Saving a Death Eater
By Bambu
Disclaimer and Author's Note: Standard disclaimers and general thanks may be found in chapter one.
A more specific thank you to everyone who's limped along with me as, from time-to-time, I've struggled to find inspiration for this story. In the end, and yes, this is the final chapter save a short epilogue, I've put into words my concept of plausible aftermath/early reconstruction efforts for the major protagonists, including, of course, Severus Snape. To me, the HP series has always been about friendship in its many permutations; and thus, this is my tribute to the early concept of the 'golden trio' as it evolved and matured, and perhaps added new members to the small host of true friends.
I appreciate your coming along for the ride more than I can express.
~o0o~
Chapter 9: Bon Voyage
For several hammering beats of her heart, Hermione stared up at Severus Snape and into his dark, almost black eyes. His comment 'I seem to be available now' bounced around her mind. When she remembered he was an adept Legilimens, she turned away.
If anything, Snape's scowl deepened.
She pulled her wand - her beautiful, sleek, Acacia wand – and summoned a nearby chair. She glanced at the other books before setting her bpp next to their siblings on Snape's bedside table. She recognized Horn of Plenty – Myths and Facts of Unicorns in the Magical and Muggle World as the book Poppy Pomfrey had offered to lend. The third volume was quite slender and bore no external title, only an embossed family crest and the name Kinnoull. She would read that one first, she thought, before taking a seat and looking at him once more. "I don't quite know where to start."
Snape's deep, penetrating stare pinned her before easing to something more benign. One corner of his mouth curved. "The beginning is reported to provide the most successful results." Gracefully, he gestured toward the near corner of the Hippocratic Ward. "Pauling has encouraged me to take a daily constitutional. Join me."
Uncertain whether it was a request or a demand, Hermione rose to her feet and matched his pace toward what she now noticed was a glass-framed double door."Beginning at the beginning is slightly problematical," she replied. "I haven't the faintest idea what you've been told other than the filly—"
"Amandaria," he supplied.
Hermione paused to smile at him. Here was evidence that she hadn't been wrong to save him. "Thank you for remembering her name."
He curled his lip. "I didn't do it for you."
"Of course not. You did it for her." She glanced behind her, gestured toward the small table where two identical piles of books stood beside a clutter of potions vials. "I appreciate the books."
"Pauling delivered them this morning."
The double doors parted at their approach, leading to a solarium, complete with comfortable seating and occasional tables. Beyond the seamless exterior wall of glass, rays of sunlight peeked through the early afternoon cloud cover. Next to her, Snape glanced around the sunroom. They were alone.
Hermione followed as he wove a path through the assortment of seating arrangements toward the far corner, farthest from the doors.
Snape stopped at a grouped loveseat and two squashy armchairs surrounding a coffee table. He chose the armchair providing the best line-of-sight. As he sat, he pinned Hermione in place with the focus of his attention. "Unless you've lost control of what is generally acknowledged as the finest intellect of your generation, I'm certain you will find the information contained in the books enthralling."
Hermione flushed, both embarrassed and delighted. "Thank you. I'm sure they'll be enlightening." Choosing the near end of the loveseat, she lowered herself onto the soft cushion. "I'll probably make Harry read them as well."
"Potter?" Frustration, irritation, and curiosity transitioned across Snape's face as rapidly as a Boggart confronted by several people.
Briefly, Hermione recalled his unconscious reaction to the sound of Harry's voice.
"Why would Potter need—" Snape groaned, tilted his head against the back of the chair, and swiftly pressed one hand to the bandage wrapping his throat.
"Are you all right?" Hermione leaned forward as if to leap to her feet.
One ebony colored eye opened, spearing her with disdain.
"Should I call someone?" she asked urgently.
He grunted the word, "No."
Her chin tilted. "Really? I have no qualms about getting you help."
He opened the second eye and dropped his chin. "The discomfort is bearable for the most part; I have been assured it will diminish." His lips pressed together for a moment, tightly enough to cause a bloodless, white outline of his mouth. "I am also assured I have you to thank."
"Brian Pauling made the Cornus Potion, and Poppy initially saw to your wounds—"
Snape interrupted, and grimaced, as if tasting the bitterest of draughts. "You were the one who thought to interfere."
"Look—"
"No. Miss—"
"Hermione. I know we've talked about this, Severus." His eyes narrowed, but she had seen beyond his veneer and was undaunted. "I saved you because you did your bloody best to protect us. To protect all of us."
"Your friend Longbottom won't thank me. Nor Finnegan."
"Nor Ginny Weasley, I imagine."
"How kind of you to remind me." Snape's lips curled in that mocking smile he had perfected.
"They might not thank you now, but once they learn the full extent—"
"Of what? My noble sacrifice?"
"No! You had no choice! Dumbledore gave you no choice. Once you aligned yourself with him, he controlled you. And once Lor—he came back, you were pushed even further into service. I know! Dumbledore used meto hold Harry back! Don't you think I hate—" Suddenly she realized she was on her feet, fists clenched, leaning over Snape, practically shouting. His eyes were as wide as she had ever seen them. Abruptly, she backed up, until her calf bumped into the coffee table. "Sorry. I'm sorry."
He stared at her warily.
Hermione sank onto the loveseat before closing her eyes in mortification. In a small voice, she said, "I'm quite angry with Professor Dumbledore. Forgive me for taking it out on you."
Snape bowed his head in acknowledgement, extending his long legs and leaning to brace his head against the cushioned chair back. "Albus kept his own council to many peoples' regret and disadvantage." He ignored her muttered, 'not to mention deaths.' He said, "It is something of a miracle any of us survived."
She agreed wholeheartedly. "I suspect I'm angriest about how much you were used. And Harry—" She clenched her fists, "—Harry walked into the Death Eater's camp in the Forbidden Forest, and presented himself for slaughter." Snape recoiled, but Hermione was unaware as she focused on what she wanted to say. "If it wasn't for Mrs. Malfoy, none of us would be here, I'm sure."
"Bully for Narcissa." He relaxed once again.
Grimly, Hermione smiled. "I'm sure she'll find a way to use that to her advantage. If only to keep her son out of Azkaban."
"Draco Malfoy doesn't deserve Azkaban."
"Neither did Sirius." She raised her hand to forestall a response, and surprisingly Snape refrained. "Let's not get mired in the blame game. There's more than enough to share."
