Disclaimer: Not mine. Respects paid.

The Wandmakers' Legacy

June, 1998

'My Lord.' Heavy robes pooled in graceful, tar-coloured ripples on the rich green carpet as Snape dropped to one knee in front of the unnaturally pale wizard, mask still firmly in place until his master requested its removal.

'Severus.' Voldemort's voice, warped by the destruction of so many souls on the extensive journey to permanently mutilate his own, could never be warm. But it could be approving, congratulatory and sometimes even wistful. The spy was relieved to hear the first tone now. 'Rise. Discard that triviality – we know who you are.' Snape rose smoothly, one hand unfastening the cool facial covering with the ease of many years of practice. He did not glance towards the room's third occupant, knowing that Lucius Malfoy sat comfortably in an armchair, watching the exchange like an extremely refined bird of prey.

'How is your bondmate?' The skeletal hand gestured for the one-time professor to seat himself, and the spy acquiesced, folding long limbs and too-slender frame into the velveteen. He schooled himself not to bark a laugh at the polite, conversational question that reminded him so of Albus Dumbledore. The Dark Lord seldom enquired into the lives of his followers in so gentle a fashion, his accomplishments as a Legilimens so legendary that they either volunteered the information or he took it without their noticing.

But Voldemort's whims included the occasional display of respect towards those who held an exalted place in his unfolding Dark Order, and as none currently stood higher than Severus Snape, he was most often on the receiving end of such courtesies.

'She is as well as can be expected, my lord,' he replied quietly. 'Still assured of my faithfulness to her precious Potter and that old bat, McGonagall.'

Voldemort laughed, and Snape met Lucius' gaze for the first time, storm-grey and midnight betraying the shiver they both repressed at the chilling sound. Even when their master was in good humour, his chuckle sent slivers of ice sliding down his followers' spines.

'Excellent. Schoolgirls are so easy to manipulate. And your child?'

'He is only nine months old, my Lord, but I am assured that his various incomprehensible noises and lack of coordination are considered normal development.' As this, even Lucius could not contain his snort of laughter. His rival's dislike of the pre-teen students at Hogwarts was legendary – the idea of Severus Snape holding an infant was almost side-splitting.

'Indeed.' The red eyes sharpened, signalling the end of their pleasantries. 'I was most disturbed to hear news of the dragons that Arthur Weasley's second son brought with him from Romania. My...other source...was unable to reveal their numbers. Surely the Mudblood must know?'

Snape very carefully controlled his limbs as Voldemort finished his question, forcing himself to maintain the appearance of utter relaxation, even as his mind quickly separated that which could be told to his dark master and that which must, at all costs, remain secret.

His eyes flicked to Lucius' again, only to see a smug smile playing around the aristocrat's mouth. Lucius, as the one to forge the initial alliance, was the only man in contact with the other spy placed so highly in the Order's ranks, the traitor who endangered his very existence. It was one of their constant, personal battles, waged viciously within the camp of Voldemort's Circle of Pure-Bloods. Snape desperately needed the identity of the other informant, or all the Order's planning would be for naught, their every move betrayed before it could be made.

But Voldemort was nothing if not clever. None of his spies knew who the others were, their contacts with large numbers of their fellows intentionally more limited than that of the Death Eaters who performed the jobs of soldiers. Less than eighteen of his comrades knew he spied on the Order, and even fewer Order members knew he reported on the Dark Lord.

Helped, of course, by the fact that amongst those who do know, some of them don't believe. 'My Lord already has news of the dragons?' He feigned a small, regretful smile. 'I had hoped to bring you those tidings myself. They number approximately one-hundred-ten, and are currently camped on a moor in Hogwarts' general vicinity.'

He hesitated here, waiting for the faint tension in the room to peak, the other two hanging on his words as if there should be more, and said, 'My Lord, I would beg you to reconsider keeping the identity of your second informant in the upper levels of the Order from me. There are so many mistakes one can make in that precarious position...I am in the perfect place to offer guidance-'

'Since we all know how well you thrive on "rearing the next generation",' Lucius sneered. 'Thank Merlin Hogwarts closed – I thought we'd never hear the end of your moaning about dunderheads and exploding cauldrons.'

