DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter 29: Unfinished Business

"What were you doing up there with her?" Lavender screeched as Hermione and Ron came down from the boys' dormitory. Harry, under his Invisibility Cloak and on his way out the portrait hole to attend Aragog's funeral under the influence of Felix Felicis, could not serve as an alibi for them.

Ron hemmed and hawed while Hermione said coolly, "Get your head out of the gutter, Lavender. It is possible for a boy and a girl to be in a room together without one or the other of them losing their clothes. Right, Ron?" she said pointedly, then added, "I'm sure the two of you have important things to discuss," and walked away.

Behind her, she could hear Lavender whinging, "What did she mean, Ron?" She didn't envy him one bit. But she hoped that he would finally do the right thing.

Either way, it was probably better if she made herself scarce for a while, so she slipped out of the common room. She briefly considered trying to go down to Hagrid's hut herself, just to make sure that Harry hadn't completely gone barmy, but decided against it; Hagrid wouldn't let Harry get into too much trouble, and remembering what had happened when she'd gone with Ron and Seamus to try and keep an eye on them, she was better off just staying put. She didn't want to risk another run-in with Snape, especially not out on the grounds after dark.

Not that she was really afraid of him anymore; she just didn't want to listen to another lecture from him about not putting herself in danger. If he was so concerned, he should work on keeping the Death Eaters away. Which, it occurred to her as she wandered down the stairs, perhaps he was. She was still undecided as to where his true loyalties lay, if anywhere. Dumbledore clearly believed that Snape was working for him from within the Death Eater organization. On the other hand, she thought that Voldemort would probably be pretty quick to weed out any traitors. Of course, that was what Snape had meant when he'd told her that he would have been severely punished had he not gone along with the Halloween terror.

Oh, it was all so tiresome. That was it. She was just tired of the whole thing. Tired of being nervous and uncomfortable in her own skin; tired of second-guessing every move and word of Snape and Dumbledore; tired of trying to justify her actions and reactions, analyzing everything to death. Why couldn't she just get on with things that interested her? And she did have interests again. She hadn't for quite a while, but she did now. She wanted to find out what Horcruxes were, and get to the bottom of the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book. Those were good starting points.

But she knew she wasn't quite ready to put everything past behind her. Her subconscious wasn't able to let it go yet, although the immediacy of the pain had receded enough to be relegated to the edges of her waking moments. She didn't think she'd ever get more completion from Snape than what she'd already gotten: The knowledge that he himself had been victimized in order to hurt her, that what he'd done had in no way come out of any feelings or impulses that originated with him. He had been little more than an instrument, and had his own demons to fight with.

She still hoped to find out what Dumbledore's great plan was, and hoped that when she did, it would make her feel that her sacrifice had not been in vain. But she knew that for that, she would have to wait at least until Voldemort was defeated, which might still be a way off (although she hoped of course that it would be sooner rather than later).

But there was something that had been gnawing at her for a while, that she'd been avoiding, and that she could take care of now. Lisa and Sandy. She hadn't sent a single word to Sandy since she'd seen her on the Express and found out she was pregnant. And she still hadn't answered Lisa's letter. Oonagh didn't seem to need or want anything from Hermione, but Lisa had reached out to her. She felt somewhat hypocritical, having told Ron to be honest with Lavender, when she hadn't been honest with Lisa. And so she turned to go up to the owlery.

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She stayed away as long as she could, but didn't want to be caught out after curfew. She was dying to hear whether Harry had been successful with the help of the Felix Felicis, but refrained from going up to his dorm. She would just have to wait until tomorrow. Neither Ron nor Lavender was in the common room when she passed through, which could be either good or bad... but at least it looked like little to no blood had been shed while she was gone.

She started up the stairs and nearly ran into Ginny, who was on her way down, dressed in her pyjamas and artfully holding her head so that her long hair obscured her face from view. Hermione had done that often enough to recognize the ploy: either Ginny had been messing with too many beauty charms, or she'd been crying.

"Hi Ginny," Hermione said. "Forget something?"

"Yeah, I... just left my bookbag down in the common room," she said, still keeping her face turned away from Hermione. Her voice sounded stuffy and raw. Crying, then.

"I'll get it for you," Hermione offered. "I know what it looks like."

"Thanks," Ginny said, and Hermione could hear the relief in her voice.

It only took Hermione a few minutes to find Ginny's bag, shoved half-way under one of the couches. By the time she brought it back, Ginny had apparently composed herself and smiled at Hermione, looking fairly normal.

"Thanks a lot, Hermione. I don't like going down in my pyjamas, but I must have forgotten to take it up with me and I really needed one of the books." She took the bag from Hermione and stood up again.

"No problem," Hermione said, although she knew that Ginny had been in the common room in her pyjamas plenty of times without embarrassment before.

"Hey, do you... I mean, is there anything going on?" Hermione asked, feeling awkward.

