AUTHOR'S NOTE: I… really like this chapter. I can't really put my finger on why, but it felt good writing it. Perhaps it's because I finally give you payoff for the buildup to the Resurrection Ritual — though there's still one aspect of it that remain be shrouded in mystery till the next chapter. Will you like it as well, then? Well, the best way to tell me would be a review! (Hint, hint!) Favorites and Follows are good too, though.

Chapter XXXXV: Twice Reborn

"Well! It looks like he's gone."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, "indeed."

He moved to pick up the Stone.

"Wait a tick, Albus," she said teasingly, pushing it out of his reach.

"What?"

"Before you use it — and I will most assuredly leave you to do so in privacy — there's something I wanted to ask you. The reason I came in the first place."

"Ah, I see. Let's hear it then—"

"Please turn me into a snake."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"I'd like you to turn me into a snake please. Serpent. Ophidia. {Snake.} साँप. Are you following?"

"…not exactly."

"Well, I'd very much like to experience a snake's point of view until tomorrow. I — it was Tsh's idea, actually, isn't he just brilliant? The body you gave me looks like my real one, but it's as fake as anything, in the end. There would be no harm in your Transfiguring it into just anything else, would there? As long as it's also animate."

"I… no, indeed not."

"As I said, it would be an interesting experiment. Transfiguring me into a real, organic snake might be risky, and ethically dodgy; and becoming an Animagus would be a bigger time commitment than I can afford for now… if it is even an option; I can't be quite sure my form would be a snake; because I understand it's based on your subconscious spirit-animal, so to speak — and though some people do, hence snake Animagi like Pierre-Roland Grillelangue, the 18th century French poet, I do not in the least think of snakes as animals. So you see, this seems like a unique opportunity. …Please?"

"Well! …On balance, I see no reason why not!" decided the Headmaster. "Do you have a particular preference as to size… breed… coloration?"

She thought it over. There was a certain appeal to being a python, or an incredibly deadly viper; or even, perhaps, a Basilisk. But would that really be best? What about…

"A grass snake," she decided. "Of Tsh's size, or — slightly bigger, maybe. Oh, he'll be ever so surprised!"

"Very well then…" Dumbledore nodded, closing his eyes. "Grass snake, about thirty centimetres… hm… yes, I think I have it — we'll add the details afterwards, if you please… now let's be careful, let's do this proper and verbal, we don't want to disrupt the Locomotion spells… Mutandis!"

In a flash of white energy, Hermione felt herself shrink and melt under the power of the Elder Wand. It was a strange experience, but not notably more upsetting than losing her body for the first time. It was much quicker, too.

She looked up at the giant with the white beard.

{…Well then? How do I look?}


{Hello there, Tsh!} she greeted her friend, her now-fellow snake, upon entering the Library;

{Hermione Granger!} cheered the young snake. {So it worked!}

{And very well, too!} she added. {I have all the instincts for motion — sweet scales, I can't imagine how I would have reached the Library otherwise. And it took a lot of work, but Albus even managed the smell. Well, that is, I have the right odor, or I ought to. I can't smell you any more than I could with the human form. Substitutiary Locomotion just doesn't do taste and smell. …So! What do you think?}

Curiously, Tsh got out his tongue and smelled her. He shifted closer to her, circling her body to get a good look.

{It's… true,} he concluded. {Lifelike, I think is the word. Very well done! …All the proper muscles, the right scale patterns for my kind of snakes…}

{Good!} she said. {Very good! Anything else?}

{Hm…} Tsh mulled, looking her over from her muzzle to the tip of her tail. {Your scales, they are very… smooth.}

{Oh? Is it—}

{That's not a bad thing!} he hastily clarified. {Very… not… bad. I. Good, I mean. It's very pretty. You look young and strong at the same time.}

{Ah, alright,} she hissed in thanks. {Erm, thank you, then. And… what of the odor? I told you, that was more of an experiment, Albus had to tweak the spell on the sp…}

{It's fantastic!} he cut her off, the tip of his tail wagging in rapture. {…I, erm, sorry — but it's really very… good… pretty… scales, it's too bad you're tongueless or you'd see what I'm talking about…}

If it had been Ron Weasley, or Luna Lovegood, or any other taught Parselmouth that Tsh was speaking to, they'd doubtless have stuck out their tongue in outrage, trying to prove that they most definitely had one. To snakes and true Parselmouths however, the idiom was clear: 'tongueless', or hhsssshhhh-tushh, was one who had no sense of taste or smell, which, for a snake, was more or less equivalent to being blind.