Curtly, he said, "Let us return to the original topic. Exactly how was Potter instrumental in saving me?"
Hermione crossed her legs. She noticed Snape glancing at her jean-covered ankle, and her cheeks heated self-consciously. "Harry and I both willingly paid a price for Amandaria's sacrifice."
Snape groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you know what that means?"
"Not really. I imagine that's why Poppy sent the books."
Snape grunted. "I'll never be rid of that boy now."
Hermione bit her lip to keep from saying something inflammatory.
They lapsed into silence long enough for it to grow uncomfortable, then he said, "I believe you have something of mine and I would like it returned."
She re-crossed her legs before replying. "I have more than one set, actually."
He sat up straight, his eyes boring into her. "What do you mean?"
Hermione retrieved her beaded bag to withdraw a small Muggle bottle. It had once been filled with cream, but now held a swirling, writhing mass of ethereal silver. She offered it to Snape. "These are from Harry," she said. "They're the memories you gave him in the Shrieking Shack. He asked me to thank you; we wouldn't have been successful without your help."
Snape wrapped his fingers around the bottle, muttering several things under his breath.
"I really hope you're not disparaging Harry. He's been very respectful of you!"
Snape shifted uncomfortably, then he clapped his hand to his bandaged neck. "I would like the memories returned, if you please."
She stared at him uncomprehendingly, then carefully said, "I've given you them." Snape's glare was so pointed Hermione looked behind her to see if there was someone standing there. Turning back, she asked, "What?"
Snape spoke as if she were a dunderhead. "I do not have a wand at present. I am unable to return my memories without a wand. You have a wand. Ergo…?"
Embarrassed, she fumbled for her new wand, presenting it handle first.
He examined the smooth Acacia wood. "This is not your wand."
"Mr. Ollivander gave it to me this morning." Her happy, sentimental smile dimmed under the onslaught of other, harsher memories. "Mine was lost when we were taken by Snatchers."
Snape's own expression grew remote and grim. Formally, he said, "You have my thanks for allowing me the use of your wand."
"I hope it works for you. Apparently, it's unique."
He arched a single eyebrow in query.
"Acacia and hippogriff feather."
The second eyebrow rose in surprise.
"It – there were extenuating circumstances," she said, "but the feather was a gift. The only one of its kind."
"Indeed." Snape appraised her wand once more, and then cast a silent spell.
She had no idea what he had cast until her shoes changed color. They became a vibrant fluorescent pink. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Couldn't you have changed my jacket? Leather never quite feels the same after a color change."
The first visible sign of amusement crinkled the skin at the corner of his eyes. "That statement leads me to the conclusion you require additional practice."
She hated that he was right, and her reply was rather prim as a result. "My last year hasn't been particularly conducive to consistent, or even structured, revision."
His mouth remained curved in something between a smile and a smirk, but then he turned his attention to the bottle in his hand. Fortunately, Hermione's wand gave him no trouble as he returned memory strand after memory strand to his mind.
At one point, he paused mid-task. A wispy, aqua-silver tendril dangled from the tip of her wand. "This is not my memory."
Hermione startled out of her peaceful reverie. "I forgot to mention Harry included one of his own. He wanted you to see Vol—Tom Riddle's destruction. I need to return it when you've seen it. Andromeda Tonks said you would suffer no harm from viewing it."
Snape recoiled. "Andromeda knows?"
"Of course not. We told her we were going to let Kingsley Shacklebolt watch it."
A smile tugged at the corner of his stern mouth. "Acceptable."
"We took a vow."
Startled, Snape almost dropped the wand and Harry's memory. "Pardon?"
"Harry and I took a Vow of Confidentiality to protect your safety." She smiled at him. "It was the least we could do."
Snape stared at her, then he stared at the aqua-silver filament dangling from Hermione's Acacia wand. After a long moment, he closed his eyes and pressed the wand to his temple The wisp of Harry's memory sank into his skin.
At Snape's side, Hermione fished in her beaded bag for an empty vial. She had no desire to revisit that memory. Being present the first time had been harrowing enough.
After several minutes, he teased Harry's memory from his head. Snape allowed it to curl into the vial Hermione quickly provided, and then sealed it before holding it toward her. "For Mr. Potter."
She accepted the memory-laden vial, tucking it into her beaded bag. Covertly, Hermione watched her former professor, fascinated by his deft, fluid gestures. Despite his convalescent state, he seemed unaffected by the repetitive casting necessary to re-integrate his memories.
Severus Snape was a powerful wizard.
Of course, she had realized that her second year at Hogwarts. Until the evening Gilderoy Lockhart hosted the Dueling Club, Hermione had been dazzled by the erstwhile hero's alleged magical and authorial prowess.
However, her paradigm had shifted with the casting of a single spell. Snape had knocked Lockhart on his arse without resorting to flamboyant posturing. In that moment, Hermione first recognized true talent.
Hermione's eyes followed Snape's motions as he deposited the empty cream bottle onto the coffee table. "Now," he said, pointing her wand at her ankle. "I believe I would like the rest of my memories."
She gestured to her ankle. "These must've been on the floor after Harry and I captured the others. I don't know if we have them all." Those painful minutes in the Shrieking Shack were indelibly etched upon her psyche. Hermione shuddered delicately.
"However many you have will be sufficient."
Hermione slipped her foot out of her still pink shoe, and rolled her jeans, revealing her ankle and the silver band of memories clinging to her skin.
In the short few days since they had adhered to her, she had grown rather fond of wearing them. They had provided invaluable insight into the complex, reticent man who was Severus Snape. Sliding forward on the sofa, Hermione kicked her leg into his lap. "Here."
Neither moved.
Both stared at her foot in his lap.
Hermione had touched Snape only when he had been unconscious, or semi-conscious, and in great pain. Or that one notable occasion when she had pinched his nostrils so he would take his potion. However, he was once again more or less himself and in full control of his faculties.
Very gently, Snape rested her foot in the palm of his left hand while wielding her wand in his right. Gently, he traced the rim of the silvery strand clinging with limpet-like tenacity to her skin.
Hermione's chest constricted in an unfamiliar way. Pinpricks of sensation raced from the point of contact along her leg. It was a non-sexual reaction; similar to an extra-sensory awareness shifting into place.
Snape raised his head, and his dark eyes met her wide, staring brown eyes.
