A/N: No comment. This chapter speaks for itself.
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.
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Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was in Dumbledore's office with the Headmaster himself, and after a lengthy conversation discussing the events at the Ministry—everything from Bellatrix's death to the ritual and to Charlie's possession and subsequent transformation—he was left dumbstruck by what came next: The Deathly Hallows. Dumbedore had taken it upon himself to explain with a disturbing amount of calm just what they were, and how he had intended for Harry to use them.
"Let me get this straight," Harry said slowly, when Dumbledore had finished. "You meant for me to become the Master of Death, so that if I walked straight into my own death… I wouldn't really die?"
"Not if," Dumbledore responded somberly, looking at Harry over his half-moon glasses. "When."
Harry sat back in his chair, feeling rather discombobulated. If he was perfectly honest with himself, it was true: with what Dumbledore had just told him now, he would have willingly walked to his death if it meant making Voldemort killable. Thinking about it made him queasy inside—there was a part of him, the same part in every living thing, that felt uncomfortable at the prospect of his own demise—but the plan itself was up to Dumbledore's usual standard of brilliance.
He still preferred Hermione's plan, however. Whatever it was now.
There was something else bothering him, though. Dumbledore had taught him about the Elder Wand, the legendary Deathstick that was passed down through murder. If Harry was going to be the Master of Death, Dumbledore would have had to plan for him to defeat the current owner. Which meant—
"How were you planning to give me the Elder Wand?" he blurted.
Dumbledore's eyes lit up for just a fraction of a second, as though he were impressed by Harry's thoughtfulness. And then he slowly lifted up his own wand.
"A duel," he said, "I would challenge you to take the wand from me."
For a moment, Harry was dumbstruck. And then he spluttered, "You—you're the master of the Elder Wand?"
"Indeed, I am."
"But how?"
For a moment, Harry regretted asking the question. There was a flash of something that very much resembled pain and sorrow across the old man's face, and he instantly felt shame at having caused it. But Dumbledore answered before he could backpedal.
"You will recall, Harry, a memory I showed you of two young boys discussing the Deathly Hallows." Dumbledore sighed and settled back in his chair. "One of those boys was me. The other—do not interrupt!" he said, seeing Harry's mouth open to speak. "The other was a boy by the name of Gellert Grindelwald."
Grindelwald. The name was familiar to Harry, and it took him a moment to place it. It had been a while since he had read it, but the details quickly came back to him. Dumbledore had dueled Grindelwald. Dumbledore had won. Grindelwald had carved the sign of the Deathly Hallows into the wizarding prison Nurmengard, the very same prison he himself was residing in for his crimes. But if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were those two young boys, barely of age in the memory he had seen, then that meant…
"Grindelwald stole the wand from a wand-maker named Gregorovich," Dumbledore continued. "He intended to collect the other two Hallows, but ultimately failed."
Harry gaped at him.
"The girl and the other boy you saw in the memory was my late sister Ariana, and younger brother Aberforth," Dumbledore continued. "My mother was already dead at the time, and I was the eldest son in the family—and I will admit it, Harry, I didn't take my job very seriously. I had a brother in school and a younger sister who needed careful attention, and I abandoned them for—how did Hermione put it? Ah yes—grand plans."
"Hermione knows about this?"
"There seems to be very little that Hermione doesn't know about these days," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. His gaze grew somber. "The reason I am telling you this, Harry, is to highlight a very important point: I consider myself much more intelligent than most men, if you'll forgive the boast, but my mistakes seem to be a study in disastrous correlational severity."
He got to his feet.
"I made a great many mistakes with you as well, Harry," he said, "and I am sorry for each and every one of them."
Harry nodded slowly.
"It is also with great regret that we still have to find a way to kill Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said, turning toward the window. The sun had almost set, streaking the sky with great long brush-strokes of color. The shadow of an owl could be seen in the distance. "And that part of your destiny, I'm afraid, I have no control over."
"I always knew I'd have to be the one to kill him," Harry said.
"We will find a way," Dumbledore agreed, and he smiled. "And perhaps, with Hermione's help, it will not involve any further death-defying deeds on your part."