Being, unlike our reader for whose benefit we wrote out this clarification, a true Parselmouth, Hermione did not have to cut Tsh off in confusion. Thus, it may not seem that way to you, but Tsh had continued talking seamlessly:

{Surely you'd be amazed to. You smell really… really nice. I mean, well, you're a female, so maybe you wouldn't be quite as — but—}

{Wait!} Hermione cut him off, and she would have blushed, had her body had any blood, or bare skin. {Those… those aren't mating pheromones, are they?!}

{Oh, no, no, no, no,} Tsh shook his head — it was cute, how he had adopted some human mannerisms like that. {I — no, I promise. It just smells really really nice for a regular smell, that's all. …Although, if you did get a mating smell and it was anything like this — golly.}

{Alriiight…} Hermione hissed slowly. {Er, do remember that this is just artificial, alright? It's just magic. I probably wouldn't smell like that if I was really a snake.}

{Maybe,} answered Tsh, {but it's still really nice. Hmmm.}

Hermione really, really didn't know what to do. It seemed that in his effort to turn her into a sort of platonic ideal of a snake, Albus had ended up making her into some sort of… of serpentine bombshell.

And as she'd told the Portrait of Headmaster Vulpus, she was fond of Tsh, but absolutely not in that way. Someone like Ron, or Harry, or Maximilian, was much closer to what she could imaginably call a romantic partner. And even then, she certainly thought they were handsome, but she didn't actually fancy any of them. She felt simultaneously too young and too old to be playing at romance. And anyway, she didn't have time for those sorts of distractions.

She was not, however, from what was going on around her, oblivious to the fact that she was a clear minority there. There had been the drama with Draco Malfoy and his Pansy recently; farther back, she remembered something about Crabbe getting a mystery girlfriend; her roommate Sally-Anne would not shut up about dating one Terry Boot, from Ravenclaw;… and she was pretty sure Ginny was secretly sweet on Harry. She even had an inkling that in the years before his sister's death, Albus had had an interest in Gellert Grindelwald greater than just friendship — though that was sort of in a league of its own, considering who was involved.

Yet sooner would she have believed the Basilisk had a scandalous affair with the Giant Squid, rather than think that Tsh — Tsh whom she had seen as an egg — had developed an interest in the fair sex.

{Tsh, forgive me asking, but are you… looking to mate?}

{I, er,} the surprised snake stammered, {yes!… no… well, more than just mate. I… would like a female friend.}

{A female friend?} Hermione repeated without understanding. {…Tsh, I'm definitely your friend, and lest you forget I am female.}

{No,} Tsh strained, {not just… a friend female… I… the human word? Female-friend, together? Scales! If only I could pronounce— like in the books? Female-friend?}

{Oh!} she suddenly realized. {You mean a}"girlfriend"{?}

{YES!} he said, relieved. {I… have read a lot about them. In… story-books?}

{Novels?}

{Yes.}

{Well… that truly is a nice thought,} she said. {Though I do… see your problem. Hm. There aren't many grass-snake girls nearby, are there? And probably fewer still who share your intelligence.}

{Yes,} he confirmed, wistful. {The only clever females I know, they are — well — my sisters.}

{…oh.}

{Some do it, of course,} he continued, {but the human books say mating with one's sister is — bad. For the offspring.}

{Yes, it is. Also: ick, ick, ew.}

{That is true,} he remarked. {The human books also seem to imply humans find it off-putting, disgusting. I… do not understand that part, to be quite honest. My sisters may not be the shiniest scales around, and I understand that I should not take them for mates, but they are not ugly… are they?}

{No, no, it's more of a…} she struggled to explain. {It's a… general… taboo. It's like how few intelligent beings eat their dead. There's not necessarily a practical reason not to, it's just… not done.}

{Ah. I think I understand.}

After a moment of quiet thinking, Hermione felt a rush of mischievousness and poked Tsh's muzzle with her tail, jolting him out of his reverie.