With a quick snap of his wrist the strand of memory separated from her skin. Snape pulled his hand back, the strand wriggling and stretching as if attempting to re-attach itself to Hermione.
Quickly, before that could happen, Snape brought the strand to his head and the memories sank into his temple. Sweat broke out on his brow, and he closed his eyes as if against a sudden headache.
Absently, he brushed his thumb against the skin of her ankle.
Awareness raced along Hermione's nerve endings, leaving her oddly breathless.
"Thank you for their care, Hermione." Snape's tone was gruff. "There is a possibility you might experience an occasional ghost memory."
"I don't mind."
Snape's eyes snapped to hers. "No?"
She blushed, pulled her foot out of his hand, and bent to unroll her jeans and slip her foot back into her shoe. "It was an invasion of your privacy, but it was inadvertent. I liked knowing you cared about our safety. That my original impression of you wasn't wrong." His eyebrows rose in a sharp parenthetical. She added, "I would never have kept them, especially as we're leaving tomorrow."
"You are?" he asked, his tone suddenly flat and uninflected.
"I have to find my parents."
"I was unaware they were lost."
"I don't know where they are." Her voice wobbled as she spoke, and then she added, "Harry isn't willing to let me look for them alone."
Surprise briefly altered Snape's features. "A sensible precaution."
Hermione barely registered his comment. "I sent them away last summer. If I couldn't come for them they would never know—" she faltered, "—never miss me." She trailed off, staring at her fingers folding the hem of her top.
"Miss- Hermione?" Snape prompted gently.
"I—" She looked at her surroundings, warily, confirming the distance to the doors separating them from the rest of the ward. "I modified their memories before sending them away." When she caught sight of his expression, words tumbled out of her mouth. "I'm Harry's best friend. I've been his best friend for seven years. Obviously, the death of my parents would hurt me, and by association, hurt Harry."
"Your reasoning is not without foundation." He rose to his feet.
Her smile was relieved and wide. He understood, she thought, and while it was perhaps lukewarm, he approved her course of action.
"I must walk." Suiting action to words, Snape skirted the sofa. "Coming?" he asked, raising his eyes to capture her attention.
Hermione scrambled to her feet, accompanying him as he traversed the length of the solarium. Absently, she noticed the windows had darkened in relation to the strength of the afternoon sun, but the skyline was still notably London.
They reached the end of the solarium before Snape retraced his path.
Neither spoke until they had returned to their corner seating arrangement. At that point, he asked, "Is this the extent of your plan? To locate your parents? You, Potter and Weasley will go trekking—"
"Ron's not coming. It's just Harry and me."
Snape's mouth quirked. "Unless he has changed significantly in the past ten months, Weasley would be no help in the Muggle world."
Hermione winced. "Ron's better off staying with his family."
Snape straightened his legs, tracing patterns on his thigh with his index finger. He glanced at her. "Why exactly is a search required? Did you not send them to a known location?"
"I don't know if they remained there."
"Did you not plan for a method of communication?"
She braced herself against censure, clenching her jaw before speaking. "Bellatrix was an acknowledged master in the Mind Arts, and if she had looked for my family—"
"She would have found them." He acknowledged the very real possibility.
"In some ways I was lucky."
"You were. You are still alive and have apparently retained your faculties."
"According to Poppy." She smiled affectionately thinking of Hogwarts' matron.
Snape continued tracing runes on his pajama pants' leg. "Potter's stubborn, and has the benefit of having lived in the Muggle world. Weasley would only slow you down, and make you miserable in the process."
"Yes, well." Hermione shook the wayward curls that tended to droop into her eyes out of her face. "My dad used to say we paid a high price for my Aunt Carole's participation in our family, but we all loved her so it was worth it." She sighed heavily before confessing, "Sometimes, I think the price I've paid for Ron's friendship is too steep."
She pretended she didn't see Snape smirking. But then he asked, "Does anyone know where you're going, specifically?"
"We're perfectly capable of—" her indignation deflated as if he'd had cast Finite Incantatem, "—Sorry. Kingsley Shacklebolt's creating our Portkey, so he knows our starting point." She glanced over her shoulder at the double doors and still empty solarium.
Snape flicked his wrist, swirling Hermione's wand.
Within seconds, she felt the familiar magic of a Muffliato being cast. "Thank you—" and then she proved her trust in him, "—I changed my parents' names to Monica and Wendell Wilkins – their middle names and Mum's birth name. It took me a week to alter their paperwork, buy their tickets and book their hotel."
"Where?"
"Sydney. I booked them into the Hilton."
"An astute choice."
Hermione smiled. Then, because she trusted him, she laid out her and Harry's plans, both short and longer-term. "Brian Pauling's the one who suggested private tutors, and taking our NEWTS at the Ministry. After that, we're bound for Gringotts."
"I thought Potter planned to follow in his father's and godfather's—" to Snape's credit, his sneer was a faint curl of his upper lip when referencing Sirius, "—footsteps and join the Aurors."
"He did. But, and this is a most curious thing, when we met with Mr. Ollivander earlier today, he thought I might have what it takes to be his apprentice."
Abruptly, Snape sat upright. "Ollivander's never taken an apprentice."
"And that's even more curious. He made the same offer to Harry."
Snape's eyes widened. "Most unusual."
Hermione giggled. "That's what Mr. Ollivander said too, and then he thanked us for giving him hope for a future retirement. Honestly, I'm not sure what we'll be doing after Australia, NEWTs, and Gringotts." Snape opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione was in full spate. "But now we have more options. Where will you go when you're released from Brian's care?"
He looked at her as if she were mad. "You ask as if there's a choice other than Azkaban?"
"You're not going to Azkaban."
"Hermione, you cannot know that with any degree of certainty."
"Pish," she said, and wondered what had happened that her language reverted to things her grandmother used to say. "You're not going to Azkaban."
"Miss Granger—"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt is the interim Minister for Magic… he'll pardon you, or something."
"Or something?" Snape's voice was ripe with irony. "This is your assurance? The big pitch so I'll 'just live'?"
She gave him a gimlet-eyed stare. "If - and it's a big if, you do go to Azkaban, then I'll get you out."
Snape snorted with laughter. In fact, he laughed so hard, he clutched his bandaged throat. Hermione rose in alarm, but he waved her off.
"Granger! Are you intentionally hilarious?"
Hermione pointed a finger at Snape. "If I could get us out of the Gringotts' vaults, then I'll find a way to get you out of Azkaban."
