A/N: This chapter will have various perspectives on offer, to keep the action moving and the story, I hope, interesting. If you have read Harry Potter's Doom (see my profile for that one-shot), this part of the story will be somewhat familiar. I claim the liberty, however, to change what I wrote before as I create this story as a separate entity.

My thanks to everyone who is reading, adding this fic to your lists, and to all who review! And thank you for your patience with me as I write as I go for this one.

It's hard! My thanks as always to Katmom for her encouragement. She's the best.

CHAPTER FIVE

HALLOWE'EN, PART ONE

"Professor Granger!"

Hermione turned when the sixth year Ravenclaw, Amethyst Chambers (only six or seven years younger than Hermione, but was already a handspan taller) called out to her in the corridor leading to the Great Hall. Miss Chambers charmed her hair to match her name, and even Minerva had given up trying to get her to stop doing so. After all, if a Metamorphmagus had the freedom to do change their hair color, it was unfair to forbid someone else from doing so.

Hermione settled her book bag more comfortably on her shoulder. "Yes, Miss Chambers?"

"Well, the Hallowe'en Ball is tonight . . ." Hermione nodded, waiting for what had to be an outlandish question, based upon the light in the girl's eyes. "And I was wondering, erm, if you and Professor Longbottom were going together?"

Keeping her face politely amused, Hermione simply asked, "Why? Were you wanting to ask him? Fraternization between staff and students is strictly prohibited, Miss Chambers."

"No!" A fierce blush suffused her face. "I mean, I know that, Professor Granger. I just, you know, wondered?"

"As it happens," Hermione responded after a moment, "the Headmistress has a few of us on, well, alternative duties this evening. But there will be sufficient chaperonage, rest assured." Merlin, when did I start sounding like Minerva? "Did you have a date?" she inquired, moving not at all subtly forward down the corridorl.

"I know fraternization isn't allowed," the girl breezed on, ignoring Hermione's query, "but do you suppose a dance is also disallowed?"

Hermione withheld her chuckle. "Do tell, Miss Chambers. Which professor did you have your eye on?" Neville? Harry? Severus, maybe? His voice was rather compelling, and more than one young lady had been overheard swooning in Potions.

The girl held up a hand. "Not really an eye on anyone, Professor. Just, you know, wanting to dance."

"Well, I will ask the headmistress to make sure she is clear about what is and is not allowed before the ball beings, shall I?"

"So you won't be there at all?"

"No. And here we are. Have a good time, this evening, Miss Chambers."

"Well, that's a relief," the Ravenclaw muttered as Hermione turned toward the Head Table.

She had to laugh. When had anyone cared whether or not Hermione Granger was or was not at a school event? Then, she saw her friends, both of them still standing, both of them with a hand on the back of her usual chair, seeming as if they were playfully arguing over who had the right to hold it for her. She felt a smile before she knew it was coming and, when they saw her, she let it free. Their answering grins warmed her chest.

It had been cold there, much of that day, what with the looming confrontation.

A moment of lightness before the dark was appreciated. Because it was going to get quite, quite dark.

"So," she said as she took control of her own seat and sat herself—last thing anyone needed was speculation in front of the students—are we ready for our private dance this evening, gentlemen?"

She regretted putting the shadows back in Harry's eyes, but it was in her nature to check and double-check everything, and both of them knew that. "Latest information," he said, darting a glance toward Severus down the table from them, "says everything is in place or will be."

"Right, then," Neville remarked. "Now, before I entirely lose my appetite, Hermione, I believe you have something you have to say?"

Guilt tightened her insides, but Hermione shifted to face Harry, calmed her expression, and took one of his hands between both of hers. "Remember, you asked for a scene that would be upsetting," she murmured. "So remember that we'll be lying, tonight. Lying to make sure this works, all right?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and then enveloped her hands in his own. "Right. Lying to me. I'll remember."

"Well," Neville put in, leaning closer from Harry's other side, "don't remember too well, or it'll do away with the whole scene, yeah?"

It was an effort, Hermione could see, that Harry smiled a little. "Right. Can't have that."

"No."

"No."

"But afterward," Hermione went on, determined to find a bit of light, "we'll all do something wild to celebrate, all right?"

"With Veritaserum or something, so that there won't be any lies," Neville added, as they had planned.

Harry actually blushed a dull red over his cheeks. "Right. Okay, then. If we make it out—"

"When, Harry," Neville and Hermione said in tandem.

"When, then," Harry conceded with a nod. "We'll do that."