{Hey! Wake up!}

{Yes? What?} hissed the surprised snake.

{You know…} she explained, {I do enjoy talking to you — and I will get you a female-friend, I promise — but I won't stay a snake forever, so I'd rather do something more inherently snakey with my time than just sit and chat. Okay?}

{Of-Of course!} Tsh said with evident worry. {I'm — sorry I wasted your t—}

{It's alright, Tsh, quite alright,} she was quick to reassure him. {So. What do you suggest? …You're the real snake out of the two of us. What do you do when you are neither reading nor resting?}

{Well, I ea—}

{Food's out. Tongueless, porcelain body? Remember?}

{Ah, true,} he apologized, {forgive me, I had forgotten. …Wait! I know!}

{Yes?}

{Hermione Granger — do you know how to swim?}


Lucius Malfoy rather liked his expensive silver pocket-watch. Emblazoned with a snake and a peacock (his two favorite animals), enchanted to never break or stop until it was truly beyond help, and instantly adjusting to the local hour wherever he traveled, it had been one of his craftswoman mother's finest gifts. Yet even with so fine a timepiece, there was something overwhelmingly unnerving in being reduced to checking it every other minute. And not only was every further moment of delay one more moment of waiting for his amputation — hardly a lovely prospect, even if it would be cancelled soon enough by the Flamels' largesse — but this wait depended on the whims of a mudblood girl.

And worst of all were the people he had to wait with.

There was a Slytherin boy, Douglas Wilkes. Old Orson's son; of fine stock, then, but raised to all sorts of rubbish ideas by his softie of an aunt Charity. He was faithful to his henchman role in Slytherin House, one had to give him that, of course; indeed, Draco had mentioned him in his letters, as one of the most active freelance minions currently active in Hogwarts. But his presence here in the Potions Laboratory at this hour, ostensibly waiting for the same occasion as himself, clearly indicated the boy was a two-timing traitor who was alright with working for Granger. He was also passing the time by eating some of those infernal Muggle sweets, the one whose wrapping went crsh!KRSH!crsh! the moment you touched it. This was the first time Lucius had to bear it for several minutes, and it had already climbed near the top of his list of most hated noises — just below his sister-in-law's cackle.

There was Mad-Eye Moody, that infernal Knight of the Phoenix, who would not stop staring at him and at Snape in quick succession, in that oh-so-creepy way of his.

There was also Professor Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore, who was, thankfully, ignoring him in favor of tinkering with some bizarre golden instrument. Now, he would have said something about the meddlesome old coot having finally gone off the deep end if he thought that sort of Muggle toy would help; indeed, he would have written the Daily Prophet about it and had it plastered throughout Britain; but Douglas Wilkes then told the Headmaster something that implied the device would summon Gellert Grindelwald — in light of which Lucius elected to keep prudently silent.

And finally, the young sallow-faced hobgoblin, Severus Snape, standing in the middle of his lair of a Potions Laboratory. Snape was working on a fiery-looking potion, which bubbled and sparked inside its immense cauldron. Periodically, the Potions Master would stir the liquid with a large black ladle or add in some eldritch powders and herbs that, despite the Outstanding he had obtained for his Potions N.E.W.T., Lucius Malfoy could not identify. In a glaring insult to common sense, mist-like flumes that smelled of blood and sulfur permeated the room except for the area directly above the Cauldron. Shaking off his initial confusion, Malfoy figured out that it must have been spelled with some variation of the Bubble-Head Charm — though whether for the benefit of the brewer, user, or the potion itself, it was impossible to tell.