"Why do you keep referring to Gringotts?"
Disconcerted, Hermione looked down at her fingers, weaving them together, separating them, and weaving them again. Then, potions master hands gently separated her fingers, but one of those hands remained, offering shelter. When she looked at him she didn't recognize his expression.
"Tell me," Snape coaxed.
"It's…. You see…. I'll be working off my debt to the goblins. We broke into the bank– for the- you know- Hufflepuff cup. We were discovered and it was a bit of a disaster. We took one of the dragons—"
"You stole a Gringotts' dragon?"
"There was no other choice." Her hands shook beneath his. "And there was a lot of damage to the bank."
"No." he said, his sarcasm as dry as ash after Fiendfyre.
She stared at him for a long moment and then said, "We- Harry, Ron and I will work for Gringotts for two years from the date of our NEWT results. Ron probably won't start until several months after Harry and I."
Snape sat back, his expression shrewd. "Weasley never agreed to that."
"Mr. Weasley attended the meeting, but you're quite right. Ron would never have agreed without his father's presence." Hermione laughed, and it was rueful and bitter. "Harry and I thought it right."
Snape glanced at her sharply. "You talk of Potter as if you were a couple. I understood that he and Miss Weasley—"
"No! Harry and I– we're siblings." She smiled, remembering Harry dancing with Teddy that morning. "Not by birth, of course, but by choice. He's my best friend, and after all this time, I don't think anything will change that."
"You are lucky to have such a loyal friend."
Her smile broadened. "I hope to have other loyal friends as well."
He didn't respond to what might have been an invitation, but neither did he reject it out of hand. Instead, he said, "Your basic plan is to locate your parents, take your NEWTs, then work for the goblins for two years."
"Yes. I seem – that is, Harry and I have managed three-point agendas. Home, the Burrow… here, or Australia, NEWTs, and Gringotts. I hope it's merely a symptom of fatigue after the past year."
"It is certainly more sophisticated than any aptitude Potter's illustrated before now."
She frowned. Her thoughts swirled in a disarray, but slowly sorted into a more coherent pattern. "Do you think—" she broke off, and he raised an eyebrow, "—could it have been the Horcrux?" Snape's index finger traced his lips as he listened. "Harry's always been prone to headaches and visions, and you know he was possessed in the Ministry."
"He was possessed?" Snape sat up in alarm.
"Didn't Dumbledore tell you?" Hermione shook her head. "Obviously not. Harry was. Briefly. Before he expelled that misbegotten Tom Riddle. That's when Professor Dumbledore—" and her lip curled in derision, "—told Harry the power in the prophesy was love."
In a voice devoid of expression, Snape said, "Dumbledore's oft-repeated refrain."
"Well, he was an idiot," Hermione's tone was as cutting as any had ever heard. "Love is powerful, and important, but that's not what led Harry into the forest like a lamb to slaughter."
Snape choked at her description. "Then what was it?"
"His saving people thing," she said softly.
"Oh yes, Potter the hero."
"Don't!" Hermione scolded. "Harry's family treated him abominably. That's something I'll never forgive Professor Dumbledore - placing Harry with those horrid people." She refrained from revealing more about Harry's nightmarish childhood. "He's always had little concern for his own safety. He was trained to believe he was unimportant, that his value was negligible. Harry's never wanted the notoriety of being The Boy Who Lived."
Snape rolled his eyes, and then held his hand to forestall a diatribe. "I'll concede his home life wasn't ideal."
"Ideal? It was barely humane! He lived—" She bit her tongue, but her long-repressed anger remained unquenched. Inhaling deeply, she released the breath slowly. Gaining control, protecting her friend's secrets. "Sorry. Harry's childhood wasn't your fault." Snape's hands convulsively clenched into fists, but Hermione had kept her opinions on these topics to herself for too long. The words tumbled from her lips. "It was Dumbledore's responsibility. He allowed Sirius to go to prison without question. The professor was head of the judicial branch of the government. At any point before or after Sirius escaped he could've launched an investigation, or insisted Sirius be questioned with Veritaserum. But he didn't.
"Harry has only ever wanted a family. He only ever received praise in the wizarding world. And then, it was only when he won a competition or saved people." Snape's fists relaxed but he sat rigidly. "Discounting the whole Boy Who Lived thing," she said, "Harry saved me, first year. Second year, he directly saved Ginny Weasley, but also everyone in this school. Where was that acknowledgement? Why didn't anyone but a few of us know the truth? That, too, was Professor Dumbledore. There were no mental health—Ugh! I'd mention saving Sirius but I've already talked about that. And then there was—" she swallowed hard, "—Cedric … need I go on?"
"I can connect the dots as well as the next man."
"I'd say better than most." She couldn't read his expression, but he might have been pleased. "In any event," she said, "as a result of the Horcrux, Harry's upbringing, and the continuing reinforcement that he was only worthy when saving people, he walked into the forest as a willing sacrifice to save the world he loved."
Snape's mouth tightened to a thin line.
"Thankfully, the Horcrux was destroyed and Harry lived. Since then, he's different. More thoughtful, less moody, and—" smiling broadly, "—quite capable of turning out three-point agendas."
In what had become customary during their private interlude, both lapsed into silence as they assimilated the enormity of the task laid before a young boy with few friends and a fickle public.
When the sun's last rays reflected into the room, Snape squinted in the millisecond before the enchanted glass filtered out the too strong light. He sighed. "It seems your calendar is rather full for the foreseeable future. Do you have plans after your stint at Gringotts?"
"None, which is pretty unlike me. Much depends on finding my parents."
"If you will accept some advice."
She turned toward him, her curls bouncing around her face. "From you? Of course."
"Follow your three-point plan, adjust it as time and experience guide you. Keep your options open, and make time to read the books about unicorns. Do it soon."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder toward the ward. "Is there something I need to know now?"
"Many things, but none I believe you will find untenable."
"Such as?"
"Care and protection of the herd as a whole. I trust you'll not shy from the responsibility."
"Of course not."
"It is a responsibility we share."
"I suspect we'll manage," she said.
Their eyes met, and an unspoken agreement was reached. After a long moment he said, "I'm certain you have many things to accomplish between now and your departure tomorrow."
"Packing, some letters to write, and some gifts to wrap."
Snape offered her wand.
