A/N: Remember, Harry = Hadrian and Hermione = Helena
Apologies for taking so long to update. RL work has been extremely intense over the last 6 months or so, sucking up not just time but also creative energy. Thank you for staying with this story!
Most of the first (very long) scene in this chapter is taken from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, chapter 2. These sections are marked with **. I promise this is the longest scene taken so directly from the books, as things will diverge much more sharply soon. I felt that the continuity of this piece of the plot was important for several reasons.
The following evening, Severus ensconced himself in the reading chair in his basement potions lab a little after 8 o'clock, happily settling into another potions' journal. He had been to Hogwarts earlier under the guise of an after-dinner walk—before which he had set Wormtail to washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, adding the rat's humiliation to the execution of his own plan. Albus was, if not well, as well as could be expected, and the potions he'd brewed that afternoon had been adequate even in Severus's own estimation.
He had been reading for perhaps an hour when he felt the wards around the property alert him to the presence of visitors. Sighing, Severus laid aside his journal and made his way upstairs just in time to hear knocking on the front door.
He opened the door a sliver, already with a good idea of who he would find on the other side. As expected, it was Narcissa. Bellatrix stood behind her, damn the woman.
Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.**
"Narcissa!" said Snape, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. "What a pleasant surprise!"**
"Severus!" she said in a strained whisper. "May I speak to you? It's urgent."**
"But of course."** It was typical of the woman, he thought, to insist on whispering after presenting her bare—and easily identifiable—head to the entire street. Well, Severus had never met any member of the Black family with a shred of common sense, if it came to it.
He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation.**
"Snape," she said curtly as she passed him.**
"Bellatrix," he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them.**
Severus gestured Narcissa to the sofa. She threw off her cloak, cast it aside, and sat down, staring at her white and trembling hands clasped in her lap. Bellatrix lowered her hood more slowly. Dark as her sister was fair, with heavily lidded eyes and a strong jaw, she did not take her gaze from Snape as she moved to stand behind Narcissa.**
"So, what can I do for you?" Snape asked, settling himself in the armchair opposite the two sisters.** The sooner they got to the point, the sooner they would leave, and the fewer opportunities he would have to make mistakes.
"We… we are alone, aren't we?" Narcissa asked quietly.**
"Yes, of course. Well, Wormtail's here, but we're not counting vermin, are we?"**
He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind him and with a bang, a hidden door flew open, revealing a narrow staircase upon which a small man stood frozen.**
"As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests," said Snape lazily.**
The man crept, hunchbacked, down the last few steps and moved into the room. He had small, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and wore an unpleasant simper. His left hand was caressing his right, which looked as though it was encased in a bright silver glove.**
"Narcissa!" he said, in a squeaky voice. "And Bellatrix! How charming—"**
"Wormtail will get us drinks, if you'd like them," said Snape. "And then he will return to his bedroom."**
Wormtail winced as though Snape had thrown something at him.**
"I am not your servant!" he squeaked, avoiding Snape's eye.**
"Really? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me."**
"To assist, yes—but not to make you drinks and—and clean your house!"**
"I had no idea, Wormtail, that you were craving more dangerous assignments," said Snape silkily. "This can be easily arranged: I shall speak to the Dark Lord—"**
"I can speak to him myself if I want to!"**
"Of course you can," said Snape, sneering. "But in the meantime, bring us drinks. Some of the elf-made wine will do."**
Wormtail hesitated for a moment, looking as though he might argue, but then turned and headed through a second hidden door. They heard banging and a clinking of glasses. Within seconds he was back, bearing a dusty bottle and three glasses upon a tray. He dropped these on the rickety table and scurried from their presence, slamming the book-covered door behind him.**
Snape poured out three glasses of bloodred wine and handed two of them to the sisters. Narcissa murmured a word of thanks, whilst Bellatrix said nothing, but continued to glower at Snape. This did not seem to discompose him; on the contrary, he looked rather amused.**
"The Dark Lord," he said, raising his glass and draining it.** No other toast was conceivable in this company.