At long last, half an hour late, a small porcelain snake strutted in; and that snake, considering with what warmth Dumbledore greeted it, was apparently what was left of Hermione Granger.

"Sorry, everyone," said the Hermione snake, in, shockingly, a human voice. "I got distracted talking to the Giant Squid. Did you know he's telepathic? One more thing to add to the next edition of Hogwarts: A History. But I ramble."

"Wait," Dumbledore inquired. "I understand that you and young Tsh left the Library for the Great Lake yesterday evening. Did you truly spend the entire night, and most of this day, chatting with the Giant Squid?"

"He is very talkative," she stressed. "Also I don't need to sleep in this body. But anyway. I believe we are ready to begin. Let's go over everyone's role first, shall we? Professor Snape, you shall handle the spoken parts of the ritual, as we said."

Snape gave a sort of moan or grunt that was vaguely affirmative, not taking his eyes off the gleaming potion.

"Mr Moody, do you have mum's bone?"

"Aye!" said Moody, fishing a white femur out of one of his many invisible pockets. "Taken in the Muggle's sleep, regrown, Obliviated her of the whole thing. Talk about unknowingly! Heheh!"

"Good," she said, business-like, as if a disgusting old wizard hadn't just discussed performing non-consensual surgery on her mother — one had to prioritize. "Mr Malfoy… you know your part. You will find the ritual knife on Professor Snape's desk."

"I…" Lucius swallowed, uneasy. "Yes, I see it."

"…Well, pick it up!…"

Gingerly — for the enchanted knife looked frighteningly sharp, though he also knew it was charmed to cause no pain — the former Dark Wizard obeyed.

"And Douglas," she finished, "you have the enemy's blood?"

"Right here," he confirmed, presenting a sealed, opaque vial.

"Albus, you will carry me into the Cauldron, please. …Oh, and do cast a preemptive Modesty Charm over the cauldron; unlike the Transfigured one, I don't imagine this body will come with any clothes…"

"True," concurred the Headmaster. "Very sensible. That would have been—"

He glanced at Snape.

"—awkward. Well then. Pudicitiam!"

The fluffy white clouds of the Charm coalesced over the Cauldron, where they remained, knowing, from Dumbledore's uniquely skillful casting, to wait for their target to materialize, rather than flicker out of existence as soon as they found none.

"And let me summon Gellert—"

"I hope you don't expect that man to take part in the ritual?!" harrumphed Malfoy.

"Of course not," Hermione huffed back. "Or else, I should think I would have mentioned him when I mapped out everyone's parts earlier. He's just a spectator, as a personal favor from Albus, I understand. The poor man—"

"Poor man!"

"— Lucius, don't make fun of my inner goodness, you owe your freedom to it — the poor man doesn't get to see much powerful magic anymore, these days. What harm can his being here do?"

"Thank you again," said the newly-materialized Grindelwald. "I see that everything is ready… Please, don't let me delay you."

"Alright," she said decisively. "Let us begin."

Everyone took a deep breath; all but Snape and Hermione took a step backwards from the cauldron. Moody handed Snape the bone.

"Bone of the mother, unknowingly given… you will renew your child," the Potions Master recited, solemn, as he dropped the femur into the potion.

The liquid turned a poisonous shade of blue and lost its electric sparkle. As anticipated.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed…"

An anxious Lucius Malfoy slowly walked to the side of cauldron. Then, mindful not to touch the burning metal, he held forward his left arm over the potion, and cut it clean off with his right; to the man's credit, his face only showed the barest sign of a wince, soon morphed by his Slytherin habits into a sort of disgusted sneer bordering on a snarl.

"…you will revive your mistress."

The potion's hue changed again, this time to a bloody red. Right on cue, Douglas gave Snape the vial, which he uncorked through a bit of wandless magic (showoff) before pouring its contents into the potion.

"And blood of the enemy…" Snape finished, "you shall resurrect your foe."