The saturnine wizard didn't turn to face his tormentor, keeping his eyes locked on the speculative crimson. 'A classroom full of idiots not paying attention is quite different than assisting someone through treacherous waters to serve you, my Lord.' Mentally, his dismay sharpened. He had not assumed that it would be one of the younger generation, but in the pureblood's haste to belittle him, Lucius had inadvertently given him a hint.

Which meant yet more soul-rending doubt for his bondmate and her friends. The information Voldemort was receiving was highly classified. If it was one of the witches or wizards he'd taught in recent years, there were only a half-dozen possibilities as to who it could be, and none of those options would be better than the rest.

'You disappoint, Severus.' Gone was the safety net of approval as the Dark Lord stared at his servant, eyes narrowing. 'Are you playing games with your master after all this time?' Snape tensed, practically drowning in the satisfaction rolling from Lucius in waves from his other side. 'You know precisely why I have never cared to part with that information to you or to anyone. And you have left something out. My source told me you spent a half-hour closeted with the Weasley who brought this cavalry, giving him guidance as to how to strike at our forces. Do you not wish to disclose to me what you told? Has Bellatrix-' the name dripped scorn, his one-time favourite now disgraced '-been correct?'

Snape thought quickly, knowing that his answer had to come immediately. That this spy was also reporting on him was damning. 'No, my Lord. I did not include those details because I deemed them of little importance. Naturally, I directed the boy to fly against the giants – a primary school student could have come to that conclusion, and I assumed that we would offer our allies flame-retardant spells and possibly fly the Dementors into the Order's force. Dragons cannot feel, but they will all have human riders and therefore be easy to neutralize.'

The rage working towards murder checked itself as scarlet studied ebony, and Snape pushed forward select parts of his meeting with Charlie Weasley, allowing Voldemort to ascertain the truth for himself. Anger vanished in an instant as Snape's mind met with his master's approval and the Dark Lord nodded.

'Your lordship did indicate that we would be planning the final assault tonight, and I was going to advise you then,' he delicately pressed his advantage.

Voldemort reclined once more in his seat, making the room appear, for just an instant, as though it were nothing more than an informal gathering of old, wealthy friends that one would expect to see sipping at some rich, ancient cognac and breathing rings of smoke from cigars.

The illusion vanished as the Dark Lord met the unwavering gazes of each of his followers in turn, a joyless smile curling the edges of his non-existent lips. 'We have waited almost too long. I do not wish for the Order of the Phoenix, rag-tag and boy-led though it is, to gather more allies.'

'We strike at Solstice.'

~888~

March, 1997

Flamma and Terra flowed from the rock back into Hermione in streams of vermillion and sparkling dirty jade. She breathed it in through her mouth and nose, feeling the magic licking eyes and ears and caressing her arms, raising goose bumps on sensitive skin as it soaked back into her body. The arms of her bondmate on either side of her were washed in strands of woven gold and Pacific-ocean-blue, the criss-cross of threads visible in loops of infinity, wrapping her own figure-eight.

For a moment, her body flamed with itchiness, as if she had been attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. Hermione took a deep breath to restrain her fingers from lifting to scratch at her arms, neck and face. If she started, she'd draw blood before she stopped.

The young woman's mind suddenly stopped on the moment in the greenhouse – had it truly only been five months ago? – where the same prickly sensation had travelled up and down her nerve endings after her first orgasm.

Did it? She blushed, heat rushing to her face as she remembered, too late, that she was completely open to her bondmate, and he was reading her thoughts as easily as he knew his own. But she found the favour returned as she was suddenly viewing her own naked and slippery body through his memory, watching him delve into himself, searching for a similar reaction—

As his memory-self came, head thrown back in a position of total vulnerability, she felt the same whisper in his skin, a gentle bubbling in his blood rising to meet hers, adding another seal to their bond.