~o~O~o~
Voldemort's rage was incandescent, and it reflected upon the attacks that were now being reported daily by the Prophet. A bridge had been felled in London. The Ministry had its hands full trying to drive away the Dementors, and some of the Order's worst fears had finally come to pass: Voldemort had at last persuaded the Giants to join his side, and they left a ruined countryside in their wake. War, which had already been roiling through Great Britain, had reached a new level of escalation. Voldemort was no longer holding back or lying low: Snape's betrayal had triggered a new level of response. He himself personally laid waste to the land around Oxford, and the Ministry's tentative position finally broke: they were overwhelmed. Their Aurors couldn't handle him. There were more deaths in the month of May than the rest of the year combined, a sad fact that was reported in the Prophet, and which Hermione calculated to actually be true. The fatalities were piling up. Voldemort had made the decision to forego fighting in the shadows, and was attempting to hit them all hard and fast, where it hurt the most.
The Ministry was on the verge of crumbling by the time June rolled in. Student exams were the least to be worried about, but they were still scheduled to be taken, and everyone reluctantly hunkered down to study for them. Everyone was concerned about the state of things, but life had to carry on. Hermione reflected that with Severus no longer in Voldemort's camp, and with Harry no longer gifted with access to Voldemort's mind, their main source of information had been cut-off. They had no inkling of when or where he would strike next.
On the other hand, with Severus no longer answering the call of the Dark Mark, a large burden had been eased. Their lives had not changed all that much in retrospect, and all things being equal, they were now in far greater danger of dying before the war ended. But they were both much happier for it.
Their newfound freedom did not last long.
"He attacked Gringotts," Hermione breathed in disbelief, the morning Prophet falling from her hands. The paper displayed a picture of the destroyed entrance—he had stolen nothing, but had merely terrorized the institution by ruining their entrance hall in a vicious giant attack. Several other shops had been destroyed, but Gringotts had been the prime target, and the one everyone was most concerned about. If the Wizarding equivalent of Fort Knox could be so brazenly broken…
"This is my fault!" she said in disgust, kicking the papers aside as she opened her desk drawer, searching for pre-examination preparation papers for her students. "I knew he wouldn't take your defection well, but this!" She was very nearly speechless, her normally extensive vocabulary cut short in shock. "I never expected this!"
Severus picked up the abandoned pages, collecting them and folding them back into place. "This goes beyond my defection," he stated quietly. "It must."
"We were the trigger—no, you were the trigger. Which means I am responsible—"
"Hermione—"
"We had him, Severus!" Hermione wheeled around, her teeth bared, the scar on her teeth made prominent with her snarl. "We were killing the beast slowly, we were beating him because we had him constantly on the defensive—we were cutting him off gradually, we were weakening him. And it was working because he didn't fully realize what was happening! And now he's making a comeback, and I could have just cost us the war!"
"I agreed to this, if you recall," Severus snapped. "I thought it was a sound plan."
Hermione inhaled sharply, and then shut her mouth with a click. Severus recognized this as her trying to bite her tongue before she said something she would regret, rather than tacit agreement. The paper in his hands crumpled beneath his fingers: did she think his judgment was flawed?
And then he realized: yes, it was. He had been eager to come out from under the Dark Lord's thumb. Too eager. He had not considered all of the ramifications. It was not just his wife's judgment, but his own, that could have cost them everything. Their combined selfishness, their willingness to pull the plug too soon—they could have conceivably ruined every advantage they had in the war. All because they had given the Dark Lord the morale and incentive he needed to begin hitting hard and fast.
The Dark Lord's revival had been somewhat botched by Harry's escape from the graveyard. He had spent the first year remaining on the down and low. His attacks the following year had been deflected and carefully evaded, and the spy network he had carefully crafted in the years before had been ferreted out. This had placed him on the defensive, causing him to move with caution and uncertainty. He had turned into a wood pusher, using his forces ineffectively and accruing great losses like Bellatrix Lestrange as a result.
But now he had finally snapped. He was enraged. The serpent was cornered, and he was striking with all the vigor he could muster. And this, Severus realized, had made him more dangerous than he had ever been before.