Hermione rose to her feet, wrapped her fingers around the Acacia. The wood was warm where he had held it. "Thank you," she said, and then pointed her wand toward the ward, and silently cast Accio. She gestured toward the inner ward. "Are you returning—"
"I prefer to remain." He paused, as three books sailed through the magically opening glass doors. "I am unaccustomed to constant attendance."
"I'm very happy you're better." Hermione caught the books Brian Pauling had delivered for her, and stuffed them in her beaded bag. Then she blurted, "May I write to you? While I'm gone?"
Snape sighed heavily. "If you must."
Suddenly suspicious, she asked, "Will my letters reach you?"
Snape barked a raspy, amused laugh. "Not Potter's, mind you, only yours."
"Thank you very much." Hermione cancelled the Muffliato he had cast earlier. Then,before she lost her nerve, she brushed Snape's cheek with her lips. "Be well, Severus."
Hermione straightened, touched the Caduceus pin, and within seconds, she stood once more in the small lane behind Mr. Ollivander's shop. Upon glancing at her feet, she realized her shoes remained pink. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of leaving them pink as a reminder – of Snape, of her need to practice, or perhaps add a little whimsy to her choices – she nonetheless cancelled the charm for practical reasons.
If she was lucky, there would be time to play with Teddy and enjoy getting to know Andromeda Tonks.
With the ease of frequent practice, Hermione turned into her Apparition.
She was indeed lucky.
The house-elves doted upon Teddy, and Andromeda appeared less anxious. Harry was practically giddy handing Andromeda presents for her and the baby while Hermione wrapped gifts for their other friends. Harry eagerly watched as Andromeda opened each gift.
The small family by choice soaked in the contentment of the evening. Hermione watched Winky and Kreacher as they stood taller, and walked without shuffling their feet.
Harry had bought a rucksack for himself, and asked Hermione to enchant it with an Expansion Charm. "I should pack and carry my own things, Hermione. You've done it enough."
She hugged Harry tightly before swishing and flicking her new wand in a complex series of spells and charms.
Harry smiled broadly. "This is brilliant!"
The following morning was hectic, and little Teddy reacted to the sudden tension. He was inconsolable. When Winky popped into the room saying, "Mistress, let Winky take the young master. You is upset. The young master knows." Andromeda relinquished her grandson to Winky's gentle care. Expertly, the little house-elf soothed Teddy to sleep.
After that, the farewells were swift but heartfelt. As Harry bade Kreacher farewell, Hermione told Andromeda, "I don't know how long owl-delivery takes, but we'll send you a message by galleon when we arrive."
"The coin gets warm when there's a message?" Andromeda asked.
The previous night, Hermione had created several message coins, similar to those she had used for the Defense Association during fifth year. "Yes. With the Protean Charm, a message inscribed on the master coin changes all others to that same message. It's magically generated so distance isn't a concern."
"That'll be a relief." Andromeda hugged the younger witch tightly. "Be careful." There were tears in the older witch's eyes.
Hermione held the older witch tightly. "We will."
"We've got pretty good at keeping each other safe," Harry added when it was his turn to embrace his godfather's cousin. "Take care, Andromeda. Of you and Teddy."
Within minutes the putative siblings departed.
Despite their previous, rather horrible experiences with the wizarding government, and in the Ministry of Magic itself, Hermione and Harry had agreed to a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt in his office. They decided to rendezvous where they had waylaid Mafalda Hopkirk before infiltrating the Voldemort-controlled ministry.
"I know we agreed, Harry, but—"
"Getting cold feet?"
"Maybe," Hermione acknowledged.
"Yeah," he said. "Me, too."
She looked at him, met his serious green eyes, and shrugged. "He does have the Portkey."
"And my ID." Suddenly, Harry smiled mischievously. "But I've got my cloak!"
Hermione grinned. "And we know how to use it."
Harry chuckled. "Yes. Yes, we do."
They retraced their previously successful route, traveling under the relative safety of Harry's heirloom.
Upon entering the Ministry of Magic, they halted directly opposite the bank of fireplaces disgorging ministry employees on their morning commutes. Harry and Hermione surveyed the enormous atrium. It was mostly the same as before with highly polished, dark wood floor and walls. The ceiling still sported inlaid golden symbols in a peacock blue background, and the security desk was placed at the far end of the vast Atrium, past the enormous, draped structure in the center of the room.
Hermione still remembered the golden fountain that once stood in place of that draped monolith. She had been offended by the larger than life statues of a wizard surrounded by a beautiful witch, goblin, centaur, and house-elf in varying positions of deference and adoration.
Yet, that display of blatant paternalism and bigotry had been a marked improvement over its replacement during Voldemort's short and devastating reign. In that blatant propaganda depicting wizarding superiority, oversized figures of a witch and wizard gazed upon those in the atrium from their ornately carved thrones perched atop a foundation of sculpted bodies of vacant-eyed Muggles: men, women and children. Thankfully, in the scant handful of days since the rightful government was restored, someone had covered the disgusting and perverse monument.
Harry gained Hermione's attention, squeezing her hand. "Ready?" he whispered.
"Maybe."
He turned to face her, his expression anxious.
"I mean," she said, "I don't like it here."
"Me either. Let's make it fast then."
She nodded. "Please."
Together, they recreated their successful crossing of Diagon Alley, dodging between employees and hugging the wall until they covered half the distance to the security desk.
Harry slowed, then stopped. Hermione paused, looking past Harry's shoulder to see what had drawn his attention. Ranged in formation near the security desk was a group of hit-wizards and Aurors, all wearing the distinctive armbands representing Kingsley Shacklebolt's personal detail.
Non-verbally, Hermione cast Muffliato on the invisibility cloak as Harry pointed to a blonde hit-witch. "I recognize that one."
"I thought so, too."
Shifting from foot-to-foot, and turning his head to better assess those in the atrium Harry said, "They're either here to escort us to Kingsley—"
"Or take us to Azkaban," she said, straightening her shoulders.
"So. An escape plan?" Harry asked.
"Definitely. We can't Apparate from here—"
Harry squeezed her hand. "The pin!"
"The pin? Oh! Yes. Of course." Hermione stuck her hand into her beaded bag and retrieved the Caduceus pin. "Because it's medical, it's exempt from any anti-Apparition ward. Just don't let them separate us," she said as she attached the pin to her jacket.
"Not a chance," Harry said. "At least we'll know."