Heart pounding, mind racing, Harry took a deep, lung-clearing breath before approaching the door to the "party" Neville and Hermione were staging for his benefit. Behind him, he could hear the echoes of the actual Hallowe'en party. If he were honest with himself, he was not altogether happy with his own decision to set up this hopefully final confrontation for Hallowe'en.

He had rather wanted to dance with Hermione. He never regretted all that he had learnt and done in the past years since he'd been taken out of school, but he had admitted to himself and even to Sirius that he really wished he'd been able to take Hermione to the big Yule Ball he'd heard about from both Neville and Hermione. Or the Leaving Ball that had taken place their final year. Or any of the school events that had occurred since, where they had been chaperones, but had still been able to dance a bit, with other staff members.

. . . .

1994

Dear Harry,

You would have been quite proud of Hermione tonight at the Yule Ball. She insisted on covering up the marks from the First Task, but her ballgown was elegant and she looked every bit a Champion. Gran was here and even she said Hermione did well. Did you know the girl could dance? I didn't, but she really can. You know Gran and Sirius made us learn for years, but I had totally forgotten to check if Hermione knew.

She says, sometimes, that the Pure-bloods tend to forget there is a bigger world outside of the one we live in, and you know? I think she's right. We kind of do.

You, though, see that world every day, don't you? Do you think sometime your godfather will let you come back to Britain, even on the sly?

Your friend,

Neville

. . . .

1998

Dear Harry,

Enclosed, please find the class picture I promised you. Look, Neville and Ron got a picture somewhere, had one of our housemates enlarge it and so on, so you could be with us in this shot. See, there you are, between me and Nev, and Ron is holding the Snitch close to your head. He still says you were the best Seeker Gryffindor ever had, even if you were only here for one year.

You asked if there would be a ball, and there was, yes, after a fashion. Did you know that Nine Inch Nails is a Wizarding band? I had no idea. But they are and they played for us.

It seems odd, you know, that we still miss you here so much, even though you were only here for our first year. Your name keeps popping up in conversations; everyone talks of Lord Black and his Heir and all. But for Neville, Ron, and I? You're our friend. Always.

I'll save you a dance, just in case you ever come back.

Your friend,

Hermione

. . . .

Harry had hoped to claim that dance at some point, but she was still apparently—non-exclusively—with Neville. Still, Harry was fairly sure that Nev wouldn't mind if he, Harry, claimed a dance with Hermione . . .

Just not tonight. That night was for the fulfillment of that damned prophecy and dancing had no place in it for him.

Throwing his shoulders back and banishing all thoughts of dancing with Hermione to the dungeon of his mind, he opened the door to their chosen classroom and halted, closing the door softly behind him.

"Wow. It looks amazing." A chandelier hung with many candles, suspended he knew not how. Candle-flamed jack o'lanterns perched on randomly spaced shelves about the room, and there was a sound, a combination of music and conversation, that permeated the space. Even though there were only four people present: Severus, Hermione, Neville, and Harry himself.

"Thank you," Hermione said after a moment. "Here, let me fix your cravat." He was all done up in the old manner, that evening, and appreciated Hermione's gentle touch whilst his gut was so tight and anxious. "You're sure you're ready?" she whispered for his ears alone.

"I'll be fine, Hermione. Yes, I'm ready." He caught her chin on his curled fingers and dared to drop a light kiss to the top of her head. He heard her breath catch and that small sound wrought all kinds of havoc to his Occlumency shields. "I appreciate everyone being willing to help out, tonight."

Neville approached them, the Sword of Gryffindor on one hip. "We're ready."

"Good."

"You've the wand?" Hermione checked, obviously looking about his person for the Elder Wand and even patting his dress robes a bit over his chest. He never thought of objecting. "You said you won it from Professor Dumbledore."

"And your cloak," Neville added with an expectant look.

"Ah, right. Here you go." He handed the silky, filmy thing over to the other man, who handed it to Hermione. "Be careful, all right? Remember what we talked about."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly. We'll be fine. You worry about you, all right?"

"Well," he commented, trying to get things moving, as he was a bit nervous, all things being equal, "you certainly aren't dressed for battle." Neville was every inch Scion Longbottom. Formal black robes and a white cravat, not to mention that sword! And Hermione matched him beautifully, draped in black silk with white accents. "You look incredible, Hermione. Just lovely. You owe me a dance, you know."

She blushed. "We'll do all that when we're done, okay?" She shook her head and tucked a curling tendril of hair behind one ear. "Remember, everything here tonight is a lie, all right?"

"It's all a lie. Right. Thank you." He blew out a breath and felt himself wincing. "I'm really not going to like this, am I?"