Very quietly, he said, "We may have made a grave error."
Hermione swallowed, unspeaking.
"Our thinking, our reasoning behind what we did, may have been… precipitous." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't matter which of us, or if even both of us, are ultimately responsible for it. What's done is done—and the only thing left is to repair it as best we can."
Hermione nodded, not quite meeting his eye as she laid her head against his shoulder. "I've been an idiot," she whispered.
"We didn't think this one through. We became careless, and we let our emotions and personal desires, get in the way." He kissed her forehead very lightly, the gesture no more than a brush of his lips against her skin. "We will endeavor for it to not happen again. But Hermione, we are only human—and after twenty years of this… we do make mistakes."
"This isn't the first, and it won't be the last," Hermione said quietly.
"But we will try."
After that, they scarcely made it to the Great Hall in time to eat breakfast before class. The students stared, of course, and there were whispers here and there—but in the grand scheme of things, Hermione's identity and the Slytherins' knowledge about their relationship had been deemed unimportant in light of the escalating war. Hermione suspected Severus had made very subtle threats to the Slytherins, with details here and there about what misfortunes might befall them if they spread rumors. Regardless of whether they felt betrayed by their Head of House for his defection of the Dark Lord, the Slytherins still knew it was better to work with Professor Snape than against him. He wasn't the most disliked teacher at Hogwarts for nothing, and few students wanted to be the target of his ire without a very good reason. Revealing Professor Granger's relationship with Professor Snape wasn't a strong enough incentive.
Some of her old classmates had initially stopped by after class to talk to her. Lavender and Parvati, who she had shared a dorm with for five years, and wanted details; Neville and Luna, who already knew, but stopped by nonetheless to see how she was holding up (and which she appreciated, oddly enough); several other members of the DA, who had been most affected by her departure, as they had been the last to see her before her disappearance. But Hermione had not had a lot of friends aside from Harry and Ron during her years in her first timeline, and she therefore did not have any long-lost friends of Remus or Sirius's caliber to finally reveal herself to.
Hermione felt as if her entire life was held together by fragile strings that were slowly breaking as the weight of her problems grew greater and more complex. Sometimes, it seemed to her as if she were barely keeping it intact.
Draco Malfoy continued to attend her class, but he was, for the most part, subdued. He performed everything by the book, as though daring her to find fault with him, but was otherwise distant and disengaged. He paid attention to her lessons, but Hermione could see it: he didn't know who she was anymore. To him, she had become a trusted mentor; now she was nobody. He continued to spend a fair bit of time with Selenius, as far as Hermione could see, and she was at least relieved that none of the Slytherins seemed to have made any sort of connection between Selenius and his true parents in the midst of all of this: their secrecy had paid off handsomely.
Hermione spent every evening the week before exams ensconced in the Headmaster's office. This time, she was scheming alongside him rather than against him—a new experience, indeed. They were both greatly disturbed by Voldemort's current behavior and perturbed by what they viewed to be responsible for it—ultimately, Hermione—but they soldiered on in an attempt to find a way to trap the beast again. None of their plans seemed to get beyond the half-baked stage: Voldemort's behavior was so erratic and his attacks so powerful that they were unable to agree upon a way to contain him.
"I wish we could just employ the ministry's help," Hermione said, nearly frustrated to tears. She took a shaky sip of her tea in an attempt to calm herself, and set the cup down with as much care as she could muster: she had already broken two mugs, and left an ugly stain on the carpet. "They've got resources, but they're all giving each other the run-around—so ridiculously unproductive, and at the worst time. The Head of the Goblin Liason Office wants nothing to do with the Aurors, who all want to set up a fortress within Gringotts itself—as if the Goblins would ever allow that. And the committee for the Disposal of Dangerous creatures has its hands full with all the attacks, and they can't seem to cooperate with the Aurors."
Dumbledore rubbed his temple. "This is indeed a challenge greater than I anticipated," he admitted.
"I just wish we could start over," Hermione muttered, biting her thumb. "It's like chess. You take a break from play, and then come back to the table. But the game we're playing has a very short hourglass."