Like the visible manifestation of their power, the nearly unbearable crawling feeling faded after a few moments, trailing a deep contentment and an odd sense of chaste sanctity, as if they had been consecrated by the unexpected ritual.

Sought, found. Hunger, sated. Desire, quenched. Home.

Abruptly, the wall barring their passage vanished. In the place of rough granite, there now stood a pair of massive oak double doors, easily the size of those in the Great Hall. Inscribed on each door were two symbols in intricate detail, a decorative representation of the power that sealed and protected the place within.

For a moment, the four wand-holders stood, stock-still and silent. It was Mr. Ollivander's steady, quiet voice that broke the hold that surprise had on them.

'The magic has called you. Answer it. Let it conduct you. This is a world for which you have been made. Open the doors, children.'

~888~

A schoolbag dropped inelegantly next to his feet. Blaise Zabini deliberately took his time lifting his eyes, scornful brows drawn together as he gazed into the face of his Housemate.

'Do you need something, Parkinson?' He could feel the eyes of the room centring on them, breaths being held as confrontation charged the air. The rumour mill had made short work of his inexplicable actions that afternoon, but Pansy was the first to speak to him.

'What are you playing at?' she hissed, too angry to engage in her usual games. 'Defending Weasley's brat sister? Has no one clued you in to the fact that she's Potter's favourite bedtime toy? And what that potentially means?'

'Rather you should ask whether I give a damn about what it might mean. I'm not stupid, Parkinson. A statement I would not so readily make about you in light of your recent actions.'

'You-!' her hand scrambled for her wand, only to find herself facing the business end of his.

'Have you forgotten how widely hated we are right now?' he whispered harshly. 'We were never popular, but the second rise of the Dark Lord has made it worse than ever. Now, if you go around hexing every Gryffindor that gets in your way, especially those connected with Potter, who's going to get the short end of the stick?'

'Outside of Hogwarts, it's not like they matter.'

'But we're in Hogwarts, Parkinson. And you are going to be worse than useless in every way if you're expelled.' He sat back in his chair, assuming a deliberately aloof pose in contrast to the intensity of his gaze. 'Bide your time. Wait for it. The day will come when neither walls nor Dumbledore protect them. And you will be able to do anything you wish.'

'And your offer to tutor Granger?'

So that had also made it on the gossip circuit. Zabini restrained a sigh. 'Know thy enemy. She's one of the principles.' Almost absent-mindedly, he moved a bishop up a square. 'First they must trust you.' He let his nearly-black eyes lock with her dark blue. 'Then you can strike.'

~888~

'A Nexus.'

'And what, precisely, is a Nexus? I believe we skipped over the details entirely. The headmaster was in such a hurry to get here.'

'I had a hunch to follow, Severus,' Dumbledore replied in his most deceptively mild tone. 'And as your magic has so spectacularly proven me correct, I think it was worth it. Now we have plenty of time for Jeremiah to explain everything you want to know.'

A soft snort, and the silver eyes glowed with amusement. 'Really, Albus. With you in possession of most of their surviving documents, I wonder how you expect me to be the one tendering explanation.'

'I wouldn't dare presume I know more than a man with hands-on experience,' Dumbledore deftly demurred.

'As fascinating as it is to listen to the two of you snip at each other, Miss Granger and I could use some enlightenment. Preferably this century.' The impatience Snape had mastered in his office loaded their bond and lent a barely-controlled bite to his voice.

There was nothing of his smile left when Ollivander's gaze settled on the Defence Professor. 'You doubtless have no desire to hear this, but passion suits you. It is necessary for the magic.'

Snape's eyes narrowed as Hermione smothered a smile. While she knew that none of her friends would ever dream of applying the word 'passionate' to their cold teacher, the old wandmaker had clearly had no difficulty seeing through his armoured layers. 'Albus has told me that amongst your many similarities, you share an insatiable hunger for knowledge. Please keep in mind, therefore, that much of what I can tell you is not traceable in books and cannot be verified by any other sources. Much of it is legend, handed down orally through the descendents of those who retain a remnant of the skill you now possess in such great quantity.'