"Well, mate, you did ask for an upset and our girl, here, is a classic overachiever."

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked, moving to adjust a couple of chairs at one of the round tables in the room. "I wasn't sure if he'd be joining us."

"He'll be with Sirius and Remus. We'll, er, see him after." Right. After. Provided I live that long . . .

She nodded. "That's good. It's been too long, really. We'll have a real reunion, eh, Nev?"

The other wizard approached the witch, holding his hand out. She caught it and he pulled her against himself and Harry watched them share silent conversations. Things he'd missed out on, over the past ten years. He'd missed so much.

Neville let her swing back out and she was once again fussing with the decorations, her wand flicking this way and that to lighten one space, add shadows elsewhere, and he could hear her tinkering with the sound of the simulated music. Neville, though, called, "Accio, Ogden's!" And a fine bottle of the famous firewhisky flew across the room to clap soundly in his hand.

With a mostly-forced smile, Harry asked, "Getting started on that celebration already?"

"No, it's actually for you. Figured it might help, you know, with this."

Something in the other man's eyes just did something to Harry as he reached to take the firewhisky. There was pain in the dark green eyes. Pain and compassion, but also . . . something else. Something Harry couldn't quantify just then. "Thanks, mate."

"Remember, Harry," Neville said in a low voice, "this is a play."

With an effort, Harry put a mental shield up, a boundary to cut this part of his life from what was to come, to shelter the memories of Hermione in her lovely gown, of Neville offering his compassion. "Right. As you say."

Neville turned and joined Hermione at the table she had been fussing with. Harry took a seat at the one next to his own hip and discovered there was an actual snifter of clear blown glass with a black base. He opened the Ogden's and poured about that much before swirling the alcohol around and bringing it to his nose. Yes, he needed a drink, so he took one long swallow. Fire poured down his throat but it was followed by a much-needed jolt of satisfaction and courage, so that Harry was then able to look at his friends across the room.

They were dancing, their bodies swaying to the music. It was evident that they were comfortable with one another, but he had known that would be the case.

"I have to, Nev. I have to talk to him!" Hermione's voice was loudly decisive as she broke away from her partner. Harry braced himself as she crossed to him, light from the candles catching gold strands in her hair and making them almost glow. "What are you doing?" she demanded, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating energetically as she continued. "You are supposed to be a chaperone!"

"It's Hallowe'en," he reminded her, going for surly as opposed to half-sauced. Ogden's was not a drink he'd built up much of a tolerance for, to be sure. "It's the anniversary of my parents' deaths, Hermione. How do you think I could possibly chaperone?"

"The same way I am," she retorted. "My parents are dead too, remember? And Neville's are in St. Mungo's. None of us have perfect families, Harry Potter, but we manage to do our jobs just fine."

He cringed as he blinked up at her. He took another drink and said, "At least you have memories of your parents. You had time with them."

She bristled and flicked her hand so that her wand appeared. She whispered a soft incantation that muted the music and Harry imagined she'd done a muffling charm so that they wouldn't be overheard. "It's your fault my parents are dead! Your fault the Death Eaters showed up at my house after fourth year. After that bloody Tournament!" With a pass of her hand, she all but shouted, "Finite!" And there, before his eyes, a word appeared on her inner arm.

Mudblood.

His blood froze in his veins as he stared at the word—angry and red even yet—that marred the skin of her arm. But then he remembered what she had said: "Everything tonight is a lie." Okay, so she put this on her arm to show him for the "play". He had to believe that.

"What the hell?" he demanded, coming slowly to his feet, wetting his lips from his glass.

Neville crossed the floor and put his arm loosely over Hermione's shoulder. "The Death Eaters did that, Harry," the other man said when Hermione couldn't seem to look at Harry. "They killed her parents, made her watch, and then carved that into her arm."

"To remember them by. That's what the woman said. To remember them by." Hermione waved her hand and the word disappeared. "So don't sit here and wallow in your Ogden's," she said, lifting her head again. "It's your turn to work. Neville and I are going to dance."

At that, Neville Longbottom escorted Hermione Granger to the space between the tables and the music grew a bit louder. Harry watched them, his gut churning in horror at even the thought of Hermione having to watch her parents be murdered. He knew they'd been killed—it was horrible and he'd sent her a letter despite what Sirius had directed—but that she'd been there? She'd never told him. It's a lie. She'd said everything tonight was a lie. A lie.

"Don't they look charming?" Severus Snape's dark, sneering voice interrupted his fraught musings.