Hermione agreed. "Kingsley's given us no reason to doubt him before—"
Harry nudged her. "But we're a little paranoid."
Hermione snickered quietly. "With reason."
"Let's go," he said and set forth once again.
Harry and Hermione stepped into line behind a mixed group of witches and wizards. As soon as they drew near the ranged detail of the minister's, Harry yanked the cloak off him and Hermione.
If aggression fluoresced like a hex trail, the entire squad would have glowed like an Incendio.
Abruptly, Harry nodded to the hit-witch they had recognized. She proved to be as arrogant as she had been at Hogwarts, extending her empty hand, palm up, silently demanding Hermione and Harry relinquish their wands.
Hermione shook her head.
"It's not going to happen." Harry squared his shoulders. At his side, Hermione shifted her stance, eyes scanning the atrium for additional threats.
The hit-witch frowned. "No one sees the minister armed."
"He'll make an exception for us." Hermione tilted her chin in stubborn refusal to acquiesce.
An older Auror stepped forward. "You're being unreasonable."
"I'm Harry Potter. I've more than enough reason." Harry stared at a seemingly vacant spot in the center of the detail's formation. "Let's not waste more time."
By this point, Harry's name, and also Hermione's, were spreading from witch to wizard, and employee to civilian. The atrium was filling with hissed, whispered, and softly spoken acknowledgments of their presence.
A sudden distortion twisted reality. When the vertigo righted itself, there, inches from the point extrapolated by Harry and Hermione, stood the Minister of Magic pro tem, dressed in a set of formal, ministerial robes.
Exaggeratedly, Harry sighed. "We wanted to surprise you."
"I think you managed well enough," the Minister replied, stepping forward to shake Harry's hand and give Hermione a quick brush of cheek-to-cheek air kisses. "We've made a number of changes to security."
"Which can only be a good thing, Kingsley," Hermione replied, diplomatically.
Harry, being Harry, said, "As long as you're not hunting me, or mine, I don't care."
Shacklebolt opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes focused beyond Harry and Hermione. The atrium was filling with people attempting to eavesdrop and gawk at the young heroes. The personal detail shifted positions, until Harry, Hermione and the minister were on the inside of a defensible structure.
"I haven't breakfasted yet," Shacklebolt said as he walked toward the bank of Floos. "Have you?"
"We have but it's all right." Harry fell in step with the minister. "We're both pretty much hungry all the time these days."
Shacklebolt paused, and Hermione stiffened under his appraisal especially when he said, "Looks like you've been on short rations for some time."
"We'll be fine," Harry replied in a clipped tone.
"Eating well for a couple of weeks doesn't quite make up for many months of near starvation." Shacklebolt resumed his pace.
"Which is why we're pretty much hungry all the time," Hermione replied, quickening her pace to keep up with the tall wizard.
The minister's detail shifted, ranged and deflected interference as the group sliced their way through the crowd.
"Speaking from experience," Harry said casually, "we'll be fine in a week or two."
Disconcerted, Shacklebolt stopped dead, turning to face the younger, smaller wizard. Harry's expression was closed and distant, and it was clear the reason he knew about short rations was not open for discussion. Shacklebolt simply said, "In that case, let me treat you to second breakfast."
Hermione giggled, and Harry gave her a querying look. "Sorry, Harry. It's Tolkien."
"Who?" Harry clearly had no idea what she was talking about.
"Lord of the Rings? Remember, they're making it into a movie."
He shrugged. "Oh, yeah."
Hermione had loaned the books to Harry to read during the summer after their first year at school. She had thought he might enjoy learning how Muggle authors imagined wizards and magic. She had been more innocent then, and so had Harry.
The group passed the covered monument, and Hermione shuddered. "What are your plans for this … thing?" she asked.
"To replace it, of course."
Hermione smiled. "Promise not to make that monstrosity into a statue of Harry."
Harry sounded shocked. "You can't. No. Don't let them do that, Kingsley."
"It's currently the most popular idea. After all, you're—" Shacklebolt smirked and drew air quotes, "—a living symbol of our deliverance from Darkness."
Harry choked. Hermione patted him on the back.
The minister turned to look at the draped monolith. "If it were my choice, they would replace it with statues of the three of you."
"What!?" Harry's jaw dropped.
Hermione stared at the big man. "Why?"
Shacklebolt smiled. "You two and Ron are a perfect example what cooperation and loyal friendship between factions - pureblood, half-blood, and Muggle-born – can achieve when we cast blood purity aside."
"I hate that idea." Harry paced, two steps one direction, a quick about-face, two steps in the reverse. "Worse, I hate that I can see your point."
"If you want to make a real statement about cooperation ending this war—" Hermione's expression was as riveting as a Fascinator Charm, "—then Dobby needs to be included, and Griphook, even though he betrayed us. We couldn't have completed Professor Dumbledore's mission without their help."
"And the centaurs." Harry jutted his chin.
Hermione looked at him. "The centaurs?"
"If they hadn't carried Umbitch off, then we'd never…"
When he trailed off, Hermione knew he was thinking of Sirius. She nudged him gently. "If you add the centaurs," she said hastily, "you have to add the thestrals and Buckbeak."
"Yeah."
The minister clasped his hands behind his back and pursed his lips. "Hmmm. It's a valid consideration, but…." He rocked on the balls of his feet. "What about Lupin … no. That would be a step too far, but the others." He squinted up at the draped edifice. "It wouldn't be all that dissimilar to the original statue."
Hermione said primly, "That golden fountain was good for only one thing."
"What would that be?" Shacklebolt turned to look at her.
"Saving Harry's life." At her side, Harry poked her in the ribs. She turned on him. "Do you remember that thing?" she asked indignantly. "It was demeaning, paternalistic and xenophobic! All the others staring adoringly at the mighty wizard." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly!"
In something of a role reversal, Harry said, "What Hermione's trying to say is a more even-handed representation of magical races, including witches and wizards, would be nice." His smile turned sly. "Besides, if you do it this way, you can say we gave our approval."
Hermione smiled brightly at Harry.
Shacklebolt's laugh was unrestrained and full-throated, causing a ripple through those still loitering in the atrium. "We'll make a diplomat of you yet, Harry."
Hermione thought Harry's response had been a clear example of his own natural intelligence surging to the fore, untampered, undamaged, and unfettered by the taint of Voldemort's Horcrux.
"Maybe." Harry said, looking a little like a Snitch evading capture.