'Anything you can tell us,' Hermione purposefully gentled her voice even as her bondmate's testiness rose with Ollivander's disclaimer, 'anything at all, would be helpful, Mr. Ollivander. We are both at a complete loss in regards to Raw Magic, and it has already proven...problematic.'

'Your fight with one of your peers,' the older wizard sighed. 'Albus told me that you were running the risk of either exposure or an irredeemable accident.' The young woman tilted her head, lips pressed together.

'To begin at the beginning-'

A spasm of pain lanced through Hermione's back, and both she and Snape stiffened as she cut off her gasp, his hand rising as if to support her. 'If this is going to take some time, might I suggest sitting down?' he asked tetchily.

They glanced about them. The doors had swung open to reveal a hall of massive proportions, a domed ceiling so far above them that the Quidditch pitch could have fit inside – stands, hoops and all. In the middle of the hall, directly under the peak of the dome, were four tables. They were huge, round and, even from this distance, clearly draped in the four colours of the Houses upstairs. Ringing them were wooden benches, which seemed too rickety to risk.

'Of course,' Dumbledore said hastily, and twitched his wand to bring four over-stuffed armchairs into existence at the entrance of the vast space. 'Forgive a scatterbrained old man, Hermione. Please, sit.'

'Out of curiosity, Albus, can you create anything that isn't in a violently bright colour?' Ollivander asked idly as he sank onto a sunshine-yellow cushion.

'The headmaster is incapable of allowing one's dignity to remain intact when he has the chance to impinge,' Snape assured the wandmaker dryly as he sank into the bright purple chair behind him.

'Severus, that's hardly a charitable-'

'The beginning,' Hermione interrupted pointedly, ignoring the byplay between the three men.

'As you wish. The beginning...

'The story as I was taught it begins with the birth of the world itself. Magic was imbued in the very minerals and elements that form the planet and, like all living things, it has evolved as eons pass.' He smiled as they traded startled glances. 'Different magics have suited the world at different stages of its development. There is no way of knowing what shapes magic took before men began recording its existence, but I do know that the arts used in antiquity differ greatly from what we use today. The power you have so unexpectedly manifested is one of these arts, one of the greatest.

'You called it Raw Magic a moment ago. The term, while not incorrect, is extremely vague. All magic is raw power in some form or another. A baby Summoning things from across the room is Raw Magic. An uncontrolled outburst of power – in passion or anger – is Raw Magic. Blood Magic is raw, as are all the roots of the Dark Arts. Binding Magic is raw, and so are Love Magics.'

The steady gaze from shining silver eyes evaluated them neutrally. 'Your specific talent, wed to and triggered by an Unconscious Bond, is Earth Magic, also called feral magic, and is defined by the four elements that you have expressed. It is one of the oldest, obscurest and largely lost magics belonging to man. It is also amongst the most powerful, as you have undoubtedly discovered.

'This cavern, named Founders' Hall in the diaries of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, is a Nexus. It is the central site of feral magic in the British Isles, where the lines of power that run through the Earth leak through the crust and become more accessible to those of us who live on the surface of the planet. This place was also home to the Order of the Ang'guin Weyr. When the society still existed.'

'Founders' Hall?' Black eyes darted to Dumbledore, who nodded gravely.

'It is not well-known enough to be a true myth, but the headmasters of this school have been searching for this site for generations. Prior to the construction of the castle, for most of the time that our founders were actually running Hogwarts, everything took place below ground, in this location. It is one of the reasons that the passages beneath the castle are so extensive. We are on the same subterranean level as the Chamber of Secrets and the passages that once hid the Philosopher's Stone.'

'But the doors are sealed. You needed us to gain access,' Snape said slowly, frowning. 'No one without our Earth Magic could enter.'

'True. This particular room was completely closed until about fifteen minutes ago. The last known occurrence of Unconscious Bonding happened roughly a thousand years ago,' his employer answered indirectly.

'One of the founders?' Hermione asked eagerly.

