Hope and Death Part II

I had barely slept five hours before Samuel's summons arrived. Snape had taken George and Jarod with him on a tour of the trenches. The Intelligence Officer needed my assistance with going through the reports of the past month and reviewing Lake Castle's strategy.

"I apologize for calling you in at this ungodly hour," Samuel said. "This is going to be a full day. After we complete these, the trench surveys await. There are only the two of us to cover them all."

"It's not a problem," I said, and I meant it. Few tasks or schedules would seem arduous after my time in Edelweiss, with Intelligence Officer duties and base construction as a collateral duty.

"Isn't it ironic?" Samuel grumbled as he sifted through a fat stack of parchment. "We have more Intelligence Officers in this region than we've had in over a year, yet here we are, scrambling."

It would be so much easier with a computer, I thought. Then, realizing it made a perfect segue, I reiterated the point out loud.

Samuel stroked his long white beard in thought. "Most wizards don't use Muggle things. Think of the impact to the Ministry. Most of them are older than me." He winked. "They'd require a lot of training. And some might not be teachable. Ancient dogs and new tricks, you know."

"Suppose it began on a single base as an experiment?" I said, completely forgetting the papers in front of me as I formed my thoughts out loud. "Here, for example, I could help with it, since I'm a Muggle."

Samuel adjusted the tiny spectacles perched on his nose. "I think it's a fine idea. Certainly unique. If we weren't buried in work, I'd tell you to get started on it as an Intelligence Initiative. As it is, I think the clock is going to outrun us today. But…" he sighed, "we can always get up early again tomorrow. Whatever we haven't finished by 0900, we will complete tomorrow. The irony is not lost on me that your Muggle technology would make this go faster," he added.

By the time 0900 came per the candle clock at the center of the room, Samuel and I had made it through just over half of the reports. I had grouped like ones together in chronological order.

"It's time," Samuel said. "And thank goodness." He stretched, raising his spindly arms high, then hunched over with his hand at the small of his back. "I think I overdid that."

I giggled. I was more than ready for a break.

As Samuel had predicted, with only two people, trench surveys took until after sunset. And these were not the most thorough surveys, either. I slopped notes on my scroll, cringing at the thought of trying to decipher them tonight.

2200 found us at the far watch tower. The Intelligence Officers of Lake Castle ended each day in the tower to decide which trenches needed us the most, sometimes based on enemy activity, other times on strategy trending. Although George Barclay had managed to break away to take care of Intelligence Officer night duties, Jarod was still in the field.

Snape was certainly being thorough, considering the pre-determined focus of his report, I thought with a scowl. I wished he would release Jarod back to us. It was all well and good to compare a hard day at Lake Castle with Edelweiss, but my hurried approach to the trenches worried me. Suppose I missed something while observing or (more likely) while transcribing?

While Samuel explained what we had been doing all day, George heaved a great yawn.

"Will you be okay, doing this all night?" I broke in to ask.

"Nothing an anti-fatigue spell won't fix. I've gotten very skilled at them since coming to Ozernyy Zamok," George said.

Anti-fatigue spells were not taught in Wizarding schools; rather they were field magic, like so many of our most useful spells. I had tried them before at Edelweiss but found myself twice as tired the next day. Coffee and tea seemed to exact less of a price from my body.

And if George were any indication of an anti-fatigue spell's price, it was a dear one indeed. George was only in his forties, but the dark, heavy bags under his eyes added a good ten years.

"What is that?" George abandoned our conversation to peer out the window.

I joined him, feeling my skin creep at the alarm in his usually gruff, pragmatic voice.

Barely 100 yards away and closing fast, a storm of incredible, unnatural size gusted toward the spindly tower. Snow flurries and boulders whirled within the wintry cyclone, and behind it, an unidentifiable white wall obliterated everything. The sight reminded me of the disaster movies that the Americans always released in the summer. Something else tumbled in the midst of the exaggerated blizzard: I squinted, craning my neck to see upward. Needles? One shot into view, smashed into the wall. A tree, I realized, stunned and shaking. An entire pine tree, but with no needles; the wind had stripped it bare.