Hermione leaned against his shoulder. "Let's wait until after we take our NEWTs."
The stiffness of his posture relaxed, and Harry said, "And finish at Gringotts. Maybe something else will crop up."
"You never know," she replied lightly.
Interrupting their banter, a loud growling noise could be heard, and Shacklebolt grinned. "I said I was hungry."
Hermione giggled, and Harry chuckles.
Within moments, the entire group were on a street in Muggle London where two taxis awaited them. Hermione and Harry joined Kingsley and the blonde hit-witch in one taxi, while the rest of the squad rode in the second.
Magically, the taxis threaded their way through late morning traffic. Recognizing several local landmarks, Hermione asked, "Kensington?"
Shacklebolt nodded. "I discovered the place we're going when I worked for the Prime Minister."
Conversation was sporadic, centering around reconstruction efforts for the school. They didn't speak of Snape or Australia.
When they arrived at their destination, the Aurors and hit-wizards emerged from the second taxi, three entered the café, and the fourth moved to block the rear door of the minister's taxi.
Within sixty seconds one of the detail poked his head out the café door and nodded. The Auror opened the taxi door, for Hermione, Shacklebolt, and Harry to ease out of the crowded back seat. Two of the detail remained outside, the others preceding them into the restaurant.
Hermione followed Harry into the building. The two paused at the entrance, swiftly surveying the large room, noting the number of windows and location of the exits.
Two Aurors remained outside, and the others deployed themselves effectively through the eatery.
Thankfully, it was otherwise empty.
The blonde hit-witch disappeared through a swinging door, returning with a tall, genial man who greeted the group cheerfully. His eyes widened when he recognized Harry, and then he smiled widely at Hermione.
Shacklebolt ignored his guests' unease. "I don't get here as often as I'd like. Flint, here, opened the café about ten years ago, after he decided being a Squib in a family of purebloods was more trouble than it was worth. I've come here since the first day he opened."
Flint said, "I've been cooking since I got Lexie's Patronus."
The blonde hit-witch snarled, "It's Alexandra, Flint. I've told you a number of times."
Unrepentant, Flint grinned before departing for his kitchen.
Immediately, a young man who strongly resembled Flint carried a tray toward their table. Plates of eggs, bacon, tomatoes and chops cluttered the table top. Without ceremony, Shacklebolt snagged two chops before helping himself to the eggs. Hermione poured tea for herself and Harry before offering to pour for the minister.
"Thank you," he said, nudging his mug her direction.
Harry ate two rashers of bacon before he piled beans and eggs on his plate. "This is great," Harry said around a bite of toast.
"Chew properly," Hermione scolded as she spooned a dollop of Devonshire cream on half a scone and reached for the pot of jam.
Harry grinned. It was almost like being back in school during more peaceful times.
Shacklebolt finished his second chop before saying another word.
Harry had added sugar to his second cup of tea, and Hermione snitched a rasher of untouched bacon from his plate. Harry chuckled, wagged his finger at her. "Manners!"
Hermione grinned.
The minister used his serviette, patting his mouth. "Alexandra."
The hit-witch dropped a shoulder, allowing a satchel to slide off her shoulder. She quickly brought it to the minister.
Hermione watched Shacklebolt rifle through scrolls of parchment, envelopes and file folders.
At her side, Harry covered a piece of toast with a thick layer of jam, and despite the seemingly friendly atmosphere, he hadn't dropped his guard.
Neither had Hermione. Their encounter with Dolohov and Rowle on Tottenham Court Road remained fresh in her mind. Casually, Hermione glanced around the room, pausing on each window before calculating the distance between table and kitchen door. In an attack, she wouldn't use the front door.
Finally, Shacklebolt withdrew a stack of papers and official looking documents from the satchel. "Here—" he handed two embossed parchments to Hermione, "—are certificates confirming that neither of you are under investigation, or on the wanted list of the British Ministry of Magic. Not that I anticipate your needing the help, but I prefer being thorough." He shuffled the papers again, separating two burgundy passports. Flipping the cover on the first revealed a picture of Harry. A runic seal shimmered across the picture and the cover. Shacklebolt opened the second passport. It was Hermione's, and it, too, had the runic enchantment. "These provide you with diplomatic immunity in any ICW member country."
Hermione stared at Shacklebolt. "This is quite unexpected. Thank you." Impulsively, she leaned over to hug the minister.
Harry asked, "Will someone please explain this to me?"
"Diplomatic immunity means we are only bound by the laws of Magical Britain, and can travel where we need to go without fear of reprisal in countries where V-V- the ousted government had sympathizers. It's a huge honor."
Harry offered Shacklebolt his hand. "We won't abuse your faith in us."
"I wouldn't have gone to the trouble if I thought you would." Kingsley pulled a lapel pin from his satchel. "This is your Portkey. It's also your return Portkey." Taking a deep breath he seemed to prepare himself before speaking again. "It has another function. I've personally placed a tracker on the pin— Wait! Hear me out," he said quickly as both Harry and Hermione stood abruptly.
"The explanation had better be good." Harry's tone was angry and threatening.
Hermione's tone was less confrontational, but still unhappy. "You wouldn't have said anything if you really were tracking us. So I expect there's a reasonable explanation."
Shacklebolt smiled at her, his pearly whites a vivid contrast to his dark skin. "I do wish you'd come work for me, Hermione. I could use more quick-witted people."
"Perhaps I'll come see you after my stint at Gringotts," she said amiably.
Harry was not so easily placated. "I'd like to know why you're placing a tracking charm on me."
"Not on you, Harry. It's on the Portkey. I have no right to follow your movements. You and Hermione are free to travel as you will, as long as you fulfill your end of the Gringotts agreement. This is merely a precautionary measure. The tracker is linked to a globe in my office, and no one other than those currently present has knowledge of its existence. If you're in trouble, or need assistance, activate the tracker and I'll send my most trusted Aurors to your aid."
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, a frown settling upon his features. "I don't like the idea of being beholden to the Ministry."
"Your detail," Hermione interjected.
"Beg your pardon," Kingsley said.
"If you send anyone to help us, I want them to be from this group. We know them. I can't say I trust them—" she glanced at the offended faces of Kingsley's team, "—yet, but I'm willing to accept their loyalty to you, and by extension to us if we're in desperate need of help." She looked at Harry, and his frown eased. "What about the passports?" she asked.