A rising note, like an acoustic defect, erupted from the cauldron as the Resurrection Potion turned a glowing white. Secrets of the Darkest Art didn't properly describe that phase — perhaps it was that the Dark Wizard writer hated to speak of the Light for any reason? — and they were all caught by surprise by the blinding flash. All, that was, but Hermione Granger, whose eyes were just Transfigured dots on a Transfigured bodies, Hermione Granger who saw through the same arcane processes that gave sight to portraits and statues… Hermione Granger who saw, quite clearly, as Douglas Wilkes lifted Grindelwald's remote-projector, and, pushing Dumbledore away, dumped it into the Potion with a rather silly splash.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

Those words were screamed in more or less the same tone and cadence, although at slightly different times, by Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger, Severus Snape, and Gellert Grindelwald.

Mad-Eye Moody, meanwhile, had skipped the questioning and tackled the Slytherin boy to the ground with some nonverbal spell. He had then begun using every revealing spell he knew on the struggling minion.

Dumbledore did something to suddenly clear away all the fumes in a blast of wind, and, having had a bit of time to adapt to the strong lighting coming from the Potion, the mages got a good look at the situation.

"Sir!" Douglas was protesting. "Stop trying to undo — I'm not in disguise, alright? I'm really Douglas Wilkes, I swear! Ggh!"

"I believe him," Snape told Moody. "I know his manners. Let him go."

"Maybe he is the Wilkes tot," grumbled Moody, "but I'll tell you one thing, he's a spy!"

"Of course I'm a spy!…" cried Douglas. "It's my job! …But anyway, it didn't work, so just, er, let me go and carry on, alright?"

"What were you trying to do?" Hermione asked ruefully. "And why?! …Moody, let him go. Go on."

"'s your funeral," the wizard grumbled in his nonexistent beard as he let the contrite Slytherin climb to his feet.

"Well, obviously," he said, "I was trying to highjack the Resurrection to give Lord Grindelwald's projection a physical form here in England."

"…Monroe put you up to this, didn't she?" Hermione guessed.

"Well you can her that I do not want to escape!" the Grindelwald projection shouted at Douglas. "And I am not, nor ever was, a LORD!"

"Noted, sir," he said in a small voice.

"Douglas, why didn't you tell me you were working for Monroe now?" asked Hermione.

"What do you think?" chuckled Douglas, producing a bit of licorice from his side pocket. "Lady Monroe paid me extra to not tell you."

"Mr Wilkes," Snape reprimanded, "beyond the fact that you have been caught — which is in itself a disgrace — let me tell you this was an extremely foolish plan. This potion is meant for somewhat-incarnate beings, not disembodied phantoms, for one thing; especially not ones who do have a body elsewhere on Earth; and furthermore, I believe it was quite plain, from the last few ingredients, that this was a personalized potion — one which would have had little effect on anyone but Miss Granger. Ten points from Slytherin, you rash-thinking dolt!"

"Fair, fair," the boy said in a jaded voice. "But then, I knew the plan was rubbish, you know. Monroe didn't, that's all. I still got paid for this. All licorice delivered in advance. And this about concludes by contract with the Hufflepuff, Miss, so I can go right back to working for you in earnest, whenever you need me for anything. Like Professor Snape said, dumping the projector in the Potion didn't actually do much of anything… except splash a bit of it out of the cauldron, I guess. It should be fine. Carry on. …I'll just go."

"…Alright," Snape called as Douglas walked out of the Potions classroom, "you may have three points back to Slytherin for pragmatic cunning. But no more, are we clear?"

"Thank you, Professor!…" came the distant reply before Douglas's footsteps faded away completely.

"Very Slytherin, that boy," Dumbledore remarked. "And not in an unpleasant way…"

"We like to think so. …Right then," said Snape, eying the potion, which was still blazing white. "Where were we…"

"Rise again," Dumbledore prompted.

"Ah, yes. This is your part, isn't it? Pick up the girl, will you, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gently picked up Hermione's snake body and gently eased her into the bubbling white potion, as Snape intoned the final part of his ritual chant:

"…the Parselmouth of Gryffindor shall rise again!"