'Possible, but unknown. There is no record of such a thing, but it does mean that this magic was still alive when the school was created.'

'It was – but just barely,' Ollivander re-claimed his tale. 'Hogwarts came into existence because Earth Magic was failing. Or rather, from a modern perspective, evolving.'

'Failing how?' Hermione pressed.

'You have felt the power that runs in your blood, that seems to pull at you, that guides and occasionally dictates your actions.' He could see the affirmative in their eyes. 'When have you ever felt such a strong connection to magic before?'

'When purchasing my wand,' Snape said cautiously after a moment's silence.

'Exactly,' smiled the wandmaker. 'Most human beings, even thousands of years ago, did not possess Earth Magic. Much of what could be called the magical population of the day capped their limited power with the ability to levitate small objects, light candles with a sweep of their hands and brew extremely simple potions. The talents of such a witch or wizard, after many years of practice, might equal the knowledge and abilities of any student who has completed the first-year curriculum.

'The notable exceptions were those witches and wizards who were members of the Order of the Ang'guin Weyr. They were a class that could control the elements, tapping the power of Earth itself, capable of almost limitless advance. They dedicated themselves to study, to expanding their knowledge of the magic that appeared without boundaries.

'They discovered the power of pure love, of sacrifice, of unconditional compassion. From those less savoury spun the Blood Rites now forbidden to us, and the foundations of Dark Magic now so old they are impossible to practice, like Soul-Splitting.'

The three exchanged swift looks, worry creasing the foreheads of the two men. If the Dark Lord used this kind of magic...

He placed elemental wards around Harry in the Riddle House, Hermione reminded her bondmate. He seems to have some knowledge of such power.

'And what happened to them?' Hermione asked into the loaded silence. There was no hoping that Ollivander had not noticed the current of tension that had run through them all with his last statement, but she was fairly certain that offering an explanation for their sudden lapse was also out of the question.

He gave her a curious stare before continuing. 'The magic changed. The severity of the power imbalance gradually began to even out. The normal population was bearing increasingly more children who expressed greater amounts of everyday magic, and the Order was finding fewer and fewer born with their prodigious abilities. Never a large society to begin with, over the course of three generations their numbers dwindled from roughly a thousand to just over one hundred.

'With the risk of losing centuries of work, they knew that something had to be done to preserve what they could before they died out all together.

'The members of the Order had never needed an intermediary to do their magic. They willed, or spoke, or gestured, and it simply came to pass. But they discovered that when they placed the right kind of conduit in the hands of a witch or wizard who possessed no Earth Magic, only a reasonable dose of the everyday variety, their power was amplified to an incredible degree. Enough to continue working with the magic that the Order feared would go extinct.'

'Wands. Wands are our intermediary,' Hermione pitched in swiftly, recalling Dumbledore's words in Snape's office.

'Exactly. Notice that you can cast some simpler spells without it, but all complicated magic requires the use of a wand. The first wandmaker set the precedents that have lasted for all the generations of wand making. The materials we use, the method – we let the kernel of the Earth Magic we still have running in our blood guide our creation of each wand.'

'In your blood...? You are a direct descendent of one of the Order?'

'Indeed. Unbeknownst to most, a much-weakened strain of Earth Magic survived, passed through blood from mothers to daughters and fathers to sons. The wandmakers have clung to this art, for it is the last thread that allows us to continue to create. It is also what gives us our edge. Our history tells us of the on-going debate regarding the secret to wandlore. It is a constant note of tension between other races – like the Goblins – and humanity. How do you suppose the Ministry has managed to keep it under lock and key for centuries? Earth Magic is acknowledged by all the magical races of the world. Without it, unicorns would not give me their hair, phoenixes would deny me their feathers, and dragon heart-string would flay my hands to the bone. It is Ether that directs my choices of wood, and helps me bridge the gap between customer and instrument.'

'And yet, it is not compatible with Earth Magic,' Snape said irritably, running long fingers through his hair.