The sisters copied him. Snape refilled their glasses. As Narcissa took her second drink she said in a rush, "Severus, I'm sorry to come here like this, but I had to see you. I think you are the only one who can help me—"**
Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs.**
"My apologies," said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it… You were saying, Narcissa?"**
She took a great, shuddering breath and started again.**
"Severus, I know I ought not to be here, I have been told to say nothing to anyone, but—"**
"Then you ought to hold your tongue!" snarled Bellatrix. "Particularly in present company!"**
"'Present company'?" repeated Snape sardonically. "And what am I to understand by that, Bellatrix?"** Really, the woman was easier to bait than a Gryffindor.
"That I don't trust you, Snape, as you very well know!"**
Narcissa let out a noise that might have been a dry sob and covered her face with her hands. Snape set his glass down upon the table and sat back again, his hands upon the arms of his chair, smiling into Bellatrix's glowering face.**
"Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix," said Snape. "Why is it that you do not trust me?"**
"A hundred reasons!" she said loudly, striding out from behind the sofa to slam her glass upon the table. "Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you've lived in Dumbledore's pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord from procuring the Sorcerer's Stone? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?"**
She paused, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the color high in her cheeks. Behind her, Narcissa sat motionless, her face still hidden in her hands.**
Snape smiled.**
"Before I answer you—oh yes, Bellatrix, I am going to answer! You can carry my word back to the others who whisper behind my back, and carry false tales of my treachery to the Dark Lord! Before I answer you, I say, let me ask a question in turn. Do you really think that the Dark Lord has not asked each and every one of those questions? And do you really think that, had I not been able to give satisfactory answers, I would be sitting here talking to you?"**
She hesitated.**
"I know he believes you, but…"**
"You think he is mistaken? Or that I have somehow hoodwinked him? Fooled the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?"**
Bellatrix said nothing, but looked, for the first time, a little discomfited. Snape did not press the point. He picked up his drink again, sipped it, and continued, "You ask where I was when the Dark Lord fell. I was where he had ordered me to be, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because he wished me to spy upon Albus Dumbledore. You know, I presume, that it was on the Dark Lord's orders that I took up the post?"**
She nodded almost imperceptibly and then opened her mouth, but Snape forestalled her.**
"You ask why I did not attempt to find him when he vanished. For the same reason that Avery, Yaxley, the Carrows, Greyback, Lucius"—he inclined his head slightly to Narcissa—"and many others did not attempt to find him. I believed him finished. I am not proud of it, I was wrong, but there it is… If he had not forgiven we who lost faith at that time, he would have very few followers left."**
"He'd have me!" said Bellatrix passionately. "I, who spent many years in Azkaban for him!"**
"Yes, indeed, most admirable," said Snape in a bored voice. "Of course, you weren't a lot of use to him in prison, but the gesture was undoubtedly fine—"**
"Gesture!" she shrieked; in her fury she looked slightly mad. "While I endured the dementors, you remained at Hogwarts, comfortably playing Dumbledore's pet!"**
Snape continued responding, his voice calm and dispassionate. Always borrowing the mantle of the Dark Lord's judgement, continually needling Bellatrix with the inefficacy of her own choices. If he made his story more plausible by exaggerating the Dark Lord's powers and deprecating Dumbledore's, neither Bellatrix nor Narcissa was likely to fault him for it. It was easier, so much easier, to address Bellatrix directly like this. After all, he did not need to convince her, only sow enough doubts to silence her.
