A/N: This week is going to be a M/W posting schedule.
A thousand thanks goes to my wonderful beta, without whom this chapter would have been an unintelligible, blubbering mess. She is absolutely amazing. Thank you.
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.
Please review.
Hermione bit her lower lip, fussing with the watch on her wrist, as she deliberated on whether or not to go down and visit Hagrid.
Skeeter's article had come through again, as it had before, and Hagrid was now shut up in his cabin. She was tempted to go and comfort him, but she knew that this was a job for the trio and not her. Dumbledore, too, but she would put that aside for now. The point was that Hagrid needed some comfort and persuading, and she was probably not the person to do it.
Occasionally, she would take a walk out on the grounds, where she would find Krum swimming in the lake. At other times, she would see Thestrals flying in the distance, or catch a glimpse of owls flying to and from the owlery.
They did not have a good opportunity to celebrate Severus's birthday properly that year, nor Hermione's, given the matter of having to keep a particularly sharp eye out on the school while it was packed with students. They did manage to get settled in their quarters with a bottle of good firewhiskey and a book, and they would have gotten more done if it were not for the faint wailing that penetrated the walls.
They were up in a flash. Severus pulled on a long grey nightshirt, for lack of anything quicker to change into, and Hermione followed him out of the dungeons and toward the staircases—
"What—" Severus stopped abruptly, causing Hermione to nearly knock into him as they passed by his office. The wailing was still there, a bit louder now, but that was not what had caught his attention.
The torches along the wall were lit, which shouldn't have been. Suspicious, Severus pushed the door to his office open, and then stopped again.
The door to one of the potions cupboards was ajar.
"Blast it!"
The wailing disappeared quite suddenly, but that meant nothing; Severus slammed the door to the cupboard and doused the torchlights, before prowling quickly up the staircases. Hermione followed, silent and observant as a ghost, and the two of them reached the landing underneath where Filch was standing.
Severus was livid. "Filch? What's going on?"
Filch turned around and spotted Severus.
"It's Peeves, Professor," the old caretaker whispered malevolently, holding up the egg for Severus's inspection. "He threw this egg down the stairs."
Severus climbed the stairs quickly to stop beside Filch, staring down at the egg. Hermione followed him slowly, quietly, and she could practically see the gears turning in Severus's head.
"Peeves?" he said softly. "But Peeves couldn't get into my office…"
"This egg was in your office, Professor?" Filch asked, as though he wanted nothing more than to be able to add 'stealing from teachers' to Peeves' list of crimes.
"Of course not," Severus snapped. "I heard banging and wailing—"
"Yes, Professor, that was the egg—"
"—I was coming to investigate—"
"—Peeves threw it, Professor—"
"—and when I passed my office, I saw that the torches were lit and a cupboard was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!"
"But Peeves couldn't—" Filch spluttered.
"I know he couldn't, Filch!" Severus snapped angrily. "I seal my office with a spell none but a wizard could break!"
Severus glanced up the staircase leading up, and then down the one they had just ascended, before his eyes snapped around the cavernous, stair-filled room around them, seeking any sign of movement. "I want you to come and help me search for the intruder, Filch."
He glanced directly at Hermione, and she understood the implicit signal: You help, too.
But Filch was reticent. "The thing is, Professor," he said plaintively, "the headmaster will have to listen to me this time. Peeves has been stealing from a student, it might be my chance to get him thrown out of the castle once and for all—"
"Filch, I don't give a damn about that wretched poltergeist; it's my office that's—"
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Hermione wheeled around in surprise, and Severus stopped talking very abruptly. The three of them snapped their heads around to peer into the figure standing in the gloom at the foot of the stairs. A moment later, Crouch had limped into view, wearing a tattered old traveling cloak over his own nightshirt and leaning on his staff.
"Pajama party, is it?" he growled up the stairs, his magical eye locking onto Hermione.
Hermione strode forward, stopping until she was level with Severus, to glare down at him; Filch began talking at once.
"Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor—Peeves the Poltergeist, throwing things around as usual—and then Professor Snape discovered that someone has broken into his off—"
"Shut up!" Severus hissed.
Crouch took a step closer to the foot of the stairs, his magical eye traveling between Severus, then Hermione, and then over toward the other staircase that led upward. And stayed there. Then his mouth opened in surprise. Hermione stared at him. Crouch couldn't fool her—he was looking at something there, but what—?
She could see that he was doing some very quick thinking. Obviously, he was in the presence of two people he considered allies, but there was at least one person here who had to leave tonight with Crouch's cover still intact—
At least one person—
Hermione's eyes landed on a piece of old paper—old, but very familiar paper—on the staircase, six steps below the trick step Neville always forgot to leap over.
The Map. The Marauders Map. Harry.
Hermione glanced up at the hole in the staircase, and then back at Crouch. Of the five of them who were here—six, possibly, if Ron was underneath the cloak… No, Hermione decided swiftly. If Ron were there, he would have helped Harry out of the trick step, grabbed the egg and map, and the two of them would have been out of there before any of them had gotten there.
But of the five of them that were here, only Crouch could see the full ridiculousness of the situation. Two invisible people, one cranky old caretaker, and a furious Potions Master. Add in one imposter masquerading as a mad old Auror, and you had absurdity in spades.
"Did I hear correctly, Snape?" Crouch asked slowly, remaining in character solely for Harry's benefit. "Someone broke into your office?"
"It is unimportant," Severus responded stiffly.
"On the contrary," Crouch growled, "it is very important! Who'd want to break into your office?"
"A student, I daresay," Severus snarled softly. Crouch's insistence on elaborating upon the matter infuriated him to the point where Hermione could see a vein flickering on the side of his temple, and he jaw was held tightly. "It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard… students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt…"
"Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?" Crouch said, snorting derisively. "Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?"
