hesitant to address either Snape or her.

Suspiciously, Snape accepted the vial from the healer's outstretched hand before examining the potion. He glared at Hermione. "Not going to pinch my nostrils, Granger?"

She smiled sweetly, amused despite her concern. "Not if you take your medicine without a fuss."

He frowned, but then obediently drank the potion.

"I have to go," Hermione announced. "I can't be late. I'll see you later."

"It seems unavoidable given my current accommodations," Snape replied, and then said sternly, "Besides, you owe me an explanation."

"I know. And I realize you didn't do any of it for me, but your actions helped me anyway." She paused briefly. "I promise to explain."

Hermione turned away from his bedside. She raised her hand to press fingers against the delicate brooch ensuring safe passage to and from the secret-kept ward when Snape spoke. "Add an explanation about the unicorns to that agenda, Miss Granger."

A hot flush swept across her collarbones, her throat, and her face as she whipped her head around to stare at him, even as she activated the Caduceus pin.

Moments later, Harry met her at the head of the lane leading to the Weasleys' home. Mentally discarding the emotional detritus of her encounter with Snape, she asked, "Ron?"

"Has a sore head this morning. Considering everything else, I don't think anyone will notice." Harry eyed her shrewdly. "How was the patient?"

"Irascible as expected, but taking his medicine without complaint."

Harry's expression lightened. "That's an improvement."

"I know." Soberly, she asked, "How's George?"

"Dunno. I don't think anyone's seen him yet. Mrs. Weasley's upstairs with him."

Hermione hugged Harry, and it was tight and close and needy. His return embrace was equally tight, equally needy.

After several moments, they released each other. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the surface of his throat. "Ready?" he asked.

"Not in the slightest."

"Yeah." He bent his arm and she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Together, they walked toward the odd magical building the Weasleys called home. Despite having been welcomed for the better part of the past six years, Hermione felt more like a stranger than ever before.

The next hour was as heartrending as Hermione expected. She would never forget the sound of Mrs. Weasley's quiet, unceasing weeping, the empty, dead expression in George's eyes, or the way Harry clenched and unclenched his fists.

The services were held under the canopy of trees in the garden. Fred Weasley had been well-known and well-liked. He had died a hero's death after waging a successful vigilante campaign against Voldemort's illegal regime. The funeral was accordingly well attended. Many spoke, and the same officiant who had married Bill and Fleur led the service.

When Kingsley Shacklebolt rose to deliver the eulogy, Hermione took a moment to scan the crowd through tear-clouded eyes. Neville Longbottom had accompanied his grandmother, standing at attention behind her seated form. Near them, Hagrid was grouped together with Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick. Also from Hogwarts was Poppy Pomfrey, who had found a corner at the back of the crowd where she discreetly dabbed her eyes with a Chudley Cannons handkerchief. Molly Weasley's Auntie Muriel Prewett was unaccompanied, and she refused seating anywhere near Fleur Weasley's French family. Even little Gabrielle Delacour was in attendance, clinging to her mother's hand.

Near the front, Angelina Johnson sobbed into Lee Jordan's jacket, and Katie Bell stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Oliver Wood. Other Quidditch players had grouped together. Roger Davies and Cho Chang were in a small clique which, to Hermione's surprise, included Adrian Pucey. Mentally, she chastised herself. Pucey's Slytherin affiliation shouldn't – she wouldn't let it – matter. He had clearly liked and respected Fred enough to pay his respects.

Hermione avoided Ginny's glances which were simultaneously angry and jealous and sad. The younger witch's issues were far more burden than Hermione felt equal to bearing. She had more than enough regrets and concerns of her own to add Ginny Weasley's woes - real, self-inflicted, or imaginary - to the list.

Afterward, Hermione watched the majority of mourners depart. Harry mentioned wanting to speak with Kingsley to coordinate arrangements for their travel papers. "It's bloody complicated to arrange Magical-Muggle documentation."

"It used to drive my parents spare," she said. There was a pang of homesickness every time she, or someone else, spoke of her parents. That would change soon, she promised herself.

Harry took his leave. "I'll be back shortly." He swiftly navigated the somber, diminishing crowd.