Harry sat up straight.
"They're clean," Shacklebolt stated. "I checked them myself, this morning."
Harry raised an interrogative eyebrow, but remained silent.
"Not only were the documents laced with tracking charms, but there was a listening charm as well." Shacklebolt sighed heavily. "Two Ministry employees have been relieved of their positions, and are currently guests of Magical Law Enforcement's holding cells, awaiting trial for malfeasance, sabotage, and misuse of authority.
"All right." Harry accepted the burgundy colored passbook. "Thank you. My reaction might have been—"
"Understandable." Shacklebolt handed Hermione her passport as he spoke. "You and Hermione have every reason to be cautious. Hopefully, by the time you return things will be more settled."
"I'll look forward to it," Hermione said. "What's the activating phrase?"
Kingsley Shacklebolt grinned, and Hermione was reminded that he was a very attractive man. She thought he would do very well in the political arena.
"Potterwatch," the minister said.
Harry choked. "You're kidding!"
Shacklebolt laughed. "I'm not. It's something you'll remember, but it's unlikely to be used in general conversation – at least, not by you or Hermione."
"That's true enough," she said, and picked the lapel pin off the table top. She tucked it into a pocket of her beaded bag, separate from the Resurrection Stone. "And now, I suspect we really must go."
Kingsley rose to his feet. Their farewells were cordial, offering the possibility of a true friendship in the future.
At the café's entrance, Alexandra the hit-witch nodded before opening the door. "Thank you," said Hermione. "I hope you won't be offended if I hope not to see you before our return."
Alexandra bowed her head. "I'm not offended."
Harry offered his hand. "Thank you," he said.
Alexandra accepted the offer to shake. "No, Mr. Potter. Thank you. You and Miss Granger, and your friend, the Weasley boy."
As soon as they were on the sidewalk, Hermione pulled Harry deeper into Kensington, toward the palace.
"Where to?" she asked, pulling him around a corner and into an alley.
Harry's eyebrows rose, but he followed willingly enough.
When Hermione ducked into a recessed doorway and began tugging at his rucksack, Harry caught on quickly. Within thirty seconds, they were covered by the invisibility cloak upon which Hermione cast Snape's original spell. "Do you think they're following us?" he asked.
"I'm not sure, but we'll take care of that presently." Wielding her wand like a baton, Hermione conducted anti-eavesdropping spells, tracker revealing charms, and several other diagnostic spells. "I don't think it would be for any malicious reason." She smiled. "There's nothing I can detect, but let's leave from somewhere they don't expect."
"Yeah. I don't really think Kingsley would…."
Hermione agreed. "Certainly not as long as he wants our cooperation."
Harry stiffened. "Like Scrimgeour?"
"No. They're very different sorts, or at least it appears they are."
"Kingsley was in the Order."
"And he risked himself with Potter—uh – the underground broadcast."
Harry chuckled. "Have to be careful with that. If you were holding the pin—" Hermione paled and swayed at the idea she might have triggered the Portkey without Harry. He patted her arm. "Not to worry, 'mione. I'm quick. I would've grabbed it before you disappeared. You're not going without me."
"All right," she said. "Where should we go as an intermediate point?"
"Nowhere near the house. Or your parents'. Or … well somewhere they won't—"
"What about the New Forest?" Hermione asked. His expression was all the reply she needed to verbally follow her train of thought. "I think we should say goodbye to the herd."
"Won't they gore us?" Harry pressed one hand against his silver-scarred wound.
"We're part of the herd now." She patted her beaded bag. "Brian brought some books to the ward this morning. I can't wait to read them."
Harry snickered. "Of course you can't." Then he added, "I'd like to read them."
"You would?"
"Yeah." He spoke earnestly. "If I've been claimed, I'd like to know what that means, and it's not fair of me to rely on you to find out the information. You've shouldered more than your fair share of that responsibility.
Hermione hugged him, and her throat was a little choked up. "Thanks Harry. If this had happened a year or two ago, I would think it meant you didn't need me anymore, and I'd worry about our friendship, but now…."
"Now you're my sister by choice! You're stuck with me!"
She grinned at him. "Likewise. Let's go!"
On a silent count of three, they turned into their Apparition.
The clearing where Amandaria gave her life to save Severus Snape was bright and sun-dappled. It was quiet and peaceful and beautiful.
Hermione breathed deeply.
Harry pulled the cloak from their heads, and tucked it into his rucksack before slinging it over his shoulder. "I can see myself coming here often."
"It's so peaceful. I'd love to read here."
Neither expected the full New Forest herd to crowd into the meadow.
Harry's eyes widened comically. "Wow!"
The unicorns were breathtakingly lovely. Their iridescent coats gleamed in the sunlight. It was almost painful to look in their direction.
Several mares and foals formed an avenue, down which trotted the herd stallion in all his glory. Hermione and Harry's reception was warmer than either expected, and both were jostled between enthusiastic foals and fillies.
By the time the stallion greeted each personally, his horn lightly touching Hermione's and Harry's foreheads, the two friends were practically giddy from the herd's enveloping acceptance and goodwill.
With everything that had happened over the past grim, horrifying year, and the increasingly dangerous years before that, Hermione was hopeful for the future of wizarding Britain. She was even more hopeful for her own personal quest to find her parents.
She scratched the base of a yearling's newly growing horn. Clearly it itched, and the foal leaned against her. His smell was clean and spicy – perhaps cloves, she thought. She was eager to read the books she had received from Severus Snape.
With the sound of bees and other insects droning on in the background, Harry approached her, gliding his hand along the foal's withers. "It's time to go," he said.
"I know."
"We'll come back."
"Yes."
With a final scratch at the newly merging horn, Hermione caressed the broad cheek of the foal before retrieving the Portkey Shacklebolt had given them earlier.
"Ready?" she asked, reaching out to Harry with the pin in her palm.
He clasped her hand, Portkey firmly wrapped between them. "Ready," he said. "Together?"
She smiled, and on three they said, "Potterwatch!" and together, they spun out of sight.
Left behind, the unicorns milled about the meadow, each one pausing on the spot their brethren had so recently stood. Then, with a scream of command, the stallion trotted into the forest, followed by the youngest mares, the fillies and foals, with the most senior mares bringing up the rear.
Within the space of sixty seconds, the clearing was empty save for a few scintillating motes of magic dancing in the sunlight.
~o0o~