Hermione inhaled sharply. Why was Crouch deliberately provoking him? He had to be doing this for a reason—either he was putting on a show for the sole purpose of manipulating Harry, or he was using this as an opportunity to poke the sleeping dragon with a stick while it was effectively muzzled. Hermione was inclined to believe that it was possibly a little bit of both. While Crouch believed that the Snapes were working in Voldemort's best interest, he had never quite gotten over the antagonism that had been present between him and Hermione. They simply tolerated each other while they were working for the Dark Lord, and there had been fierce rivalry among the Slytherins for the Dark Lord's favor. He detested Hermione for her impure heritage and sassy intractability, and Severus for not giving the Dark Lord everything he had when he needed it most.
"You know I'm hiding nothing, Moody," Severus said, his voice dangerously soft, "as you've searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself."
Crouch pulled Moody's scarred, twisted face into a smile. "Auror's privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye—"
What the fuck is he playing at?
Harry. He must be doing this for the sole purpose of tricking Harry into trusting him. But why go that far…?
A vein pulsed rather dangerously in Severus's temple at this, and he spoke through clenched teeth. "Dumbledore happens to trust me. I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!"
"'Course Dumbledore trusts you," Crouch growled. "He's a trusting man, isn't he? Believes in second chances. But me—I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean?"
Hermione stiffened, and Severus clutched his left forearm as though the Dark Mark were burning right then and there. This was coming too close to being an open accusation against him—against them both, come to that—and Hermione had no doubt that Crouch had done something to make Severus's Mark burn. Could he do that? Had Voldemort given him the means to make his followers' marks burn, even in their half-reactivated state?
Crouch laughed, and this time, it was a sound that chilled Hermione to the bone. "Go back to bed, Snape."
"You don't have the authority to send me anywhere!" Severus hissed, letting go of his right arm with such force that it seemed to Hermione as though he were angry with himself. "I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!"
"Prowl away," Crouch riposted. It was not just his voice that was menacing now, but his entire body language spoke volumes of it. Had Hermione not faced men worse than he before, she might have cowered in fright. As it was, she stood her ground, silent and pale as a ghost. I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time… You've dropped something, by the way…"
And that was it. The show should have been over. Crouch's threats had been made, his message had been sent across quite clearly, and he had obviously made his point enough to whoever else watching—that was to say, Harry—that he was letting the two of them go now. But he just had to mention the map, and any moment now Severus was going to recognize it and pounce on it…
Severus slowly reached for it, comprehension dawning across his face, but it was suddenly snapped out from under his fingers when Crouch flicked his wand at it.
"Accio Parchment!"
Somewhere, Hermione was sure, Harry was breathing an enormous, overblown sigh of relief.
"My mistake," Crouch said calmly, clearly covering for Harry. "It's mine—must've dropped it earlier—"
But it was too late. Severus's eyes were darting around, first from the egg in Filch's arms, then to the map in Moody's, then to Hermione herself…
"Potter," he said quietly, eyes glittering with fury.
"What's that?" Crouch said calmly, pocketing the map.
Hermione tried to elbow Severus to get him to be quiet, but he merely gnashed his teeth in her direction, and repeated, this time in a snarl, "Potter!" He looked straight up the stairs where the map had been found, and Hermione could see that he had come to the same conclusion that she had.
Blast, bugger, and damn it all.
"That egg is Potter's egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognize it! Potter is here!" Severus turned around toward the stairs fully now, and took several steps forward, stretching out his hand into the thin air, as though expecting Harry to be standing less than a foot away from him. "Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!"
Hermione saw Crouch's eyebrow raise in surprise; he had obviously not expected Severus to be so cunningly observant. But he tried damage control quickly.
"There's nothing there, Snape!" he barked, "but I'll be happy to tell the headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Harry Potter!"
"Meaning what?" Severus snarled, hand still outstretched and, by Hermione's estimation, just a few inches away from the hole in the floor. Hermione backed away slowly now. This was fast becoming an argument between two Death Eaters who had separate goals, and wanted different things, entirely opposite outcomes to tonight's impending disaster, and it was anyone's guess on which one would prevail over the other without breaking cover.
"Meaning that Dumbledore's very interested to know who's got it in for that boy!" Crouch said, his tone threatening now. He limped closer to the stairs, advancing on them both. "And so am I, Snape… very interested…"
Severus stared down at Crouch for a single long moment, his expression so unreadable that it simply defied description. Crouch was threatening them, threatening them both on so many levels that Hermione was sorely tempted to pull out her wand and kill him herself. Or with the knife that Sirius had given her, which she kept attached to her leg. That would do just as well. But she knew she couldn't without serious, irreparable consequences. And yet, if she were not stuck backwards in time, she would certainly have lunged at him now. She wasn't afraid to kill. But she was afraid of this man, and the many layers of danger that he represented to her and her family.
He could turn Albus Dumbledore against them both. Dumbledore trusted Mad-Eye Moody implicitly, trusted his judgment, and even if they exposed him as an imposter, the damage would already be done—both to the timeline and to their standing in the Headmaster's eyes. Conversely, he could also turn the Dark Lord against the both of them, as well; right now, he had Tom Riddle's ear, and if he wanted to take advantage of it, there was nothing to stop him other than the fact that right now, he needed their assistance.
Crouch had them by the balls. Checkmate. Whatever you wanted to call it, he had them.
Severus capitulated first. He lowered his hands, taking a step back, his expression twisted into a resigned, frustrated snarl; then he managed to school his expression again, for when he turned to face Crouch, his entire demeanor was calm.
"I merely thought," he said, his voice carefully controlled, "that if Potter was wandering around after hours again… it's an unfortunate habit of his… he should be stopped." He glared down at Moody with great dislike, as he gauged the weight of his next words. "For—for his own safety."
"Ah, I see," Crouch said softly. "Got Potter's best interests at heart, have you?"