"No, everything's..." Ginny's cheerful demeanor faltered. "Is it that obvious?" She patted at her cheeks with the back of one hand.

"No, I just thought... you know, if anything's going on. You look fine. Better than me, anyway." She giggled nervously.

"Why?" Ginny frowned. "I mean... is there anything going on with you? Lavender didn't do anything to you, did she?" Ginny inspected Hermione more closely.

"No! Why?" she said, drawing back involuntarily.

"Didn't you hear? You must not have been here, I thought the whole castle could hear her screaming at him!" Ginny chortled. "She really let him have it. About time, too. He'd been walking all over her for weeks. It was painful to watch."

Hermione sighed. "Oh good. I mean, not good for Ron, but good that it's over with. I'm sorry for both of them it ended up being so traumatic."

"I'm not. He was being a real git."

"I suppose." Hermione couldn't help feeling just a little bit of satisfaction, knowing what Ron had told her about Lavender's bad-mouthing her behind her back.

"I guess there's a lot of that going around Gryffindor," Ginny added cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to sigh. "I broke up with Dean."

Hermione's mouth dropped. "What? Why?"

Ginny scowled. "He was always trying to be nice, but I could tell it was fake, he was only trying to make up for laughing when Harry got hurt. And I think he only wanted one thing from me anyway, if you know what I mean, and he wasn't going to get it. It just wasn't worth it for either of us anymore."

"I'm really sorry, Ginny."

"Me too, in a way. I mean, I really liked him. I think I still do. I just kept getting angry whenever I was with him, instead of being happy. That's how all of my relationships have ended up, you know? I really like the guy, but I'm never happy with them. I think there must be something wrong with me."

"I'm sure that's not it, Ginny. You just haven't met the right one yet. And maybe you don't need anyone," Hermione pointed out. "Or maybe you have to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else."

Ginny regarded Hermione thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, I think there's definitely something to that. Thanks, Hermione," she said, this time with a genuine smile as she shouldered her bag. "I hope things work out for you, too."

"Thanks. I think they may be getting there."

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Snape raced across the grounds, far outpacing Draco. His young charge wasn't making any attempt to keep up with him anyway; let him get caught out after curfew and take the consequences, Snape jeered to himself. He wouldn't cover for him this time, would come down on him as his Head of House as he was expected to. He always did what was expected, after all.

He had no reason to hurry, but the feeling of speed, the wind rushing past his ears, cooling the sweat off of his neck, made him feel that he might still be able to get away; yet he knew that he couldn't, that it was only a momentary illusion, this feeling of freedom. Strangely, though, it was the rest of his life that felt like an illusion. The craziness of it all: Lord Voldemort, Death Eaters, soul magic and death pacts. Even though he had grown up knowing about magic, what he had gotten himself into (yes, he was the only one to blame, no one had forced it on him) went far beyond mending broken flowerpots and jumping down from roofs. So much of it was based on belief; faith. It was almost a religion. Or was it already one?

Dumbledore was going to die. He had never believed it, not until tonight; no: he still didn't believe it, it was impossible. Albus Dumbledore had always been there, was invincible. But tonight, before he had been Summoned, he had been in Dumbledore's office, talking to the Headmaster (arguing, begging, more like), and he had seen the facade begin to crack. He had thought for a moment that his mentor was crying – maybe he had been – that he was losing touch with this world, already halfway into the next. There was no stopping the progress of the curse. It was no use trying, although he kept going through the motions, both of them did, applying the counter-curses, the salves, the stop-gap measures. He had the feeling that they were both doing it to appease the other, to try and fool each other into thinking that they didn't both know what was going to happen, what had to happen.

He had never tried to imagine what it would be like with Dumbledore gone (he couldn't bring himself yet to think the word: 'dead') – no, he would simply be gone, gone on another one of his mysterious journeys (where in the world he kept disappearing to, Snape honestly had no idea).

But tonight, at the gathering of Death Eaters, Draco had announced that he was ready. The boy (young man? No, truly yet still a boy) had seemed in equal parts relieved and terrified, yet he was adamant that everything was in place this time, that they only need await the perfect opportunity... the next time Dumbledore went on one of his trips. When that might be, Draco admitted nervously, he couldn't say, (and nor could Snape, he assured the Dark Lord in all honesty), but he was certain that it would be soon, very soon, perhaps within a week, certainly before the end of term.

Snape had not missed the uneasy glances Draco had cast in Greyback's direction, and that had made him uneasy as well, because he would have known how to deal with any of the wizards, but the werewolf was unpredictable. Irrational. Worse than Bellatrix (who was, for all her craziness, quite easy to manipulate). Draco must have been desperate indeed to turn to him, and Snape couldn't even begin to guess what those plans might be. Did they think to catch Dumbledore outside the castle? Attack him unawares? But how would they know when the Headmaster left the grounds? He confided his plans in no one, often left the grounds briefly, to go to the Ministry, to Hogsmeade, Gringotts, any one of a hundred valid and public destinations. Snape doubted very much that even Fenrir Greyback would be able to follow Dumbledore undetected and launch a surprise attack, must less divine his destination beforehand and waylay him with a trap.