"And the pieces, if you'll forgive me for running with your metaphor, seem to be spread out in no particularly effective order."
"Bugger," Hermione uttered in despair. She gave her tea a desolate look. "I really did bollocks this up. You had a sound plan, and I had to go and ruin it."
"There's no use shedding tears over spilled dragon's blood," Dumbledore declared with something resembling forced cheerfulness. Hermione knew he was attempting to be diplomatic, but that deep down, he agreed wholeheartedly with her assertion.
"This is stupid," Hermione muttered, and then shook herself to try and get back on track. "Alright. Suppose we lured him…"
With enough brainstorming, they did come up with a few rough ideas, but by the end of the week, that was all they had. They were planning under great duress, and with very little to work with. Hermione felt as though her grip on the situation was slipping, and she was barely clinging on with cramping fingers. But as exams drew to a close, Dumbledore was so often absent that Hermione had to continue her schemes alone.
Lure him? Do an all-out frontal assault? Try to poison him? Hermione even considered doing some fiddling with charms to create something upon which to spy on the Dark Lord with, but had no way of getting it to him. It would be easily detected, she was sure. One thing she was certain of was that none of these would work.
All of this came to naught shortly after. It was on the first day of June, a warm summer's night, and an evening when Dumbledore was away at the Ministry, that it all came crashing down. A silvery lynx burst through the heavy wooden doors and glided over to McGonagall's place at the high table. The entire hall grew deathly silent as it gracefully landed on her plate, and opened its mouth:
"The Ministry is under siege. Scrimgeour is alive. Dumbledore is fighting. They are coming."
It vanished a moment later, a wisp of grey smoke, and the hall erupted in such cacophony that Hermione had to clamp her hands over her ears to even hear herself think. McGonagall stood up so quickly that she nearly tipped over her chair, and her call for order was lost in the pandemonium of frightened, terrified children.
Unsurprisingly, it was Severus who first grasped the situation and took charge.
"SILENCE!"
His bellow echoed through the great hall, startling everyone mute. He leaned over his seat, palms pressed flat against the wood, baring his teeth at the wide-eyed students. They all shrank back in fear, but held their tongue, as he gestured toward McGonagall.
"You were saying?"
"Thank you, Severus," McGonagall said crisply, and then addressed the students.
"All of you will remain here—quietly —while the teachers secure the castle," she declared quietly. "The prefects will be left in charge. I expect you all to obey them in our absence." Then she stepped away from the table, and with a gesture to her staff, began leading them out of the hall. The students watched them in trembling silence as they left, and the doors whined with an audible squeal as they shut behind them.
"Minerva, what are we going to do?" Filius squeaked in an undertone, as they huddled in the Entrance Hall. "You-Know-Who is coming. We can't hold him off forever."
"We can't just evacuate the students either," Pomona responded in a hushed voice. "We're responsible for them. Many of them, especially the Muggle-borns, don't have a safe place to go."
"Both of you are correct," McGonagall cut in curtly, "but our option are limited."
Hermione's mind was whirling, her thoughts spinning with possible solutions. "Then we'll hide them," she said. "It's a great big bloody castle. We can hide them all."
"In what room?" Professor Vector demanded. "We don't have the manpower to supervise hundreds of children distributed throughout the castle. We can't protect them all."
"No," Hermione said slowly. "There's a secret passageway accessible by the One-Eyed Witch on the third floor. I've sealed it off part-way, but it leads to Honeydukes, and it's big enough that we could fit everyone down there. And if anything were to go wrong," she said, with a meaningful look at the assembled staff, "it could easily be unblocked. The students would be able to evacuate through Honeydukes, which has its own Floo."
Her colleagues all exchanged glances.
"It's workable," Filius declared. "I trust Hermione's judgment. If she says we can get them all down there, and if it leads to a safe place outside the castle, then it's our best option."
"Then we'll seal off the castle," Severus said in a low voice. "And then what? You cannot expect us to hold him off forever."