Hermione tugged on Severus's sleeve, trying to be inconspicuous about it, but urgent all the same.
"Let's go," she said, her voice so low that it was difficult for even Severus to hear. "Please."
Finally, Severus relented. He turned away, and with a sigh of relief, Hermione followed.
"I think I will go back to bed," he stated curtly.
"Best idea you've had all night," Crouch said, giving them both a very un-Moody-like grin with his slash of a mouth before turning his attention to Filch. "Now, Filch, if you'll just give me that egg—"
Hermione and Severus swept down the stairs, leaving Filch behind to argue over the egg with Crouch. They were two flights of stairs away when Hermione stopped Severus to whisper into his ear.
"I need to go follow them…"
"Crouch can see you," Severus hissed.
"I won't stay too close," Hermione replied quietly, "but in a few moments, he'll have sent Filch away. But that means Harry will be with him, alone on a dark staircase, and there's an awful lot that could happen…"
Severus understood her implication immediately.
"Go," he said shortly. "If Crouch asks what you're doing, say… say that you need to speak to him. About something. Anything."
"The second task," Hermione said quietly. "I'll ask if Harry's cracked it yet."
"That will do."
Hermione turned around and began slinking back quietly the way she had just come, until she was back at the landing where they had left Crouch and Filch to their argument. Now, however, Filch was gone, and Hermione could see Crouch standing near the bottom of the staircase, his magical eye whizzing around wildly as he examined the Marauders Map.
"Merlin's beard," he whispered, and Hermione could detect a trace of jealousy in his voice. He had known the Marauders, and the fact that the map bore their title was clearly not lost on him. Hermione could see the gears turning in his head. "This… this some map, Potter!"
"Yeah, it's… quite useful." The voice was coming from beside Crouch, but Hermione couldn't see who—but she recognized it as Harry's, and knew for certain now that he must be under his Invisibility Cloak. "Er—Professor Moody, d'you think you could help me—?"
"What? Oh! Yes… yes, of course…"
Hermione saw Crouch take ahold of something invisible in front of him, and heave; a flash of legs under the Cloak, and then they disappeared as Harry climbed onto the stair above where he had been trapped. Crouch returned to gazing in abject fascination at the map.
"Potter…" he said slowly, "you didn't happen, by any chancem to see who broke into Snape's office, did you? On this map, I mean?"
"Er…yeah, I did…" Hermione heard Harry admit. "It was Mr. Crouch."
Hermione's jaw drop. This was quite possibly the only time the Crouch standing before her could possibly be thankful that he had his father's exact name, but it was a good thing he did; if Harry had seen someone, anyone else on that map, all hell could have been raised with the knowledge of an actual intruder…
Crouch looked alarmed, and Hermione was, for once, glad to see that he was in some pretty hot water himself now. "Crouch?" he repeated. "You're—you're sure, Potter?"
"Positive," Harry said.
"Well, he's not here anymore," Crouch lied, his magical eye still perusing the map. He seemed to be at a slight loss for words. "Crouch… that's very—very interesting…"
He was silent for a moment, still gazing down at the map with such intensity that it was hard to believe that Harry could not be suspicious of it. One thing was clear, however: that map was a danger to Crouch's cover, and it was clear that he was trying to find a way to get it out of Harry's hands in as inconspicuous a manner as possible.
"Er… Professor Moody…" Crouch almost jumped at this, but nevertheless turned his attention most obligingly toward Harry, "why d'you reckon Mr. Crouch wanted to look around Snape's office?"
Crouch pulled his magical eye away from the map and turned it onto Harry, fixing him with a quivering stare. Hermione had the impression that he was sizing Harry up.
"Put it this way, Potter," Crouch muttered finally, "they say old Mad-Eye's obsessed with catching Dark Wizards… but I'm nothing—nothing—compared to Barty Crouch."
Hermione was certain only she could detect the trace of bitterness in Crouch's voice. His father had thrown him to the Dementors, although after what he and his fellows had done to the Longbottoms—and here, Hermione felt her hands clench in fury at the memory—he most certainly deserved it. But from Crouch's deluded point of view, his father had demonstrated the unforgivable: that he was willing to get rid of anything that got into his way in order to obtain Ministerial power and glory.
Well, Hermione thought. Barty Crouch, Jr. had become just the opposite; he was willing to get rid of anything in his way of reviving the Dark Lord. Like father, like son, through a twisted mirror.
"Professor Moody?" Harry said again, tentatively. "D'you think… could this have anything to do with… maybe Mr. Crouch thinks there's something going on…"
"Like what?" Crouch demanded sharply, a bit too sharply.
There was a slight pause. "I don't know," Harry muttered. "Odd stuff's been happening lately, hasn't it? It's been in the Daily Prophet… the Dark Mark at the World Cup, and the Death Eaters and everything…"
Both of Crouch's horribly mismatched eyes widened, and he licked his lips nervously.
"You're a sharp boy, Potter," he said. "Crouch could be thinking along those lines," he continued slowly. "Very possible… there have been some funny rumors flying around lately—helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It's making a lot of people nervous, I reckon..."
A grim smile twisted his lopsided gash of a mouth.
"Oh if there's one thing I hate," he muttered quietly, more to himself than Harry, but Hermione saw his magical eye roving across the room and with a start, she realized that it had landed on her—and then it returned to the map, "it's a Death Eater who walked free…"
Hermione's eyebrows rose at this. Crouch wasn't lying. She knew him too well for that now; almost everything he said had some variant of the truth in it, to keep consistency. Much like she did, when she lied to him about her and her husband's loyalty to the Dark Lord.
A Death Eater who walked free…
Severus and Karkaroff were certainly walking free. Out of Azkaban, and not under the punishing blow of the Dark Lord. Hermione was quite possibly the only one there tonight who understood the true implication of his words. If Severus didn't return to the fold as planned… and Karkaroff too, for that matter… there would be blood to pay, by Crouch's estimation.