'Naturally not. You have seen the instantaneous magic you have at your, admittedly tenuous, command. You have witnessed the strength of the elements. Forcing that through a wand – no matter how serviceable – is like asking the sunrise to fit in the flare of a candle. It simply cannot be done.

'But the sudden need to educate a larger population in a completely different way prompted the creation of Hogwarts. Magic became something nailed down – set, if you will, in stone. Formulas for teaching it were developed, re-worked, improved upon and advanced – but the idea that there was a "right" method for the passing of magical knowledge was born with this institution, and it has changed surprisingly little since our founding fathers strode these halls.'

'How did they know the Nexus was here? Why did they build over it?'

The unsettling gaze swept over them, lingering last on Dumbledore. 'The founders of Hogwarts were wielders of Earth Magic. They knew that even though their students, and the descendents of those students, would never feel its touch, the nearness of such power helps young witches and wizards mature into their magic more thoroughly.

'They were the last of their kind. With their deaths, the direct link between Earth and humanity closed. Until Albus approached me a few weeks ago regarding your peculiar gifts, it was thought impossible that it should be re-opened.'

'Which brings us to the million-Galleon question,' Snape said grimly, leaning forward in his atrocious chair. 'Why?'

'Necessity. There is much I do not know about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but the journal passages that I have read make it clear that justice and the maintenance of balance were two of the Order's most sacred duties. All things exist in balance, and if the scale tips too far one way or another, that equilibrium cannot be restored. Whatever You-Know-Who's power, his workings hearken back into magics men have long considered vanished. Earth and magic have responded as best they can. Though you only triggered the magic by contact with one another and the creation of your bond, you were both born with the magic to defend our world.'

'We know that Voldemort's studies have carried him farther in the path of evil than any before him,' Dumbledore added gently. 'I am equally certain that the techniques discovered or fashioned by the Ang'guin Weyr cannot be undone by normal magic. When I fail – as you know I will – Harry's determination, Minerva's knowledge and all the help of the Order of the Phoenix will not be able to un-make some of things Lord Voldemort has created.'

Snape surged to his feet, standing clad in his shirt-sleeves and black woollen trousers in the warm underground room. His face and voice were matched in grim determination.

'How do you recommend we begin?'

~888~

Ron wrinkled his nose at his Potions essay, scrawled a half-hearted conclusion and shoved it across the table, wet ink glistening like crude oil. 'Slughorn might be better than Snape, but I still hate writing essays.'

His best friend, sitting hunched at the end of the table, gave no indication that he had heard. Fingers were poring over slanted script, sometimes flipping the text to read it sideways, jotting occasional sentences on a piece of parchment trying to curl over on itself. Like Harry's practical experience over a cauldron, his essays were now littered with "stellar inspirations", as Slughorn's silver pen was so eager to proclaim. While Ron cared almost nothing for who carried the best grades in the class – it had never been him – even he was tiring of Slughorn's never-ending delight in the things that Harry hadn't – and couldn't – accomplish on his own.

'Have you thought of a way to get that memory?' he asked casually. The other boy shot him a glare, irritation glittering behind his frames.

'What, exactly, do you think I'm doing now?'

'Wasting time,' the red-head answered bluntly. 'Hermione's right, mate. You're not going to find whatever you need in there. He said last week that we'll be doing experimental potions in class tomorrow. Maybe you can make something that'll soften him up.'

'Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?' Harry muttered, returning his focus to the pages.

Ron stared at him, a vial of liquid so golden it looked like condensed light glittering in his memory. 'Lucky. Harry...' he said slowly, and this time, the suppressed excitement in his voice made the other wizard's head rise. 'That's it. Get lucky.'

Non-comprehension flashed impatiently in green eyes. 'What d'you mean?'

'Use your lucky potion.'

'Brilliant!' Ginny announced from the armchair where her Ancient Runes texts were draped over the arms and winged back like beige scales rippling over scarlet skin. 'Why didn't we think of that before?'

'Felix Felicis?' Harry rolled the words out of his mouth hesitantly. 'I dunno...I was sort of saving it...'