Hermione didn't engage in chitchat with anyone, her eyes following Mr. Weasley as he escorted his wife into the house. Auntie Muriel followed immediately.

"Mon Dieu!" Fleur exclaimed from close behind Hermione. "I wouldn't want zat one at my bedside."

Turning quickly, Hermione hugged the part-Veela. "Neither would I," she said into the other woman's shoulder. "She's enough to give anyone nightmares."

"Zat is true," Fleur replied. "Bonjour, 'ermione. It's good to see you safe and well."

They hadn't been friends before, but Fleur had been kind and generous when Hermione was recovering from Bellatrix's torture. Hermione hoped they might become very good friends in the future. "Where's Bill?" she asked.

"'E is wiz Charlie. Zey are 'oping to coax George to eat somezing."

Hermione looked beyond Fleur, but instead of seeing George with either of his older brothers, Charlie and Bill were weaving through the dense crowd, toward her. Behind them, George stood next to his twin's grave, looking as if he, too, wished he were six feet under the sod.

"Hermione," Bill said, kissing her cheek. Charlie was more effusive, hugging her instead of speaking. Recognizing their need for privacy, Hermione excused herself. Fleur air-kissed Hermione's cheeks, but quickly turned to her husband and brother-in-law.

In the near distance, Hermione watched Ginny take Percy's hand to lead him into the house. Of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry, or Ron, Hermione could see nothing. Instead, her attention fixed on the isolated figure of George Weasley. He had been given wide berth by anyone other than immediate family.

Hermione raised her chin and crossed the garden. George didn't acknowledge her presence, but when he appeared to sidle away from her, she held him in place by the simple expediency of wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened and turned his face toward her, his puffy, blood-shot eyes focusing on her face.

Quickly, lest the opportunity be lost, Hermione released him and removed her much-abused beaded bag from her wrist before shoving her arm into its depths.

George watched her.

After rummaging for a moment, Hermione removed the telescope that had boxed her eye the summer before sixth year when the twins had newly opened Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Silently, she handed it to George. He accepted the telescope from her fingers, staring at it with a complete lack of comprehension.

A scandalized voice called out her name, but Hermione ignored the heckler. Her attention focused solely on the subdued twin.

Briefly, George's stone-like expression shifted to a mask of grief so encompassing Hermione knew he found living an unrelieved burden. But then, between that unbearable moment and the next, his copper-capped head tilted back as he burst into laughter.

As if a wide-area stunning spell had been cast, those within hearing distance froze in a tableau of astonished awkwardness. Every eye settled upon George, and secondarily, upon Hermione. She didn't move, but watched tears film George's blue eyes.

It wasn't long before he pulled her into a rough, constricting hug, burying his face in her hair. Behind them conversation began in fits and starts, and Hermione ignored the occasional whisper of her name, or Harry's, or even hers and George's. She clung to George, the telescope digging into her shoulder blade.

Over the course of several minutes, their embrace eased, became less desperate. When George pulled away his lips curved in a gentle smile. He glanced at the telescope in his hand, and managed a credible chuckle. "Thanks, 'Mione."

She gave him a rather watery smile in return. "Anytime."

George left her then, ambling across the garden to join Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson.

At that moment, Molly Weasley exited the house via the kitchen door, clutching Harry's hand. "Where could he have gone?" she wailed, visibly distraught. "Please find him, Harry dear."

"I'm sure he hasn't gone far." Harry stepped away from Mrs. Weasley, his green eyes raking the crowd, stopping when they spied Hermione.

Reacting to his subliminal and unspoken request, she stepped toward him as he moved to her side.

"Harry?"

"It's Ron."

"Is something wrong?"

"He left."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Hastily, she recovered her composure. "Are you sure?"

"Mrs. Weasley says he Disapparated from the living room about ten minutes ago."

"I don't even know what to think. Did he say anything last night? Do you have an idea—"

"He's sorry for yesterday. You know how he gets."

"He's always sorry after," she said rather tartly.

"Hermione!" Harry's brow furrowed. "Ron's really sorry."

"I'm sure he is, Harry." She sighed heavily, painfully.

"But?"