"Run!" George roared, freeing me from the hypnotism wrought by our rapidly-approaching doom. "Get down the stairs!" He shoved me toward the door. Samuel scrambled behind me. George followed, drove us both to reckless flight down the winding stairs, the only hope of saving our lives. Run and Jump. Run and Jump, while the wind howled as if to announce the world's end. But the stairs were so long, and each second, the bottom seemed farther away.

Boulders and trees and who-knew-what-else crashed into the outside wall. The ground tilted beneath my feet. The already-crooked tower leaned further.

The fall wasn't the only peril; the debris could interrupt your spell-casting concentration or just bludgeon you to death. And what were we to do once we'd gotten outside? The thoughts flashed into my head like lightning.

A horrible cracking crunch from above caused us all to freeze and stare. The storm wrested the entire watch room free. Bricks broke free, shot down like deadly missiles. George threw up a shield to protect us in the stairwell. Samuel placed his hands on the bigger man's arm to add his powers to George's.

But their shield could not stand up to the storm's force and the debris it was throwing. A few hunks of tower, a few pieces of tree, and their shield shattered. Dazed, the two wizards staggered, struggled to regain their senses.

I had to protect them! But how? Against a storm so immense…

Then the rest of the tower crumbled, and we fell. I reached out for George and Samuel, cast a Jump right before we hit the ground. It left us in a sprawled heap among the ruins but saved us from what probably would have been a fatal fall.

I lay among the snow drifts and stones, on frozen ground impossibly hard, with no energy to move, despite death's nearness. I tried to sit up, to summon some last resistance as the storm began sucking the watch tower rubble into its chaotic spiral. Its whirling death grip came closer, reached for us...

Wind and rubble bounced off the shield that had risen around me.

We were saved! Sweet relief flooded me. I glanced over to see George. Deliverance had transformed his impassive face to one filled with awe.

But what about Samuel? I looked around just in time to see the wind hurl him into the air as though his body, his years and wisdom and kindness, were no more important than a cheap doll.

No! Horror absorbed all my joy at being alive into its heaviness.

It all happened so fast, I only had time to cast a spell to prevent Samuel's fall from mangling his body.

But even with his landing softened, he lay so still. I rushed to him. Rocks of all sizes bounced off my shield like hail on a roof. I threw myself across Samuel's body so the shield would protect him as well. Through my tears, I saw his dark bruises and cuts, some of them bleeding freely.

The storm only lingered for a short time more before it moved on. I stared after it, stunned. at this form of death. How strange it was, I reflected, that one moment could change everything so drastically, launch our life's path violently from certain death to life again.

I sensed the magical energies of my shield fall away. Two figures approached. The first wore faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt: Jarod. The other man was clad entirely in Ministry black and matching cloak with its hood thrown back and his hair blowing in the residual breezes of the great storm.

Snape.

"Your shield saved me," I said when he came within earshot. "Thank you."

"I am glad that you are unhurt." Snape's voice broke in mid-sentence. He knelt and closed his hand around mine.

I let him. After what had happened, many formerly important things seemed petty now.

Jarod left us alone to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him go to George.

"Is there anything we can do for Samuel?" My insides felt as if the impossible storm had entered me and were whirling them about.

"No," Snape said. "If he'd been near either of you, Jarod and I could have shielded him."

I wondered if Snape had misunderstood what I'd said. Samuel needed medical attention. It was a long way back to the base, to people who knew healing

"It is hopeless here at Ozernyy Zamok," Snape said. "They are a sacrifice left to bleed out. Everyone knows it. If you value your life, Hermione, and you should, abandon this hopeless cause and come to where you can make a difference, where you're not living on borrowed time.

I could not answer him, despite my disgust at his words. He hadn't changed.

Samuel drew a feeble, wheezing breath. I made soothing sounds, though I knew now it was too late for him, would have been, even if Snape or I had known any healing other than the Ancient Healing Arts, spells meant for flaunting in wizarding academia and symposium presentations, too complicated and archaic for practical use.

That was the thread that bound us.

I was certain that irony was somehow symbolic of our situation.