"And now I want to ask you a question, Potter," Crouch said suddenly, his tone very businesslike. He waved the map in front of Harry, whom Hermione imagined had gone frozen with the fear of precisely what kind of question Moody was talking about—
"Can I borrow this?"
"Oh!" Harry said, sounding surprised. A pause. "Yeah, okay."
"Good boy," Crouch growled, and Hermione detected a trace of victorious relief in his tone. "I can make good use of this… this might be exactly what I've been looking for…"
With a jolt, Hermione realized that Crouch could now know exactly where she and Severus were at all times. Karkaroff too, for that matter. And Harry himself, along with anyone and everyone else who was in the school. Hermione swallowed. She would have to be careful that she was always honest with Crouch about their whereabouts if asked, because if he checked the map beforehand, he could easily know they were lying—damn it, Harry!
The only plus side—if it could even be called a plus side, given the alternative—was that Harry would not accidentally glimpse the name 'Hermione Snape' on the map now. Not that it had ever been much of a threat; there were so many other people at Hogwarts that on the occasions that Harry did look at the map, it was near statistical impossibility that he would accidentally glimpse her name— particularly since she spent the majority of her time in their quarters, which were not on the map, nor did she frequent the corridors Harry expected Hermione to be at during certain times of the day.
Crouch had begun leading Harry up the staircase toward his office, one eye still on the map. Relieved that tonight's utterly disastrous events seemed to be drawing to a close, Hermione followed.
"You ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter?"
Don't be a cruel joker, Canary. Crouch wasn't expecting Harry to survive the end of the year.
"No," Harry said, sounding rather taken aback.
"You might want to consider it," Crouch said, nodding at Harry thoughtfully. "Yes, indeed… and incidentally… I'm guessing you weren't just taking that egg for a walk tonight?"
"Er—no," Harry confessed, grinning. "I've been working out the clue."
Crouch winked at him, his magical eye going haywire again.
"Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas, Potter… see you in the morning…"
He stepped into his office and closed the door. Harry stood there for a moment, as though he were thinking something over, and then walked of in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
Hermione stood there, unmoving for several minutes, and then the door opened again, and Crouch poked his head out.
"Well?" he snarled. "Aren't you coming in?"
Hermione ducked her head, and then followed him inside. The door shut behind them both, clicking as it did so.
The trunk in Crouch's office was still there, along with the variety of sneakoscopes and foe-glass. Hermione gingerly found a seat, hoping she wouldn't accidentally set anything off, and Crouch peered into the foe-glass quickly for a moment before turning back to look at her.
"So," he said. "What were you following me for?"
"I take it Harry's figured out the second task?" Hermione asked conversationally.
"Indeed," Crouch said. He gave her a lopsided grin. "Diggory told him how, naturally."
"Good, good." Hermione looked pleased at this. "Does he know how he's going to get past it?"
"Didn't say, but no doubt he'll be sticking his nose in a book for the next few weeks," Crouch said with a laugh. "I already planted the book he needs in his dormitory by the Longbottom boy—the one I nicked from you earlier this year."
Hermione nodded. Crouch examined her face for a moment, and then gave her a nasty grin.
"The Longbottom boy… looks an awful lot like his mother, doesn't he?"
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Crouch interrupted her.
"Not even you could change that much, Snape," he sneered. "You and Longbottom's wife were too close in school for that."
Hermione bared her teeth at him, but said nothing. Crouch laughed again; it was an unpleasant sound.
"I know you're not loyal to the Dark Lord, Snape. Your husband? Perhaps. He's certainly employing you as such, and you're pretty damn loyal to him," he said, giving her another stomach-churning, gash-mouthed grin. It was disturbing to see on Moody's face. "But you're only loyal to the Dark Lord so far as you are loyal to your husband. Not unlike the way my mother was to my father, you see…"
Hermione gazed back at him stonily, quickly trying to figure out how to rectify the situation.
"But don't worry," Crouch continued. "You've done good work. I'll put in a good word for you to the Dark Lord—maybe he'll let you serve him as a reward for your help."
Hermione assessed him carefully, and then stood up.
"I turned the Dark Lord down once out of foolishness and naiveté," she told him coldly. "But once I saw the power he had—the power to make people tremble in fear without so much as lifting a hand—I realized my mistake. And I'm rectifying that now."
She wheeled around to leave.
"You may not believe I've changed, Canary," she told him, employing the insulting nickname he had earned from his schoolboy days, when she often hexed him into a yellow budgie. "But you should know that if I didn't need you in order to bring the Dark Lord back, I would have killed you long before now."
The look on Crouch's face was one of sudden, frightening realization, the kind someone wore after they realized they had greatly misjudged the depth of water with both feet. He stood up after a moment, however, and advanced menacingly on her, as though hoping to tear away the illusion he only hoped she was putting up.
"You're not a killer, Snape," he said, pulling out his wand.
In a flash, Hermione had hers out, and pointed straight at his temple. He stopped just several feet from her.
"I've killed before. Don't think I wouldn't if I had to now," she said calmly. "I'd rather not fuck up my timeline if I can avoid it, and that includes your survival. But if you try to endanger mine, I won't hesitate to take your place myself."
It was a bluff, of course. She could impersonate Moody until the end of the year if she had to, but the only way things could be fixed would be if she preserved Crouch's dead body and then somehow managed to switch it with hers after being caught. It was impossible, but only she could know that.
Crouch stared at her, his magical eye whizzing wildly for a moment, and then he turned away.
"You're a menace, but pretty damn determined," he said at last, clunking away. "Go to bed, Snape."
Hermione slowly lowered her wand, and then headed for the door.
"One more thing," she told him lightly, her hand on the knob. "If Harry doesn't make good use of your planting the book he needs in his dorm, just use Dobby."
