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Chapter 10
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Harry collected Hermione's robes and pocketed her wand, not daring to do anything more with it as the Unspeakables and Kingsley surrounded the veil. As each witch and wizard in the room began drawing glowing blue runes in the air with their wands, Harry stepped into the circle and watched the magic work. It was beautiful, intricate and Harry could hardly believe Kingsley had spent the last six months working on a plan–his plan–to keep Hermione's connection to the land of the living alive. He was in awe of the spell and the Minister.
He was also deathly afraid that something might go wrong. Kingsley had explained that even with all their calculations, all their careful considerations and practice runs, there was nothing that could simulate actually moving the passage between life and death. It was a trial by fire sort of spell.
Praying to any immortal who would listen, Harry begged for it to work. Just because he now thought he might be capable of living without Hermione did not mean he wanted to. Albus and Ginny were enough but Harry wasn't afraid to be selfish. Hermione was family too.
Kingsley had just begun the chant when Harry saw movement beyond the veil. He held his breath, scarcely believing what he was seeing. Hallucinations? A dream? Unaware of what he was doing, Harry mounted the steps to the dais, dropping Hermione's robes as he saw of flicker of something–no, someone–just beyond the veil.
"Wait!" he yelled. "Stop."
"Harry," Kingsley terminated the spell with a flick of his wand, the runes dissipating from the air like blue smoke. "What on earth are you doing? Get away from there!"
But Harry couldn't. He was drawn to the fluttering fabric of the veil, invested in what lingered just beyond. As Kingsley screamed at him to step away, Harry moved closer, his fingers reaching for the veil. Ignorant of a dozen Unspeakables racing up the stairs for him, Harry leaned forward as a face seemed to press against the fabric, threatening to break through.
"Hermione?" he whispered.
And then he was grabbed by two pairs of hands. One set clinging to the front of his jacket as the other snagged his collar and sleeve and yanked him away. Harry yelled as he fell backwards.
Kingsley landed on the ground beneath the dais, cracking his head on the stone with a sickening thud. Harry landed beside him, the air rushing out of his lungs as another figure, hands wrapped securely around his lapel, landed on top of him. Gasping, Harry tried to figure out why Hermione's hair was so dark and her eyes so grey and her face covered in a long, scraggly beard…
"Sirius!"
"Ha–Harry?"
Godson hugged Godfather and Harry thought that everything just might be right again in the world. If Sirius could make it back, surely Hermione… his godfather interrupted that train of thought by standing and pulling Harry up with him.
"There's more," Sirius said and pointed at the already billowing veil. The Unspeakables were eyeing it cautiously, their wands held loosely in their hands as two grey figures pushed through the veil and materialized.
"Tonks! Lupin!"
The werewolf and his wife grinned at Harry, quickly dismounting the dais and standing beside him as the veil continued to move. Unconscious of the tears streaming down his face, and the faces of those around him, Harry stood transfixed as Fred, Lavender and Vincent Crabbe stepped out from the veil, their corporeal forms shimmering before becoming solid. With every person who arrived, Harry's heart soared and dipped. It was another soul saved.
But it was another soul who wasn't Hermione.
As the veil fluttered one last time, Harry held his breath. Sirius and Lupin each clapped a hand on his shoulder and they watched as slowly, surely, the erect form of Severus Snape slipped through the veil, lip curled and eyes as black as they had always been.
"But…" Harry couldn't hardly breathe. Where was she? Where in the bloody hell was Hermione?
"She made a deal," Sirius said, squeezing Harry's shoulder again.
Lip trembling, Harry's gaze flicked between Snape–the man whose role in the war probably saved them all–and Sirius. As his throat worked to create a sound, sob or word he wasn't certain, Harry tried to understand what had happened.
"B-but..." he stuttered.
Snape's gaze slid past Harry to the prone form on the floor beside him. "What happened to Shacklebolt?"
Every eye in the room turned to look at the prone form of the Minister of Magic, eyes closed as blood pooled around his head.