Snape gave me one last pained look. I wanted to say something, anything, but just then, all I could think of was Samuel.

After a moment of painful silence, Snape left me to cradle Samuel's head in my lap for his final moments.

Back at the base, there was no time to mourn. Jarod called a meeting at once in which George and I attempted to reconstruct every detail of the storm as we'd seen it. Watchmen reported that the spinning mass of snow and debris had died out before it could destroy another tower, though it had done additional damage to the outskirts of Ozernyy Zamok. While the three of us agreed the storm was magically generated, George and Jarod disagreed to the point of arguing on what course of action they should recommend for the base. I found myself in the unintentional position of arbiter and tie breaker.

George favored a more conservative approach. "Why did they choose that watchtower? Suppose that storm was a mere test, and the enemy has more of them waiting in the wings? We should tell Ozernyy Zamok to prepare for the worst."

"I do not think so," said Jarod, his calm, even voice in utter contrast with George's brusque, commands.

"Why?" George raised his voice with the demand.

"Because you can't cast a spell like this every day. The preparation alone -"

"Suppose they can?"

"Then wouldn't they have attacked a Ministry vital point?" I said, wondering if I were making any sense. It seemed logical, but could I trust my mind just now, between my exhaustion from this unending day and shock and grief from Samuel's death? If only I could rest, I was certain everything would be clearer. But sleep would take time the base might not have.

George persisted. "If their spell made use of the weather specific to this region, then no, they couldn't go to, for example, London and attack the Ministry there."

"Please." Jarod held up his hand. "Hear me out. The more I consider the matter, the more I think they lost control. Bringing forth so much power…it seems like the sort of thing I'd do as a younger man. Testing my limits."

I found it hard to envision soft-spoken Jarod doing such a thing.

"That is why the storm went to a seemingly-random place like the tower," Jarod explained.

George shook his head, but with quieter disagreement this time. Thanks to Ozernyy Zamok's disdain for addressing its soldiers using rank, I did not know Jarod's exact position. However, I had gathered from context that among the Intelligence Officers, the pecking order had put Samuel first, then Jarod, followed by George (with me last, of course). In the absence of Samuel, we ultimately had to support Jarod's decisions, whether he could convince us they were correct or not.

"In the end, it comes down to calculated risk," Jarod said. "Which course of action will gain the most for Ozernyy Zamok while losing the least?"

It sounded very positive when he put it that way. Personally, I thought of it as more similar to picking the most correct choice among a list of bad multiple-choice answers.

As Jarod had made the final call recommending Lake Castle's response to the storm, he also got to deliver the decision to General Hargrove.

Although I had started aching for bed midway through our discussion, I did not sleep as soon as I'd hoped. Not that I doubted Jarod's opinion, but after experiencing such a storm, and the death of a comrade… I found myself waiting, listening. Every murmur of wind made me flinch. When I finally did sleep, my dreams brought me back to the tower ruins, where I sat cradling Samuel. Every second, his deadweight increased, until his corpse trapped me like a boulder. Meanwhile, a second cyclone of ice and snow whirled toward me. No matter how I struggled, I could not free myself until the wind tore me from the ground and flung me skyward.

I woke with a start to the execrably cheery dawn bugles. Not ready to face the world yet, I made myself a cup of tea and stared blearily at my tangled blankets. I couldn't decide if roommates would have been a good thing this morning or not. 1 The Ministry did not discriminate against witches enlisting, but Ozernyy Zamok had been an exceptionally dangerous post for most of the war. The empty quarters in which I resided must have housed women at one time. Perhaps the planner had been overly optimistic. Or General Hargrove had planned to use it for wizards if there were no female personnel. The alternative gave me chills, that Ozernyy Zamok's female demographic had been killed in battle or taken prisoner and never been replaced. The possibility imparted new meaning to the rows of empty, white-painted bunks; the multiple dressers I could have used; the lack of competition for the single mirror behind the door; the silence, save for the wind through the window cracks.

And that was enough of that line of thinking! I needed a distraction!

I decided on Snape. He always took up a good deal of mental real estate. For that reason, I generally didn't let myself think about him; my obligation here was concentrating on the base and its needs.