"It is my hope that Dumbledore will return before that happens," McGonagall said heavily, "but in the event that it doesn't—then Hogwarts will fall. We will escape down the passage with the students, divide them between us, and evacuate them to different parts of Britain."
"Most of 'em will have families ter return to. The rest of 'em we can look after," Hagrid interjected quietly.
"Then it's agreed," McGonagall said, standing up straighter. "The Heads of House will lead their students to the secret passage—Hermione, you will take my place for Gryffindor," she asserted. "I will begin sealing the castle. The rest of you, come with me."
The three Heads and newly-instated substitute remained by the doors as Professor McGonagall led the other teachers away. Hermione heard her send them off to different parts of the castle, and then turned to the others.
"Let's go," she said.
They pulled open the doors and filed into the Great Hall. Severus at once signaled to his students to stand up, and there was the scraping of benches as they obeyed. Their faces were ghostly white as Severus gestured toward the doors.
"We are going to the third floor," he said imperiously. "Organize yourselves alphabetically, by last name, and follow me."
He turned around swiftly, his robes billowing out behind him as he strode out of the hall. His students shuffled out of the room in orderly silence, throwing backwards glances at the other students as they left. Some looked scared. Others contemptuous. Hermione waited until their footsteps had faded, and then gestured at the Gryffindors.
"You lot," she commanded. "You're coming with me."
They all stood up, murmuring low questions and even some protests, but Hermione held up a hand to demand their silence. They reluctantly complied, and she began directing them down the same path Severus had taken.
"Where are we going?" one third-year asked in a hushed tone.
"We're going to hide you and then ward the castle," Hermione said quietly, as they ascended the stairs. By the time they made it to the third floor, over half the Slytherins had already vanished down the tunnel. The Gryffindors all watched, wide-eyed, as the remainders clambered in.
"Where does it lead to?" Selenius asked, pushing forward a bit for a better look.
"You'll find out in just a moment. Mr. Malfoy!" Hermione barked, stopping the seventh-year just as he was about to climb in. "Come here for a moment."
Malfoy gave his Head of House a panicked look, and then pulled his leg free and turned to her. "Yes, Professor?"
"The tunnel at the end leads to Honeydukes, but it's been sealed off. Do you remember your lessons concerning the removal of wards?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Good." Hermione leaned forward, until they were face to face. Draco was a bit taller than her, but it still had the desired effect: he stood up straighter, giving her his full attention. "If you receive a Patronus from any of the teachers telling you to remove the wards, I want you do to so immediately, and then direct the students down the passage. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded frantically.
"Alright." Hermione's expression softened. "Go on."
Last to climb in, Draco clambered over the statue and disappeared. Hermione turned to her wide-eyed Gryffindors and gestured at the hump.
"Line up, one at a time. Let's go."
Hermione mentally began checking names off as the students stepped forward. Selenius climbed in quietly and without fuss. When it was Harry's turn, he paused, his body already half-way in.
"Let me stay behind. I want to fight."
"That's not up for debate," Hermione told him flatly. "Get in."
Harry hesitated. Hermione plowed on before he could formulate a proper protest.
"If something goes wrong, I need you to be a leader and keep everyone calm," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Okay, but—"
Without warning, Hermione pushed down hard. Harry let out a yell of surprise as he shot down the tunnel, and Hermione looked up in time to see Severus smirking.
"I've wanted to do that for years."
"You have been doing it for years." Hermione turned to the remaining students and clapped her hands, just in time for the Ravenclaws to arrive. "Next up! Come on, let's go!"
As soon as all of the students were inside, the Prefects joined them. Hermione requested the House Ghosts to join them to keep an eye on things, and then shut the hump. She ran her hands over it, weaving in careful wards, and then stepped back. A quick consultation with the other staff members, and they all split up to different parts of the castle.
"The other passages are already sealed, thankfully," Hermione told Severus, quickly descending the stairs to return to the Entrance Hall. A knight creaked forward, one of many marching their way to the courtyard. "I don't know what else needs to be done—ah, there's Filch!"
Filch hobbled into view, Mrs. Norris twined around his ankles. "The Headmistress says she wants you to take care of the Astronomy Tower," he wheezed. "Professor Snape is to lock the Entrance Hall as soon as the armor has finished assembling."