She avoided looking at him, instead staring at the cloudy sky. "It's just that when Ron needs an outlet for his anger and frustration and … and grief … it's me he usually takes it out on."

Harry bowed his head. "Yeah."

"And Harry," Hermione explained, "it hurts."

He leaned against her. "It's never going to work out between you, is it?"

"We can't talk about this now!" She plucked at the sleeve of her jacket.

"C'mon." Harry pulled her in the direction of the nearby trees, weaving through clusters of the remaining mourners. "I think he's in the orchard."

Hermione's lack of enthusiasm gave Harry pause, and he raked his fingers though his hair. "What?"

"Nothing really," she replied quietly. "It's all a little too much, and there's still this afternoon."

"True." It was Harry's turn to sigh before he asked, "What time is it?"

"It's just gone one. We have time."

Reminding Hermione their conversation wasn't private, Mr. Weasley spoke from behind Harry. "Time before what? Surely you're not leaving today?"

"Oh, no," Hermione quickly reassured the older wizard. "We – er—" She glanced at Harry for help.

Harry straightened his shoulders before speaking. "Colin Creevey's services are this afternoon."

Mr. Weasley recoiled, taking a step back. "Of course," he said, his voice choked and tight. "That poor boy's family."

A voice from the lessening crowd called out. "But won't it be in the Muggle world?"

Offended, Hermione turned toward the speaker, a wizard she didn't recognize. "Does it matter?" she asked, with some degree of asperity. "His parents lost their son. Dennis lost his brother."

There was a tense silent moment, and then Harry raised his voice. "Colin gave his life to save his friends. Our freedom was bought with Colin's blood. And Remus' and Tonks'— and— and—Fred's! Colin deserves the same recognition as everyone else."

"His family will be isolated because none of their friends can know the truth of why Colin died." Hermione added angrily.

By this time, George and Mrs. Weasley had joined them, and it was the matriarch who spoke for her family. "We must pay our respects, Arthur. Think of that poor boy's mother." Her eyes took in those remaining in the garden. "Oh! What about Ron?"

Mr. Weasley asked sharply, "What about Ron?"

Harry patted Molly Weasley's shoulder. "The services are at three. Hermione and I'll fetch Ron."

"Thank you, Harry. You're a good boy."

Hermione fought a smile. None of them were children any longer, and Harry had never been allowed to be a boy. Still, Hermione found it endearing that Mrs. Weasley had always treated Harry the same as her own children.

"We'll be back shortly. C'mon, 'Mione," Harry said as he pulled her into a Disapparation.

As expected, Ron was in the orchard.

"Your mum's worried, Ron," Harry said without preamble.

Ron shrugged his shoulders.

Where he was concerned, Hermione's patience had worn as thin as a doxy wing, but she managed to control her temper. "Your parents have decided to attend Colin's funeral this afternoon, and since Harry and I are also attending, we offered to find you before we left."

Ron turned to face her fully. "You're leaving today?"

Harry huffed in exasperation. "Why does everyone keep asking that?"

"Perhaps it's the clothes." Hermione gestured to Harry's and her Muggle attire.

"They're different," Ron said. "It sets people on edge." Hermione bristled, but Ron continued, reminding her it was never his intellect that was wanting, only its application. "It's just— most everyone here knows you're leaving, and it frightens them."

Harry stared at his first friend. "You're kidding?"

"Not at all, mate. You've saved them, and they don't want you to leave because then they'll have to clean up their own messes."

"That's rather insightful," Hermione said.

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron replied rather irritably.

The three friends looked at one another, and then, suddenly, they burst into laughter. It was as unexpected and relieving as when George had laughed at Fred's graveside. While Ron's comment had not been very funny, it struck exactly the right note. They laughed until they were all crying, and no one mentioned when the tears became an expression of sorrow rather than mirth.

After several minutes, they composed themselves. Ron looked at Hermione. "Harry says you're going to look for your parents–"

Hermione replied warily. "Yes."

He gave her a small smile, one that would have set her pulse racing a week before. He said, "I hope you find them soon."

Her smile was genuine when she replied. "Thanks, Ron. So do I."