When he had finished, Bellatrix still looked unhappy, though she appeared unsure how to attack Snape next. Taking advantage of her silence, Snape turned to her sister.**
"Now… you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?"**
Narcissa looked up at him, her face eloquent with despair.**
"Yes, Severus. I—I think you are the only one who can help me, I have nowhere else to turn. Lucius is in jail and…"**
She closed her eyes and two tears seeped from beneath her eyelids.**
"The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it," Narcissa continued, eyes still closed. "He wishes none to know of the plan. It is… very secret. But—"**
"If he has forbidden it, you ought not to speak," said Snape at once. "The Dark Lord's word is law."**
Narcissa gasped as though he had doused her with cold water. Bellatrix looked satisfied for the first time since she had entered the house.**
"There!" she said triumphantly to her sister. "Even Snape says so. You were told not to talk, so hold your silence!"**
But Snape had gotten to his feet and strode to the small window, peered through the curtains at the deserted street, then closed them again with a jerk.** These theatrics gave him time to plan his next words to best deflect Bellatrix. He turned around to face Narcissa, frowning.**
"It so happens that I know of the plan," he said in a low voice. "I am one of the few the Dark Lord has told. Nevertheless, had I not been in on the secret, Narcissa, you would have been guilty of a great treachery against the Dark Lord."**
"I thought you must know about it!" said Narcissa, breathing more freely. "He trusts you so, Severus…"**
Damn the woman. Those words were hardly calculated to soothe her sister's ire.
"You know about the plan?" said Bellatrix, her fleeting look of satisfaction replaced by a look of outrage. "You know?"**
"Certainly," said Snape. "But what help do you require, Narcissa? If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I'm afraid there is no hope, none at all."**
"Severus," she whispered, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "My son… my only son…"**
"Draco should be proud," said Bellatrix indifferently. "The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor. And I will say this for Draco: He isn't shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect—"**
Narcissa began to cry in earnest, gazing beseechingly all the while at Snape.**
"That's because he is sixteen and has no idea what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance for Lucius's mistake, I know it!"**
Snape said nothing. He looked away from the sight of her tears as though they were indecent, but he could not pretend not to hear her.**
"That's why he's chosen Draco, isn't it?" she persisted. "To punish Lucius?"**
"If Draco succeeds," said Snape, still looking away from her, "he will be honored above all others."** If Draco were more able, Severus himself might escape this task, and Naricssa would not be here weeping. Severus felt an irrational surge of anger towards the boy, well aware that it was unfair of him but unable to suppress his anger at being trapped.
"But he won't succeed!" sobbed Narcissa. "How can he, when the Dark Lord himself—?"**
Bellatrix gasped; Narcissa seemed to lose her nerve.**
"I only meant… that nobody has yet succeeded… Severus… please… You are, you have always been, Draco's favorite teacher… You are Lucius's old friend… I beg you… You are the Dark Lord's favorite, his most trusted advisor… Will you speak to him, persuade him—?"**
"The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it," said Snape flatly. "I cannot pretend that the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius. Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain. Yes, the Dark Lord is angry, Narcissa, very angry indeed."**
"Then I am right, he has chosen Draco in revenge!" choked Narcissa. "He does not mean him to succeed, he wants him to be killed trying!"**
When Snape said nothing**—it was clear to him that explaining that the Dark Lord did not care whether Draco lived or died would not calm the boy's mother—Narcissa seemed to lose what little self-restraint she still possessed. Standing up, she staggered to Snape and seized the front of his robes. Her face close to his, her tears falling onto his chest, she gasped, "You could do it. You could do it instead of Draco, Severus. You would succeed, of course you would, and he would reward you beyond all of us—"**
Snape caught hold of her wrists and removed her clutching hands. Looking down into her tearstained face, he said slowly, "He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first. You see, in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds, I shall be able to remain at Hogwarts a little longer, fulfilling my useful role as a spy."**
"In other words, it doesn't matter to him if Draco is killed!"**
"The Dark Lord is very angry," repeated Snape quietly. "He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily."**
She crumpled, falling at his feet, sobbing and moaning on the floor.**
"My only son… my only son…"**
"You should be proud!" said Bellatrix ruthlessly. "If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!"**
Narcissa gave a little scream of despair and clutched at her long blonde hair. Snape stooped, seized her by the arms, lifted her up, and steered her back onto the sofa. He then poured her more wine and forced the glass into her hand,** wishing he could discreetly dose her with a calming potion instead.