"Thank you!" Hermione called, as she turned around and began racing up the steps two at a time.
She hurried up the stairs, and reached the Astronomy Tower to find Professor McGonagall already there. With a curt word, the older woman directed her on what wards to set up, and Hermione quickly paired off with her to accomplish this.
"How much time do we have?" she asked.
"I don't know," the deputy Headmistress said, looking worried. "Kingsley hasn't sent another Patronus."
Hermione didn't try to convince her that it would be alright. None of them knew that, and empty words surely wouldn't help them now. Instead, she set her lips into a thin line, and continued drawing up the wards.
"What worries me," McGonagall said at last, "is that Albus hasn't returned."
"Kingsley said he was fighting," Hermione said softly. "It sounds like he's dueling the Dark Lord."
McGonagall's response was cut off by dark shapes slowly coming up on the vanishing horizon. Hermione squinted, and then grabbed one of the telescopes and directed it toward the distance.
"Giants!" she declared. She shifted the telescope upward, and then added, "And Death Eaters—they've got brooms!"
Hermione heard Professor McGonagall summon her Patronus, and looked up in time to see a dozen different striped tabbies racing off in different directions. She turned to the Deputy Headmistress.
"Are we ready? Is the school locked down?"
"For now," Minerva said, her face chalk white but set.
"This might buy us some time," Hermione said, suddenly hit by an idea. She raised her wand. "Accio Fireworks! Accio Portable Swamp!"
There was a loud bang as the objects snapped into view, as though they had been conjured, and fell to the floor in a heap. McGonagall looked on in a mixture of amazement and disbelief as Hermione unwrapped the fireworks.
"Minerva, take that down to the Entrance Hall and set it off," she said, tossing the Portable Swamp package to the Deputy Headmistress. "Ask Severus for something corrosive." She leaned over the rampart, wedging herself in the space between posts, and aimed one of the fireworks toward the hulking figures in the distance. "Incendio!"
There was a loud squeal and a bang as the fireworks went off. A single rocket exploded outwards, arching up in a perfect parabola with a sinister squeee until it began its slow descent. Hermione saw the giants pause to watch it, and peering through the telescope, she saw their looks of incomprehension. And then it struck one of them squarely in the belly, and there was a commotion of flashing lights and wild noise as the rocket exploded. Catherine wheels and fire-breathing dragons roared out, multiplying as they crashed and burned into whatever targets made themselves available. And unfortunately for the assembled giants, the fireworks thought they were very good targets.
"Fred and George are brilliant!" Hermione said, beaming with pride as the Death Eaters struggled to deal with a childish prank turned deadly. The giants were panicking now, stomping and roaring in pain and fear, and Hermione saw one of the Death Eaters get knocked off his broom by a swinging fist. She turned to look at McGonagall, but she was already gone. Satisfied, Hermione picked up another rocket and after a moment of searching the horizon, saw something approaching from another direction—spiders. Giant spiders. Acromantulas. The very ones Hagrid loved. But they were not coming for the castle, Hermione realized, but were making their steady march toward the giants. Hagrid must have appealed to them—at the very least, Aragog must have ordered them all to assist.
Hermione set off a second box of fireworks and then a third, directing them all at the Death Eaters trying to escape the Giants' rage. From the distance, it was like watching a carnival, with the colorful lights blaring, twisting, and turning every which way. And then she picked up the last two boxes, shrunk them, and stuffed them inside her pockets. She knew they would not be held off forever, but she had bought them time; and when they inevitably broke into the castle, this would provide further mayhem.
She returned to the Entrance Hall to find the doors locked shut. The other teachers were assembled at the base of the stairs, gingerly putting distance between themselves and the enormous swamp that covered the entirety of the hall. The swamp bubbled and frothed menacingly, and steam rose up in several places: it looked poisonous.
"They're here," Hermione stated tightly, as she looked out over the swamp and to the tightly-locked doors. And then she smiled. "We're ready."
And then she turned on her heels and raced back up to the North Tower.
Please review!
~Anubis Ankh