Too much and not enough had been said to set things right between them, and the emotionally charged atmosphere remained like dry tinder waiting for a match to be struck. Hermione had no intention of being that match.

After a short, awkward pause, Ron broke the silence. "So, you're really not coming back for school?"

"It depends on when we find my parents—"

Ron interrupted her. "If you find your parents."

"Ron!" Harry snapped.

Ron shrugged. "I didn't mean it like that. 'Mione knows I didn't mean it."

Goodwill teetering on wobbly legs, Hermione pretended Ron had not offended her. Again. She reminded herself that he had just buried his brother. As a result, her tone was patient. "If we don't make it in time to start school, Harry and I've agreed to hire tutors and take our NEWTs independently. It might be as early as December."

"Merlin's saggy bollocks!" Ron exclaimed before stepping away from the tree he had been leaning against. "As soon as you do that you'd have to work for the goblins. And thanks very much for that, by the way. I planned—"

With the long-suffering tone of an oft-repeated and ignored refrain, Harry said, "It would have been wrong, Ron."

Ron's cheeks tinted with the telltale ruddy hue of anger. "Bloody goblins had no right."

Hermione's forbearance evaporated like a weak Patronus defending against a swarm of Dementors. "The goblins had every right!" she said hotly, enunciating every word. "Regardless of our reasons, or their validity, we broke into the bank. We stole something from the vaults. It doesn't matter that it had already been stolen, or that it was a horcrux. We damaged Gringotts, and the goblins are willing to let us off the hook for what I'm sure is an ENORMOUS bill with two years' work. You get to work for Bill, learning about curse breaking! What's not to like about that?"

Ron answered sulkily. "I thought we could take some of the money we got from the Order of Merlin, and I dunno, visit Charlie."

Astonished, Harry asked, "Order of Merlin? What Order of Merlin?"

"We're bound to get them now—" Ron shrugged, "—after what we did."

Hermione stared at Ron as if he were a flobberworm. "We don't have Orders of Merlin, Ron. No one knows if they'll even be awarded. Besides, Charlie's here now! And think of how prepared you'll be for Auror training after two years' working with Bill. Who knows, you might like Curse-breaking better."

Hermione looked at Harry over Ron's bent head. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "We need to go. If you're coming to Colin's services, you can go with us." Ron jerked is head once. Harry said, "You need to see your mum first; she'll worry else."

"Yeah." Ron stepped away from the tree. "Wait. We're going to Colin's funeral?"

Harry nodded.

Briefly, Ron narrowed his eyes. "Aren't his parents Muggles?"

Harry intervened before Hermione hexed Ron. "They are, and the services are at a church near their home. Your Mum and Dad are going. They want to pay their respects." He added, "Even George said he'd go."

Ron's eyes widened. "All right, I'll go too."

Hermione blinked furiously against a badly timed upwelling of tears, controlling her anger and disappointment. Turning to Harry, she said, "I'll meet you at the church. I need a minute."

Ron stared at her before stalking to Harry's side. The crack of a Side-Along Apparition filled the quiet orchard in the wake of their departure.

Twigs snapped beneath Hermione's feet as she stepped to the tree where Ron had braced himself. With an oddly tentative touch, she brushed her fingers across the weather-scarred surface of the bark. Feeling the warmth from his body rapidly dissipate, she pressed her brow against the tree trunk. Her chest convulsed in a sob as she bid a final good-bye to her once cherished fantasy.

Finally, she pushed away from the tree, and spun into the discomforting sensation of Apparition necessary to carry her halfway across England.

Colin Creevy's funeral was both better and worse than Fred Weasley's. The familiar cadence of the Anglican service, and the soothing surroundings of his family's local church were easier for the Muggle-raised wizarding folk. Yet, Colin's funeral was more excruciating because none of the Muggles, Colin's extended family or other childhood friends, had been told – could be told – the truth of his bravery, of his willingness to put his life on the line to protect other students, or his little brother.

As she contemplated the chasm between the mundane and magical worlds, Hermione questioned her decision to retrieve her parents. Perhaps it was better they remain ignorant, or the fact they had a daughter who loved them. That thought made her cry.

Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and from her other side, Ron reached for her hand. Hermione didn't return his squeeze at first, but then, she gripped tight enough for her knuckles to whiten. Finally, she raised her head, her eyes seeking out the intricate stained glass behind the altar.

In the front pew, two elderly couples clung to one another. They were obviously Colin's grandparents, and his untimely and violent death had shattered those who had survived world wars and holocausts.

After the last hymn was played, witches and wizards paid their respects to the Creeveys in the church vestibule. Many departed quickly, but there were a few who lingered. George left almost immediately, flanked by Angelina and Lee. Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Arthur and Molly Weasley were among those who remained.

Ron followed Harry and Hermione down the center aisle, staring at the impressive church. When they reached the vestibule, he said, "Someone's got to take Ginny home. I'll see you later." He clapped Harry on the back and gave Hermione a long look. "Harry, 'Mione."

He then walked to where his sister stood isolated from the others, looking lost and insecure. She glanced over her shoulder as Ron escorted her from the building, and when she spotted Harry and Hermione standing together, Ginny's glared in their direction.

"Was that for you or me?"

"I'm not sure, Harry."

"Maybe both of us."

"Most likely," Hermione answered.

Across the flagstone entry, they saw Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom approach Dennis Creevey. Luna touched Dennis' forearm, and the younger version of Colin looked up. He was no longer the effervescent boy who found everything about magic … magical. Unsurprisingly, he resembled George Weasley when standing at his twin's grave.

"Colin was a very nice boy." Luna's voice was light and ethereal. "I'll miss him."

Neville shook Dennis' hand. "I know you wish you had been there, but he fought so you wouldn't have to."

Dennis opened his mouth to reply angrily, but his shoulders fell in a dejected slump as Harry joined them.

"I won't say I know exactly how you feel," Harry said, "but I know how it feels to lose someone you love."

"Yeah," Dennis replied. "I imagine you would."

"It's bollocks," Harry and Neville and Luna replied in unison. Then they all smiled at each other, comrades in more than defensive fighting skill, or a school of magical learning.

Hermione ignored the polite social restrictions of class and culture, and simply walked past the others to envelop Dennis in a hug. For those she cared about, it was her specialty.

A throat cleared from behind the small group, and Hermione released Dennis as she turned to face the magical Minister Pro Tem.

Shacklebolt's deep, resonant, easily recognizable voice offered his condolences even as he offered Dennis his hand. "Your brother won't be forgotten."

Dennis' jaw dropped, but he grasped the larger man's hand. "You – You're Royal, aren't you?"

Kingsley nodded.

Apparently Mrs. Creevey had been keeping an eye and ear on her younger son. When Shacklebolt spoke, she exclaimed, 'Oh!' and quickly stepped to her son's side, incidentally dragging Mrs. Weasley with her. "You're Royal?" Mrs. Creevey asked. "From Potterwatch?"

"Yes." Shacklebolt replied warily.

"Dear," she called out to her husband. "Come here! Quickly!"

Mr. Creevey had been in the midst of speaking with Arthur Weasley, but when summoned, both men joined their wives and the small group surrounding Dennis.

"Dad," said Dennis, with a lilting trace of his usual enthusiasm, "this is Mr. Shacklebolt. He's the Minister of Magic, but I think you'll recognize him as Royal from Potterwatch."

Astonished and gratified, Mr. Creevy grasped the larger man's hands. "Thank you, Minister. Thank you for coming, and thank you for your broadcasts. You gave us hope for our boys."

"I'm honored to be here," Shacklebolt replied. "It's gratifying to know we provided some solace during the past year. My deepest regret is that we couldn't save more lives, and I promise you, I will personally do everything within my power to make our world a safer, more tolerant, place." He bowed respectfully before taking his leave of both sets of grieving parents.

Harry and Hermione accompanied the minister to the church doors, stepping into the late afternoon. Whatever sun had burned its way through the mid-May gloom had lost ground against gathering storm clouds. "You're determined to go to Australia? Together?" the Minister asked.

The muscles in Harry's jaw flexed and his tone was flat when he spoke. "Hermione's going to retrieve her parents. Who knows how many, if any, loyal Death Eaters or sympathizers are out there looking for a bit of revenge? She's not going alone."