"Shut up," Harry retorted, tearing his eyes from the couple and wondering if he'd ever really seen them before. He slammed the snifter on the table, felt it break over his hands, but a quick spell set all to rights. He lunged to his feet and made a break for the door, purposefully avoiding looking at the couple still on the makeshift dance floor.

Severus followed him with a sneer. "Potter."

Harry waved a hand back at him. "Leave me alone." He led the other man on a careful course through the castle. The sounds from the true party echoed in the corridors as they approached the West Wing, where Severus had shown him a hidden passage. The older wizard acted as if this was all unrehearsed, however, swearing and muttering imprecations behind Harry's back as they maneuvered themselves to the final door that led outside.

"Potter!" Severus said, half-shouting.

Sincerely irritated, genuinely tense and fearfully ready, Harry spun about. "What? What is it you could possibly have to say to me, Snape?"

"Petrificus Totalis."

As soon as Harry left their "little party", Neville caught Hermione up in his arms and shuddered. He had hated seeing the other man so, well, upset. Hermione was no better off; her slender body was trembling against him and he heard her breath hitch as she tried to control her silent sobs.

"We did it perfectly and you were wonderful, Hermione. Just wonderful. You set it up just right, okay?"

"Did you see his eyes?"

"I did. You succeeded in doing exactly what he wanted. Now we have to finish our part, love. Come on."

They both performed a quick "Finite Incantatem" on their formalwear for the evening, so that their clothing reverted to something more battle-ready. Dark trousers, dragonhide boots, and dark jumpers were the order for the night. Hermione quickly braided her hand by hand so that it fell in a thick rope over one shoulder. Then, she nodded.

"Now or outside?"

"Now," he decided, lifting his wand.

Without further discussion, he was Disillusioned and she donned Harry's Cloak of Invisibility and disappeared from view. Still, he felt her reach for his hand and the two of them spirited away from the room, following the most expeditious route to the meeting point they had already planned with Severus and Harry, days ago.

The waning moon had not yet risen, but the sky was unusually clear that night, so that all the stars shone mercilessly as he and Hermione dashed from the cover the castle provided, sketching around Hagrid's place and down to the Forbidden Forest. They kept to the any hint of shadow as much as they could, though this made for slow going. A flicker of motion caught his eye and he hissed, inadvertently.

Hermione froze and he could feel her press against himself. "What?"

"Severus has him. Looks bound and Petrified," Neville murmured. "Shite, there's more of them."

He felt her hands shake as they gripped his arms. "That was part of the plan, right?"

"I know, but it still terrifies the hell out of me."

A hard breeze kicked up just then, pulling at his hair with angry fingers as he sought to redirect his focus to their pre-assigned meeting spot near a certain clearing, where Ron, Sirius, and Remus would be waiting near the Aurors.

Overhead, a phalanx of robed figured on brooms made silent silhouettes against the deep sky. Their robes made him think they were indeed Death Eaters—or whatever label the Ministry was giving the Dark Wanker's playfellows these days. They were all associated, so they weren't really masked any longer, but they still wore their robes when out wreaking havoc. In the name of Societal Regulation, of course.

His skin was chilled as he and Hermione reached their rendezvous point. Though they were all supposed to be all but invisible, he thought he could still detect a head of shockingly red hair not too far away, just around the next tree.

Hermione did as well. He heard her breathe one syllable out into the chilly air. "Ron." As they were holding hands to keep track of one another, Neville just squeezed her fingers with his.

Then, he heard a not-stealthy sound approach and he tensed, pushing Hermione behind him before flicking his wand to one hand, his knife to the other. The sword, he kept on his hip, also Disillusioned. He could use it, but he was better with a knife and there was more of a chance of silencing a shielded enemy with it. With a Silencio on the tip of his tongue, Neville prepared to do his best just in case they had been discovered.

A gruff voice rumbled out of the darkness. "Moody, here. Name yourself, stranger. Don't move; my wand is on you." Hermione moved, but Neville could only hope she was getting to safety.

Moody. The name echoed in Neville's brain but he was too tense for it to find a matching association, so he let free with his Silencing spell, only to have it glance off the shield the man had clearly cast.

"Impedimenta!" Hermione whispered, her voice sounding from behind Moody.

The gruff-voiced man froze, giving Neville barely enough time to say, "Professors Longbottom and Granger, here, Moody. Helping Harry Potter. How'd you see us?"

Within a few heartbeats, the man shook off the jinx and coughed. "Magical eye, there, Longbottom. I worked with your parents, years ago. Fine. Constant Vigilance, lad. Who got me, there?"

"I did," Hermione whispered. "We're talking a lot."