"Dobby," Crouch repeated, turning to glance back at her. His magical eye swiveled with interest. "Dobby the house elf?"
"That's the one."
Crouch's parting look was considering, as Hermione slipped out of the room and shut the door behind her.
~o~O~o~
Hermione stood by the edge of the water some distance away from the bank where the spectators were watching, observing as Harry sprinted down toward the lake. She watched Madam Maxime and Karkaroff shoot him disapproving glances, and Fleur stared down at her robes, which Harry's sudden halt had splattered with mud; but in a moment, he was being led toward his spot on the bank by a very pleased Ludo Bagman.
Slowly, she walked back into a copse of trees leaning over the edge of the lake, as all four champions dove into the water. Harry was wading out, chewing on something and swallowing; he stood there stupidly for several long moments, looking miserable and ignoring the jeers and catcalls of the Slytherins, and then quite suddenly, he ducked in.
Hermione, Disillusioned, leaned closer to the water to watch. Harry was out of sight now, but the crowd was waiting patiently. She stood there for several minutes, until the sound of a single peg-foot hitting the dirt caused her to turn around.
"Watchful as always, Snape," Crouch growled, as he came up from behind her. He halted several feet from the water's edge. "Think Potter'll come out all right?"
"I hope so, Canary," Hermione said lightly. "We need him, after all."
"That we do," Crouch said with a nasty grin, though Hermione saw a tick appear in his temple. "That we do."
~o~O~o~
"Hold on," Harry told Ron and Hermione, stopping to look at Sirius. "I think I left something behind in the cave—be right back—"
Sirius barked in response, and followed Harry back up several feet into the rocks, leaving Ron and Hermione—sixteen-year-old, fourth-year Hermione—behind to wait for him.
Harry waited until they were back inside before he turned around to face Sirius, who had resumed his human form.
"I didn't get a chance to ask you while Ron and Hermione were here, and you said you wouldn't tell me anything until we were face to face," Harry told Sirius determinedly, getting right to the point. "I want to know about my godmother."
Sirius sighed, walking several steps forward to pat Buckbeak on the shoulder before turning to look at Harry.
"I'm really not allowed to tell you much about her, Harry—"
"'Allowed'?" Harry repeated, with a frown.
"But I'll tell you what I can," Sirius said, taking a seat on the floor.
"Why?" Harry asked, taking a seat next to Sirius. "Why all this secrecy about her? I know no one wanted to tell me about you until the last possible minute because they all reckoned you were a murderer, but it's just—if I hadn't seen her for myself, I wouldn't have known she existed."
Sirius, who had been stroking the hippogriff's beak, spluttered at this.
"You saw her?"
"In my first year," Harry said, examining his godfather's face carefully. "I saw her over by the lake with Snape and—and someone else. A toddler, I think. I also saw her again in the staff room, when Ron and I were hiding in the wardrobe in our second year."
Sirius rubbed his face, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's it?"
"I recognized her from the photo album Hagrid gave me," Harry said quietly. "The one with the curly brown hair."
Sirius let out a ragged sigh. "That's her."
"But why is she such a big secret?" Harry persisted.
Sirius shook his head. "Her situation is a complicated one—"
"What's her connection to Snape, then?"
"Merlin's beard, Harry!" Sirius exploded. "You're not supposed to know this!"
"Well, I do," Harry responded defiantly. "And I'm tired of being treated like a child—it's not like I can't keep a secret, you know!"
"That's not the problem, Harry," Sirius said, a bit more calmly. "The problem isn't that you can't keep a secret—it's just that your godmother's situation is something that is supposed to be kept a secret from the entire world."
Harry's mouth fell open at this, and then he shut it. "Why?"
"Well, it's only temporary, really, but something happened to her when she was young—it's still taking time to run its course."
"You mean she was cursed?"
"Something like that," Sirius said evasively.
Harry sighed, and rubbed his temple. "Alright. What can you tell me about her?"
Sirius leaned back against the wall, gazing at Buckbeak thoughtfully. "Well, she was at school with your dad and I, just a year behind us. She arrived a bit late because she was a transfer student, but she fit right in."
"She arrived late?" Harry asked, curious. "What year?"
"Near the end of our sixth year," Sirius said, and then grinned as he recalled something else. "She got put in detention on her second day of school for fighting in the corridors. It was brilliant. She was a bit of an odd duck at first, but she was scary smart."
"So, she arrived after you guys made the Marauders Map?" Harry asked, grinning at Sirius's recollection.
"That's right," Sirius said.
Harry leaned back, thoughtfully. "So she became the fifth Marauder?"
"More like the fourth, really," Sirius admitted. "I actually think her arrival was what caused Pettigrew to grow apart from us—not that he wasn't an odious little worm to begin with," he added with a growl, "but she just sort of… took his place. She was good-looking, smart, engaging, and in need of real friends and we just—kind of took her on." Sirius scratched at the stubble on his chin, deep in thought for a moment, and then added, "She was like a little sister to us, actually. And she's the one who made us all grow up, I think."
"Are you still in contact with her?"
"Well, I'm not really supposed to say—"
"You are," Harry said, with a sigh, resting his chin on his arms.
"Your godmother loves you, Harry," Sirius said quietly. "Eventually, she'll be able to reveal herself to you, but she can't right now."
Harry didn't respond. Sirius tried another tactic.
"D'you know who rescued you from the wreckage of the house after you defeated You-Know-Who?"
"Hagrid," Harry said at once.
Sirius shook his head. "Hagrid was there, all right, but if it hadn't been for her, the house would have collapsed right on top of you before anyone could have gotten you out. He found her climbing into the window of your room to try and retrieve you, and helped her up. Hagrid helped, and he delivered you to Dumbledore, but it was your godmother who got you out of there."
Harry was staring at him now, gazing at Sirius in amazement.
Sirius paused, and then said quietly, "I didn't escape from Azkaban alone, Harry. It was your godmother who helped me get out."