It would likely end in disaster for an innocent bystander instead, like the necklace and the poison had. Be that as it may, Dumbledore's end was near, one way or the other. Because this was Draco's last chance, of that Snape was certain. If this plan of his didn't end in Dumbledore's death, it would end in either Draco's or Narcissa's.

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"My, but this is an eventful evening. Do come in, Severus." It was well past midnight, but Professor Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk. He was deathly pale, his skin taut over his bones, but he looked more alive than he had in weeks. Snape did not fail to notice the full Pensieve glittering off to the side, and wondered if that were the cause, but made himself focus only on his own errand.

"You must not make any more of your trips out of Hogwarts," he said before he even sat down. "That is Draco's next plan."

"Please, sit down, Severus," Dumbledore said, graciously indicating a chair. "You seem quite agitated. A cup of tea, perhaps?"

"Dammit, no!" Snape paced around the room, wound up and agitated.

Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers before his beard. "Tell me. What have you found out?"

"Nothing! I have tried Legilimency; I am afraid that was what finally pushed him away from me. He is getting help from Bellatrix and the werewolf."

"Remus?" Dumbledore seemed genuinely suprised.

"No! Greyback!"

"Ah yes, of course," Dumbledore murmured. "But what does this have to do with my trips outside the castle?"

"I don't know!" he exclaimed, his frustation evident. "But Draco says the next time you go, the plan will be put into action. They may try to follow you, ambush you..."

"I always take precautions against such attempts," Dumbledore assured him, not quite avoiding being condescending. "Still, I appreciate the warning. I will take extra care."

"And if not? If they do manage it... and I am not there?"

"Then Mr. Malfoy had better have good aim and an unwavering heart."

"Dash it all!" Snape shouted. "Why must you make jokes about this! It doesn't matter anyway-- I cannot do it!"

"We have been through this—" Dumbledore began speaking with an unusual sharpness.

"No!" Snape said with equal irritation. "I do not mean that I am unwilling... I mean.... I cannot!" He was embarrassed and looked away. "I... do not hate you. I will be unable to summon the necessary emotion."

The elderly wizard's features softened. He may even have become misty around the eyes. "Severus. Ah, my poor boy."

Snape seethed. It was bad enough to have to admit his affection for the old coot, but to be fawned over like this...

"Why do you suppose I have been prattling on about love all this time? You do not need to hate me – in fact I have told you time and again that you must not act out of hatred (although I would not blame you if you did). If you do, it will only destroy your soul."

Ah, now they were back on familiar territory: Dumbledore the pedantic old sentimentalist, Snape the sarcastic contrarian. He made a dismissive sound.

"If I have one, it is quite beyond hope at this point," Snape muttered.

"Do not say that!" Dumbledore chided him. "Pretend for my sake. Humour me, an old man."

"Regardless," Snape said with his practiced sneer, "the Killing Curse is very much Dark magic. Based on ... previous experiences," he said obliquely, "it needs a large pulse of negative emotion toward its target. As aggravating as I find many of your decisions and impulses, I do not believe that I will be able to fuel a curse of that magnitude." At some level, he was pleased to be so difficult, although it was also clear to him that this was no more than a stalling tactic.

"I am touched, Severus. Truly. But let us examine the facts: all three of the so-called Unforgivable Curses depend upon the emotion of the caster, specifically his feelings toward the target. This much is true. You must desire to impose your will an another, to cause pain, to end a life. And that desire must be great; greater, the more serious the curse. It is true that it is easiest to harness hate, anger, jealousy, to these curses. But it is also true that where hate is strong, love is stronger.

"I submit to you that – what I have been trying to nudge you toward all along, in my clumsy way – it is possible – it must be possible – to focus enough love in your heart, in your veins, in your wand, to power the Killing Curse. If your desire is great enough – if your love is great enough – you will be able to cast it. You will, Severus. I know it."

Snape was both revolted and enthralled by the Headmaster's words. To cast the Killing Curse with love... All along, he had assumed that Dumbledore had meant that he, Snape, should act out of loyalty and gratitude, or whatever affection he held for his long-time protector (dare he call him friend?), but that to cast the curse itself, it went without saying, he would draw on his copious reserves of resentment, wrath, and indignation. There could be no trial run, of course, so once again it would be an act of the ultimate faith. Did Snape believe Dumbledore's theory? If so, would he even be able to focus enough love to cast the spell? Dumbledore would never know the difference, if it worked, either way. Snape's last act of loyalty for him could at the same time be his last betrayal.

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