Hermione's eyes widened. It was a concern she hadn't even considered, and it was one that should have been at the top of her list. "Thank you, Harry."

"Of course," he said.

Shacklebolt pursed his lips. "It's a fair point, and no one can deny your capabilities now. You know I'd planned to owl your papers to you, but stop by my office in the morning and I'll arrange for a round-trip Portkey with the rest of your documents."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. It'll be something of a novelty to have a pleasant experience at the ministry."

"Yeah, what a concept," Harry said drily. "I'll come first thing tomorrow."

"Not both of you?" Kingsley asked.

"I have someone to visit before we leave," Hermione replied.

The minister's eyes landed upon the delicate Caduceus pin on Hermione's jacket lapel. "How is our favorite curmudgeon?"

Hermione's smile widened. "Taking his medicine like a dutiful patient."

Shacklebolt's chuckle was warm and inviting. "It's a good thing. I doubt any of the healers would be as willing to pinch his nostrils as you."

Hermione blushed and Harry laughed. "It worked," she said, defending the expedience and success of her actions.

"I would have paid good money to see it, too," Kingsley said. He pursed his lips. "On second thought, Harry, you shouldn't come to the Ministry. Too many reporters. Any suggestions on location?"

Harry and Hermione shared a quick, meaningful glance before he made a suggestion. "Headquarters? It has the benefit of being somewhere we all know fairly well."

"Didn't you say it had been compromised?"

"Honestly, we don't know." Harry turned his hand.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking rapidly. "When we escaped the ministry, Yaxley grabbed hold of me and he saw the front door when we landed on the stoop. I was able to shake him off and we immediately Disapparated again."

"That's when Ron was splinched," Harry interjected.

Hermione further explained, "We assumed it was no longer safe because I brought Yaxley inside the Fidelius Charm's protection. And even if he's dead now, we have no idea who, if anyone, he told. It's why we've never been back."

Shacklebolt nodded. "It was a sound assumption to make given the information you had. I doubt anyone told you of the house's other protections." He raised his eyebrow in query.

"Other protections?" Hermione asked.

Harry's eyes widened. "You mean it would have been safe?"

"Most likely not. Death Eater protocol would've been to use anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey jinxes before setting fire to the property and burning out any inhabitants. But for all that, I doubt they could have gained entry to the house itself given its layers upon layers of security spells."

Hermione thought aloud. "Once the location was no longer secret, they had to assume we wouldn't go back."

"Nor did you."

"No, you're right. We haven't been back." Harry fingered his tie. "We even dismissed it as a possibility earlier this week."

"The Order periodically checked on the house. Kreacher was uncooperative at best, and that was if he could be found."

"If only—" Harry began, only to be interrupted by Hermione. "There are many things we might have done differently, but Harry, there was so much we didn't know."

Shacklebolt buffeted Harry's shoulder. "I won't pretend the cost wasn't horrifically high, but we've succeeded, and in time, we'll make things right."

Harry smiled wanly.

"Tomorrow?" Hermione asked, and leaned against Harry.

"I'll take a small detail with me to check the house," Shacklebolt said. "Shall we say nine?"

"Nine's good."

The minister grinned. "Don't hex my detail, Harry."

"Then tell them not to give me a reason, Kingsley." Harry replied cheekily.

Shacklebolt chuckled. "Nine it is."

"Bye," Hermione raised her hand in farewell as he departed in a seamless, silent turn, leaving Harry and Hermione alone on the steps.

After a moment, Harry asked, "What now?"

"Um…."

"Yeah, I don't know either," he said. "Dinner?"

"Yes, please! Breakfast seems like a month ago." Then she exclaimed, "Oh!"

"What?"

"I have an idea," she said, enthusiastically.

"Again, what?"

"Kreacher."

"Kreacher? Oh! Kreacher!"

"Don't call him!"

"I'm not, just surprised. I have to consider him – you know, with our trip and everything."

"I know. That's what my idea's about."

"All right." He nodded. "Home?"

"Let's stop for takeaway first."

"Chinese?" He asked.

"Pizza," she replied.

"Excellent!" Harry grabbed her hand as Hermione spun them into a departure.

~o0o~