"You're kidding," Harry whispered.
"I'm not," Sirius responded in an undertone. "She knew I was innocent. Your godmother is a good woman, Harry, and like I already said—she loves you more than you can possibly realize. Just because you can't see her doesn't mean she doesn't see you."
He stood up then, and pulled Harry to his feet.
"We'd better get back," he said. "We've kept your friends waiting long enough."
"One more question," Harry said. "Everyone I know who does know about her doesn't call her by her name—they just call her, 'The Professor'. Why is that?"
Sirius chuckled, as he made his way toward the fissure in the wall that led the way out. "Because she used to teach at Hogwarts, Harry. Years ago. Two years or so after your father and I graduated." He grinned at this. "We always poked fun at her for it—never let her live it down."
Harry grinned back at him, and Sirius transformed into a large, black dog and wriggled through the crack in the wall, indicating that the conversation was now over, and that Harry should follow.
~o~O~o~
"Well," Crouch told Hermione, clunking into step behind her as they wandered around the grounds one night. "The fat's really in the fire now."
"You killed your father," Hermione said with a sigh, rubbing her temple. "Attacked Krum. Put everyone on high alert. And now Harry's training up for the third task."
Crouch grinned at her. "Good work, eh?"
"How are you planning on getting Harry to the Dark Lord, though?"
Crouch paused to look at her, his expression thoughtful.
"You know, I don't think I'm going to tell you," he said slowly.
Hermione shrugged, but inside, her heart was beating faster. "Why not? What have you got to lose?"
"We're at the final stage, Snape," Crouch said confidently. "You could have been helping me along this far just to set me up. All you'd need to know is how to sabotage me."
Hermione sighed. "If you won't tell me about it, at least tell me how to help you. Where do you want me for the third task?"
Crouch waved his hand dismissively. "Your job's done for now, Snape. I'll handle the rest." He leered at her. "Go home, give a warm welcome to your husband—I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
Hermione's face burned hot. "You've been keeping an eye on the map," she accused acidly.
"'Course I have," Crouch growled. "You and Snape—you don't think I've missed the number of times your dots have overlapped in some obscure niche? You've been keeping busy—when you're not spying on Potter, that is," he added with a nasty sort of smile. "Your husband's been teaching you tricks, no doubt."
In a flash, Hermione had whipped out the silver knife Sirius had given her, and had the tip pressed dangerously into Crouch's throat.
"What you hate most in the world," Hermione said softly, "is a Death Eater who walked free. I've got something for you myself, Crouch; I hate people who stick their nose in my business, particularly when it doesn't belong there. After tomorrow night, I won't need to hold back anymore." She trailed the tip across Crouch's jugular, and she watched him gulp. "You've been very helpful in making sure the Dark Lord rises again, Canary, but when you're no longer needed…"
"I can take you on," Crouch said with a sneer, but Hermione could tell he wasn't entirely confident on that matter. She had always been good—too good—for him, and he knew it. "You think I'm afraid of you?"
"Tomorrow night," Hermione whispered. "Tomorrow night is when we either make it or break it. If we succeed, and you do something sufficient enough to get on my nerves, I won't hesitate to show you precisely what tricks my husband has been teaching me. If we fail, I'll kill you regardless. Am I clear?"
Crouch was staring at her now as though he had never quite seen her before. It was a look that Hermione was no longer a stranger to, but it seemed now as though she had finally frightened him. Before, she had been an annoyance, an ally, a lackey; before, everything she had done, he had considered to be merely a bluff. An illusion, maybe. Trickery and deceit. Possibly just a show. But he seemed to finally believe her now, and he was afraid.
He was afraid of her because now he believed her.
"Get lost, Snape," he spat, and turned away, magical eye whizzing wildly in its socket. "If you want to help, you make sure that Dumbledore gives me the Triwizard Cup to place in the center of the maze. I'll ask him, but if he doesn't let me, then it's all over."
Hermione gave him a stony look. "Very well."
~o~O~o~
Hermione paced along the outside of the maze, growing more and more nervous with each step. Harry had gone into the maze more than half an hour ago, and he and Cedric had disappeared from view not twenty minutes ago. People in the stands claimed the saw him grasp the cup at the same time as the Hufflepuff champion, and then the two suddenly vanished. The audience was not particularly worried; they simply thought that it was another part of the third task. But the teachers and judges, who knew that this was not part of the final task, were growing increasingly worried and agitated, though they were trying to ensure that the crowd did not realize this. The last thing they needed was for all hell to break loose.
And then, quite suddenly, all hell did break loose.
Hermione heard the sound of screams. And then minutes later, a cry went up— "Dead! Diggory's dead!"
More screaming and shouting. It was mayhem, chaos, confusion. And in the thick of it all, was Harry. But instead of running toward the scene like everyone else, Hermione instead slipped away. She snuck behind one of the hedges closest to the path leading up toward the castle, heart beating wildly in her chest as she waited—waited…
Clunk. Clunk.
"What happened, Harry?" Crouch asked, as he half-carried, half-dragged Harry along with him, up toward the castle.
This was it. Crouch had gotten Harry from Dumbledore—Dumbledore who was probably distracted now, dealing with Diggory's parents, and then stopping Granger from using her time-turner too early. But he couldn't be; Harry needed him. Hermione once again made her way toward the crowd, this time removing her Disillusionment charm—in the current chaos, her disguise was both useless and unnecessary—and pushed her way past a group of sobbing, hysterical third-year girls…
"Headmaster," she gasped, grabbing the sleeve of Dumbledore's robes. The old man wheeled around to look at her. "Harry—Harry and Moody—"
"Where did he take him?" Dumbledore demanded, his tone thunderously quiet, but clear enough for Hermione to hear.
"His office. I'll go get Minerva and Severus, you go on up—"
Dumbledore quickly tried to extract himself from the people around him, but it was difficult.