'What for?' Ron asked urgently. 'What on earth is more important than this memory?'

'Your lives,' Harry replied instantly, green eyes meeting the blue and brown frankly. 'What if something happens? What if another one of you is poisoned? Or hurt like Katie? What if Voldemort attacks Hogwarts? There is so little of it, and it's so precious...' he shivered. 'I can't waste it on something so frivolous.'

'Harry, you've got to get that memory,' Ginny pressed as Ron sank back in his seat, surrendering. 'It's all about stopping Voldemort, isn't it? These terrible things – everything you fear – it all comes back to him.'

As Harry opened his mouth to further object, a sharp rapping on the window interrupted them. An owl's wings battered against the early-spring wind outside as Ginny leapt to the lattice and unhooked the lock. One of the school's large barn owls darted inside and settled on the back of Harry's chair with a hoot of thanks.

'He's got something,' Ron noted as the bird pointedly stuck out its leg to Harry. The dark-haired boy hurriedly untied the missive.

'Dumbledore?' Ginny asked tersely, sitting up straight in her chair.

Harry unfurled it, stared at it, and shook his head. 'No. Take a look.' Both siblings rose, flanking his chair to read a shaky scrawl over his shoulder.

Dear Harry, Ron and Hermione,

Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him, and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you'd have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you'd nip down for the burial tomorrow evening. I'm planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favourite time of day. I know you're not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the Cloak. Wouldn't ask but I can't face it alone.

Hagrid

'He's mental,' Ron said wonderingly as they finished reading it. 'That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me. Told them to help themselves.'

'And the security risk is high. Unacceptably high.' Ginny slanted a glance at her boyfriend, knowing that his friendship with the half-giant prompted him to agree almost automatically.

Sure enough: 'We've been down to see him by night before.'

'But never over something like this,' his girlfriend objected firmly. 'If it were a matter of saving him-'

'I'd want to go even less,' her brother cut her off, shuddering. 'Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot.'

'And anyway, tomorrow, you should use Felix and try for the memory from Slughorn, not go running after massive dead spiders.'

Harry's resolve teetered, then cracked. A decisive nod. 'I know. I s'pose Hagrid'll have to bury Aragog without us.'

'And the memory?' Ginny pressed flatly. Green eyes glowered at her, but she didn't back down. 'Harry-'

'All right! If I can't get Slughorn to talk in class, I'll take Felix tomorrow night and give it a go.'

~888~

'Sleep,' Ollivander's final admonishment came as he was stepping into the green fire. An exhausting forty-five minutes of meditation had followed their impromptu history lesson, and Hogwarts' cleverest witch was more than a little grumpy. After Neville's accident, Pansy's attack and the magnificent power that had opened the ancient hall, Hermione and Snape had expected more miraculous demonstrations to come tumbling from their fingers.

Flamma had conceded to spit a few desultory sparks and Ether had chilled them briefly. Neither Aqua nor Terra had stirred to life at all.

Standing in Snape's office with their unexpected teacher, she saw a wizened smile cracking the tired face. 'Do not expect too much, too quickly. Just as a magical child will perform difficult feats in times of dire need and then struggle to turn a matchstick into a needle, so, too, will this power take taming. Beware of your own impatience – intelligence tends to carry it as part of the price.'

'Thank you for coming, sir,' Hermione bid him politely. 'Today was very...' She stalled, unable to find the right word.

'Illuminating,' Snape finished wryly. 'My thanks as well, Mr. Ollivander. Your assistance has proven invaluable.'

'Will you be back?' Hermione asked.

A short bark of laughter. 'There are too many people selling secrets for me to believe that my trip here will remain a private matter for long. No, missy. As much as I would love to stay and help, I happen to value my hide. Albus will, of course, know how to contact me – I would like to see someone try to stop that man from getting the information he desires – but I will not be remaining.'

'Oh.'

'There is little more that I can do to help you as it is. The Hall has recognized you. The two of you and the headmaster are free to enter it any time you wish. No one else can gain entry – even if you wanted them to. The magic will not permit them to pass the first barriers.'