"Good on ya, lass." Moody breathed out something that might have been a chuckle. "True. Merlin's bollocks, I hear them. Silence your feet and come along. Wands out."

As quietly as a group of people in the dark could manage, they converged with the others who were creeping up behind what was a growing group of robed people ahead. And then, a voice Neville hadn't heard in a while reached his ear.

"Hermione? Neville? It's Ron Weasley!"

How did he see me? Neville questioned silently before doing his best to shake Ron's hand whilst moving ever forward.

"Later, Ron," Hermione murmured. "Hush. Nev, renew your charm."

Merlin's beard! Neville did so, wondering if Moody-who-knew-his-parents (and that was something he definitely wanted to hear about) had canceled his Disillusionment whilst they had been speaking.

"Severus Snape, is that you?"

The harsh, aspirated challenge sounded throughout the inky forest and Neville stopped mid-stride. So did everyone that was there, apparently, to support Harry. Even whilst listening to the Potion Master's response, Neville reached for Hermione's hand again. She was still under Harry's cloak and he didn't want to lose her.

There was a bit of restlessness, he thought, amongst the Death Eaters when Severus said he had Harry. Why didn't Harry say something? Hermione was tense, as well, he could feel from the pressure of her fingers.

"Severussss."

The sibilant sound wasn't confined to the Dark Minister, who had indeed come when Severus asked for him too. Nearer to Neville himself, the Aurors and others swore softly before a sudden silence seemed to say that Moody, perhaps, had Silencio'd the lot of them.

Neville didn't know what to do with the unbearable tension in his body. He ached to move, to get out there, to help Harry, to Stun Severus for putting Harry in danger, even though it was all part of the plan. Harry knew it. He had to be ready, right? Even now, wasn't he going to fight? Why wasn't he saying anything?

Many other voices certainly were.

"Harry Potter."

"Boy Who Wished He Lived."

"Where's he been?"

"Last piece of this bloody puzzle."

"About time."

"Potter."

"Here he is, my lord. As promised." Severus's voice was not in the least subservient, but then he was bringing his lord a prize, wasn't he? "Moping over his mum, deep in a bottle of Ogden's." Neville wanted to shout, to say that Harry wasn't that weak, not even remotely, but he had to stay silent.

It was more than their little scene that was a lie that evening, after all.

"Ah, of courssse he wasss. And now, he can prepare himself to see them again. Release his binding, Severussss."

"Finite Incantatem," Severus said.

Neville couldn't see what was happening, but he heard Severus sigh dramatically. "Foolish man. I took it, remember?"

Took what? Neville wondered. What if Severus meant the wand? It was the Elder Wand! Had Severus betrayed them, after all? No, no it couldn't be. Not when he'd told them so much so far.

Then, Neville heard a welcome voice. "Tom," Harry said, his voice firm. "How are you?"

There was a flurry of motion, visible as some wands cast Lumos charms and others were aimed toward their quarry. But their hissing Minister tossed up one hand. "Away, with the wands. He is mine. Remember the prophecy. Mine!"

Then, another hissing caught in Neville's ear. Thanks to chance or Fate or he knew not what, a shaft of light caught on a long line of motion. Scales, undulating toward the robed men, Voldemort, and Harry.

"Nev!" Hermione whispered. Her hearing was quite good.

Once again, he pushed her aside, but that was mostly a reflex action before he drew the Sword of Gryffindor from the sheath at his hip. He heard Ron make some sort of sound, but Hermione must have either shut Ron's mouth or hexed him to silence as Neville took a deep breath.

He had one stroke. One.

Remember the basilisk. This is a snake. She's a monster, all right, but she's nowhere near so large. C'mon Longbottom . . . you can do this. He half ran, half leapt on the tips of his Silenced toes, watching Nagini's head lift off the ground, the snake's tongue flickering out. Neville knew that meant the serpent was smelling the air . . .

He had to act immediately!

His heart pounded, his legs felt filled with energy. Neville took in one sharp breath before, without even letting that breath out, he sliced the Sword of Gryffindor and cut off the snake's head. There was barely any catch in his swing, the blade was so sharp.

A ha! he shouted in his mind, thrilled with the small victory he had achieved. He'd had the job, he'd done it, and he turned to share it with Hermione—

"Tom! Expelliarmus!"

"Diffindo!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Thoughts of his personal triumph died as all hell broke loose.

A/N: Thank you for your patience, folks! More will be forthcoming next week! Remember to cast the Revealing Charm if you want a peek into the next chapter: Aparecium! It only works if you're signed in and accepting PMs!