"Minister, if you'll excuse me for a moment—kindly go and speak to Mrs. Diggory, please—"
"But Dumbledore, you can't—"
"Dumbledore, sir—!"
"I must, Cornelius—Hagrid, please make sure none of the Blast-End Skrewts get out—"
He managed, however, and nearly flew up to the castle, such was his speed; Hermione sank away into the crowd, and found Minerva. She pulled the older witch away by her arm, muttering quickly to her what was going on, and then did the same with Severus. Moments later, the three of them were sprinting after the Headmaster, and they caught up with him at the courtyard.
"Albus, what—?" Minerva asked, quite out of breath as they pushed their way past the doors and into the entrance hall.
"I'm afraid, Minerva, that we either have an imposter among us at best, or a traitor at worst," Dumbledore said, running up the stairs, with the three of them at his heels. "There is no time to explain—"
They stopped in front of the door to Crouch's office, and Dumbledore did not hesitate for a single moment. He brandished his wand, and Hermione did the same; their spells, however, were different. Hermione quickly Disillusioned herself, while Dumbledore aimed his wand at the door.
"Reducto!"
There was a flash of light, and the door splintered and was summarily blasted off its hinges; Hermione shrank back from the force for a moment, as she had been closest, and then peered inside. Harry was sitting there, staring at the Foe-Glass in front of him, eyes wide in shock and fear. Hermione chanced a look at Dumbledore, and at that moment, she understood—that was, if she had not already understood before. The benign smile he usually wore, the air of benevolence he usually carried that acted like a soothing balm to those around him, much like Fawkes' Phoenix song—it was gone; it had instead been replaced by a sense of ancient, burning, almost hellish power that boiled down and coalesced into radiating, cold fury.
He entered first, stepping into the office, where he placed a foot underneath Crouch's unconscious body and kicked him over onto his back so that he was face-up. Hermione and Severus followed next, where she saw their reflections skulking in the mirror right back at them, despite her Disillusionment. They exchanged subtle glances, and then Hermione quickly stepped aside as Minerva nearly knocked her over as she made her way straight to Harry.
"Come along, Potter," she whispered weakly. The idea that Mad-Eye Moody was before her, a traitor and who nearly killed her charge, had her mouth pressed into a thin line that twitched slightly, as though she were about to cry. "Come along… hospital wing…"
"No," Dumbledore said sharply.
"Dumbledore, he ought to—look at him—he's been through enough tonight—"
"He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand," Dumbledore said curtly, his tone brooking no further argument. He bent over Crouch for a moment, examining him carefully.
"Moody," Harry whispered, and at that moment, Hermione wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms and comfort him. He looked so lost—so disbelieving— "How can it have been Moody?"
"This is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said quietly, having finally reached the conclusion. He glanced over at Hermione, whose slinking double in the Foe-Glass gave him a short nod of affirmation. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight." This, Hermione knew, was true; however, the situation following the imposter's removal of Harry had been so chaotic that it required Hermione to come in and bodily collect him before he could act upon that realization. And this final examination had confirmed it for him. "The moment he took you, I knew—and followed."
Dumbledore fished through Crouch's robes, and retrieved the hip flask and a set of keys on a ring. He turned them over in his hands for a moment, and then turned to Severus and Minerva.
"Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up a house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, and then come back here."
The look he gave Hermione indicated to her that she should follow them and take up one of the three tasks he had just assigned. All three of them turned at once and left, and as soon as they were a staircase away, Hermione turned to Minerva.
"I'll go get the dog," she said quietly.
"I'll retrieve Winky, then," Minerva said, still looking rather shaken. They abruptly went off their separate ways, and Hermione ran down to the entrance hall. She passed the courtyard, the bridge, and made it down to Hagrid's in the space of ten minutes. Sirius was lying down just where Dumbledore had said he would be, and when he saw her, he stood up and wagged his tail.
"Dumbledore asked me to bring you up to his office," Hermione said, rolling back her sleeve. "He said to tell you he will be with you shortly. Give me your paw, will you?"
Sirius held out a paw, as though to shake, and Hermione grasped it with one hand while she used the other to fiddle with the third dial on her watch. A moment later, the there was a sharp yank behind her navel, and they spun around for a moment—and landed in the Headmaster's Office. She cordially pulled out a chair for Sirius, and bowed, and then left.
She quickly made her way back to where Harry and Dumbledore were, and stopped at the doorway just in time to nearly bump into Severus, and almost trip over Winky, who was at his heels. Minerva came up right behind her, and Severus stopped abruptly to stared into the room.
"Crouch," he said. "Barty Crouch!"
"Good heavens," Minerva said, stopping dead in the doorway next to him, and staring down at the man on the floor. A man whose real face Hermione had not seen throughout the entire year, but one she knew well enough. He was pale, slightly freckled, and with a mop of straw-colored hair just as Hermione remembered, but he was older too, which she had not yet seen…
Winky let out a shriek ("Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?") and flung herself on Crouch's chest, and began to wail.
"You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"
"He is simply Stunned, Winky," Dumbledore said calmly. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"
Severus handed him the vial of clear, water-like potion, and Dumbledore got up from where he had been sitting to kneel beside Crouch on the floor. He pulled him up into a sitting position, directly beneath the Foe-Glass hanging on the wall, and uncorked the bottle of Veritaserum. He poured three drops into Crouch's mouth, pointed his wand at the blond man's chest, and murmured, "Ennervate."
Crouch slowly opened his eyes; his face had gone slack, and his eyes were disturbingly unfocused.
"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
Crouch's eyelids flickered. "Yes."