Silver eyes held each of theirs in a long turn, his goodbyes identical to his greeting. 'Be careful, both of you. Your understanding of this gift must be profound to accomplish your duties, and unfortunately, you're forging the path through it alone.'

So saying, he ducked a bit, planted both feet firmly in the fire, and let it carry him back upstairs.

'He's given us a massive puzzle and a-half-dozen clues. I don't know whether I dread trying again or can't wait to give it another go,' Hermione murmured tiredly. She leaned one hand out to rest against the mantle, too fatigued to take the few steps to her chair.

As her eyes drifted closed, she felt her bondmate come up behind her. Lean arms encircled her protectively and she allowed her head to drop against his chest, turning so that her ear could lie against the steady bump-bump of his beating heart.

Hermione's head grew heavier against his chest, and the finely-boned hand he had splayed across the slight bulge at her abdomen was slowing down with the rhythm of her breathing as she attempted to go to sleep standing up. His own eyelids seemed to be growing heavier with every passing second, as if sleep were a drug passed to him by touch.

Black eyes considered a little-used door in the office wall, the window of an oft-dreamt fantasy wafting open.

The Dark Lord...came the treacherous whisper from his logical mind.

'Time is fleeting, Severus...don't let it run out with things unsaid and undone.' Minerva's words rose to challenge the cold calculation.

A thread of drowsy pleasure brushed his fingers, a contentment so pure it radiated confidence. There were no words to the expression, but it bathed him in encouragement, urging him to set aside the systems of rewards and punishments that had governed his life. Snape glanced down at his hand, and then stared in amazement. The elements that had made themselves so frustratingly absent in Founders' Hall were pulsing over, around and through his fingers. And given that it was localized right over her womb, there was no doubting the source.

Instinctively, he pressed his hand tighter against Hermione's belly, seeking some physical sign of the life that produced magic in such abundance. But there were no kicks, and the thumping beat under his palm was his bondmate's, not his child's.

Abruptly certain, he lifted the young woman in his arms. Her mouth moved with the faint exhale of something that might have been a question if it was coherent, but she almost immediately relaxed into his embrace, burrowing her face in the space between his open teaching robes and white linen shirt.

With a wordless command, the unassuming door, squashed and forgotten between two bookcases, swung open and Snape silently carried Hermione into the quarters belonging to the Head of Slytherin.

~888~

Bright light sizzled and then flared, lighting the resolutely determined pale face eagerly watching magic at work. Splinters were knitting, the ornate gold relief re-painting itself-

-halfway up the door, the white-hot spell reached the first of the broken bronze hinges, hissed angrily at the steadfastly incompliant metal, and fizzled.

As a younger child, Draco Malfoy would have screamed in rage and thrown the object across the room. A year ago, he would have sneered, shrugged and given up, secure in his name to purchase what his efforts did not yield.

He was no longer a child, and his name now meant nothing. His parents' lives were the price of his success. The tears he had been able to suppress until this autumn began their warm descent down his cheeks, multiplying themselves in his shame.

Unbidden, his Aunt Bellatrix's cold voice shrieked in his thoughts. 'That worthless Mudblood our Lord was on about could do this better than you! You have been offered the greatest chance, the worthiest of opportunities, and in your weakness you continue to fail your generous master!'

Granger...

The tears stopped as a half-mad plan began to rotate, picking up details as it spun faster and faster. Granger could do this kind of magic. If she needed to, she would be able to repair the cabinet. Whatever the spell, she would find it – or invent it. Research and creation. The two things he had no true talent for.

He hastily dragged his knuckles across his thin cheeks, regaining the posture that had served him well for many years. He was not so withdrawn that he hadn't heard the whispers floating around after Pansy's ill-advised attack. Getting Granger at the right time would not be easy.

But it was a better idea than continuing to fail while his mother's time was running out.

A/N: The scene between Harry, Ron and Ginny is directly taken from canon, with the notable exception that in the original, Ginny's lines all belong to Hermione. Happy reading!