In the tumult after the storm, I had forgotten him. Why hadn't he come to our Intelligence Officer's meeting? I was certain it wasn't as simple as "not my base, not my business."

What he'd said as Samuel was dying still stung. But why did I expect him to feel any differently? Seeing me in battle like this probably just confirmed what he believed all along. Maybe he thought it would change my mind to his way of thinking.

Well I'd show him. It was more important than ever now. His lack of belief in me and the base had reignited my sense of purpose!

Rather than the surge of determination I'd hoped for, the thoughts made my eyes water. My thoughts were like a field of eggshells and landmines lately, with few safe places I dared put my mental feet. I'd barely sniffled before a knock at my door made me jump.

"Who is it?" I said, opening the door a crack. (The women's barrack doors to the outside lacked peepholes. I suppose if I'd been feeling paranoid about safety, I might have used a spell to make one.)

"Harry," a croaky voice said.

I opened the door, not wanting to be rude, knowing I looked a fright. "Please come in." We would be alone in the barracks, which would have fueled gossip for weeks at Edelweiss. But mornings were brutal at Lake Castle, the cold too bitter to hang out in the doorway, in a robe or even Harry's full uniform. He must have just come from night shift.

"I heard about Samuel," Harry said. "I wanted to make sure you were alright, since you worked so closely with him."

His words made the tears well up again. I wiped at my eyes and fought against them with all my might. How could I retain credibility as an Intelligence Officer, even with a man who'd been my schoolmate, if I were an emotional mess?

"You don't need to hide your feelings, Hermione. I would never think less of you for them." Harry's eyes were the brilliant green of spring I'd nearly forgotten. If any knew of loss, he did, I remembered. "Not every feeling need be rationalized away, soldier or not. It's something I've known for years, something that continued exposure to death has taught the soldiers here."

"My friend," I murmured, my voice dry as dead leaves. Somehow these harsh conditions had made him gentler and kinder. Or was it just maturity of age and duty? "Thank you."

"Everyone at Ozernyy Zamok knows Samuel. I can't think of anyone who disliked him. Such a kind man. Friendly, witty, generous. There will never be another one like him. Renalto set to work right away when he heard the news." Harry held out a card. "I asked him for the first one. For you."

I took it from him with a trembling hand. Then I found myself crying on my old friend's shoulder. We remained that way until Jarod's summons arrived.

"Will you be alright?" Harry said from the front room (I'd gone into the adjacent one to change into my uniform).

"Yes," I said. His intuition had developed a keen edge. I had no intention of asking him, but I had the feeling he knew Samuel was my first personal casualty in this war. I emerged, washed my face, and smoothed my wild hair into a bun, sensing Harry watching me as if I were a delicate crystal vase in danger of falling and breaking. "It will be good to work today and take my mind off…" I took a deep breath. "What happened. Or feel like we're doing something to solve it at least."

"I understand. Just…" Harry gave me a worried look. "I'm here for you, Hermione. If you ever need anything."

"Thank you, Harry." I managed a smile before hurrying him out the door so I could lock up.

Knowing I wouldn't be ready to pass Samuel's memorial card on for quite some time, I placed it on the mirror of my dressing table.

Sometimes I imagined that Samuel moved like the paintings at Hogwarts. But closer examination showed that it was not so. Were these less urgent times, I wondered what studies of such paintings would reveal about the objects themselves, the mortal bodies and souls still shown joined therein, and indeed, the nature of death and life thereafter. It was not something I would have pondered without experiencing war and its losses. But now I felt I understood Harry and Luna a little better. I could not condemn myself for what I had not known as a child. But I resolved to be kinder to them, and to all such people. Whether we realized it or not, death was a great mystery that united us all.

But life went on, simultaneously, with the great mystery in the wings of its stage.

And each new day, I promised Samuel that I would find the deus ex machina that would bring meaning to his death and to all the soldiers who'd died for Ozernyy Zamok.

A/N

1 Massive déjà vu when I read this part. But when I looked for it among chapters posted, I couldn't find it. Not that I'm great at looking for things intentionally. So, apologies if I made this point already in similar or varying words.