"I would like you to tell us," Dumbledore said softly, "how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"
Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes flickering unsteadily through the room, and he began to speak. His tone was flat, expressionless, but for the next quarter of an hour, he told them about everything: how his mother had begged his father to trade her life for his, how he spent years under the control of his father's Imperius, how Winky had begged for him to be allowed to attend the World Cup. How Bertha Jorkins had discovered his existence, and his father had been forced to place a Memory Charm on her to keep her quiet—a Memory Charm that was so strong that it had permanently damaged her brain. Something which Hermione suspected had only made her all the more susceptible to being ensnared by Voldemort, but she kept quiet throughout the telling. Silent and invisible as a ghost, as Crouch unfolded, giving them answers to the many mysteries that had plagued them throughout the year…
Near the end, there was almost complete silence, save for Winky's hysterical sobs; and then Dumbledore said quietly, "And tonight…"
"I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner," Crouch whispered, a mad smile creeping along his face. "Turned it into a Portkey. I didn't need her help after all. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards."
An insane, drugged smile lit his features , and then his head dropped, his eyes fluttering shut.
~o~O~o~
Hermione slowly slipped through the doors to the hospital wing, closing them behind her quietly. The Weasleys had left an hour earlier, to let Harry have some time to himself, particularly since he would be having an interview with the Diggory's the next day. She crossed the room, passing his bed, and stopped next to Moody's.
"Hey," she whispered quietly.
Moody's eyes snapped open in alarm, and he shot up, scrambling around for his wand. Thankfully, however, Poppy had the good sense to remove it beforehand, and put it in her safekeeping until he was discharged. Upon realizing this, Moody turned to look at her squarely, face drawn into a snarl.
"How do I know it's you?" he growled.
Hermione carefully pulled out a chair for herself and sat down. Just because Moody was in bed and without a wand didn't mean he wasn't still capable of throwing a mean right-hook if he felt threatened—and at this point, almost anything could be considered a threat. More than usual, anyway. "Because you're one of the only people who know I'm Severus's handler," she whispered. "And because you and Kingsley trained me, during the summer, back when I was still a student. You were also at my wedding, too."
Moody relaxed only marginally. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see how you were doing."
"Well," Moody said, "I was locked inside my own trunk for nine months, and I have to tell you that it wasn't all that kind to my joints. How do you think I'm doing?"
"Much better then, I take it?"
Moody snorted. "What are you really here for, Snape?"
"Well," Hermione said quietly, "I've already told the Headmaster this—along with Sirius, Minerva, and a few others—that I was working with Crouch all along to help him bring the Dark Lord back."
Moody's lopsided gash of a mouth dropped open, and for one wild moment, it looked like he was going to actually try to bodily remove her head from her shoulders. But Hermione hurried on quickly.
"You know that I was sent back in time," Hermione told him. "You know the whole story. And in my timeline, this is exactly how it played out—Crouch impersonates you for a year. And I needed to make sure it stayed that way to keep the timeline playing out as it should."
Moody stared at her. "Bloody hell," he whispered croakily.
"Do you think I haven't felt guilty about it?" Hermione said miserably. "Because the idea of letting you rot in a trunk for nine months never really sat well with me."
Moody inhaled sharply. "I believe you."
"I thought you had the right to know," she said. "I also wanted to see how you're faring now—and if—and if you're angry enough at me to try and deliver my head to the headmaster on a platter."
Moody waved a hand at her tiredly. "Just forget it, Snape," he growled. "We all do what we have to do—I know that more than anyone else here."
"If there's anything I can do…"
"There is, actually." Moody sat up a bit straighter, leaning against the headboard. "Why don't you start by telling me exactly what you did all year while I was being impersonated?"
Hermione blinked in surprise. "What?"
"I want to know exactly what was going on while I was locked up, girl," Moody ordered. "Everything."
And so Hermione did.
~o~O~o~
Hermione could not help but stare in revulsion at the grotesque shape branded into his arm. She had noticed it growing darker throughout the year—it would have been impossible not to—but it had been a long time since she had seen it so dark and clear on her husband's arm. He had gone back to the Dark Lord at the nearest opportunity, and had returned upwards of an hour later by Floo, directly into their quarters, where she had been waiting.
It was a good thing she had been expecting him, because he was barely conscious when he did arrive. The Dark Lord had been furious at his delay, on top of the anger he was expected to direct to his lacking followers. Severus had not been there when the Mark first burned, and had thus avoided the initial punishment that had followed the Death Eaters' collective failures to stop Harry from escaping.
Voldemort had rarely ever punished his followers so violently in the past, but thirteen years of pent-up frustration was liable to take effect on his patience and self-restraint. Severus's delay only compounded the other grievances Tom Riddle had against him—such as why he had not sought him out, why he had not been there to help stop Potter, why he had prevented him from claiming the Philosopher's Stone…
By his own admission, Severus had only been tortured briefly; Voldemort had given him a chance to get down on his knees and beg for an opportunity to explain himself. And he must have managed to do a satisfactory job, for he not only redeemed himself by pointing out his usefulness as a spy by keeping his post at Hogwarts intact, he also added that he had been helping Crouch all year. That alone had been enough to give the Dark Lord pause—pause enough to consider that he might have been faintly remiss in punishing Severus when he had effectively been following his own orders all along.
He tore through Severus's mind as well, which was to be expected; the Dark Lord wanted confirmed veracity of his loyalties. Severus's Occlumency held up, and it was the only reason he was still alive. Had the Dark Lord detected any trace of deceit in his mind, he probably would have been killed right there. As it was, the combination of his earlier torture as well as the rough, mental attack was enough to explain the condition he came back to her in.
He slept for two days, but he was up again soon enough, snarling at students and staff alike, and generally being his normally unpleasant self. But the thing for which they had all been holding their breath was done: Severus was back in the Dark Lord's good graces, if only as tentatively as the other Death Eaters, and the side of the Light had the man on the inside that they needed to track Voldemort's movements. They had succeeded.
And Igor Karkaroff had fled.
Please review!
~Anubis Ankh