"Narcissa, that's enough. Drink this. Listen to me."**
She quieted a little; slopping wine down herself, she took a shaky sip.**
"It might be possible… for me to help Draco."** Dumbledore had already ordered him to do so, after all, and the Dark Lord would not object so long as he maintained the appearance of subtlety.
She sat up, her face paper-white, her eyes huge.**
"Severus—oh, Severus—you would help him? Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?"**
"I can try."** It seemed his fate to spend his life watching over boys too ignorant and reckless to protect themselves.
She flung away her glass; it skidded across the table as she slid off the sofa into a kneeling position at Snape's feet, seized his hand in both of hers, and pressed her lips to it.**
"If you are there to protect him… Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?"**
"The Unbreakable Vow?"**
Snape's expression was blank, unreadable.** Inside his mind was racing, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He kept his eyes on Narcissa so as not to betray his thoughts. A less disciplined man would have allowed his gaze to flick over to Bellatrix, however momentarily. This was her game, her move on the chessboard, for all it came from Narcissa's mouth.
The danger was in the wording of the vow—the specifics. In its most stable form, an unbreakable vow had three parts. What might he be asked to swear, and how damaging could it be?
Bellatrix let out a cackle of triumphant laughter.**
"Aren't you listening, Narcissa? Oh, he'll try, I'm sure… The usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action… oh, on the Dark Lord's orders, of course!"**
Snape did not look at Bellatrix. His black eyes were fixed upon Narcissa's tear-filled blue ones as she continued to clutch his hand.**
Well, what did he have to lose? To refuse would be too suspicious. At worst the Vow would kill him. A small price, since it would be quick enough to seal his secrets away with him—lower stakes than his usual form of roulette at the Dark Lord's side, really. Besides, Narcissa's focus was so single-mindedly on Draco that her demands were likely to be fairly narrow. So. Best to maneuver Bellatrix into the role of Bonder, thus ensuring that Narcissa spoke the Vow.
"Certainly, Narcissa, I shall make the Unbreakable Vow," he said quietly. "Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder."**
Bellatrix's mouth fell open. Snape lowered himself so that he was kneeling opposite Narcissa. Beneath Bellatrix's astonished gaze, the grasped right hands.**
"You will need your wand, Bellatrix," said Snape coldly.**
She drew it, still looking astonished.** Whether because he had agreed or because he had outmaneuvered her, he couldn't begin to guess.
"And you will need to move a little closer," he said.**
"She stepped forward so that she stood over them, and placed the tip of her wand on their linked hands.**
Narcissa spoke.**
"Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord's wishes?"**
"I will," said Snape.** It was a little open ended, but not inherently dangerous.
A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.**
"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"**
"I will," said Snape.**
A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.
"And, should it prove necessary… if it seems Draco will fail…" whispered Narcissa (Snape's hand twitched within hers, but he did not draw away), "will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"**
There was a moment's silence.** Severus hardly dared breathe for fear that the triumph and relief pounding inside him might shine through. Silently, he mastered himself before responding.
Bellatrix watched, her wand upon their clasped hands, her eyes wide.**
"I will," said Snape.**
Bellatrix's astounded face glowed red in the blaze of a third tongue of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a firey snake.**
After the sisters had left and the heady rush of victory and survival receded, Severus felt an icy knot settle in his stomach in response to what he had just Vowed to do. Grimly, he reminded himself that Albus would be delighted.
# # #
Once his body was physically recovered from the adoption ritual, Hadrian started sleeping badly. He fell asleep each evening, but woke early in the dark morning hours, troubled by unremembered but uneasy dreams and unable to go back to sleep. On a bad night he woke at 3 or even earlier, and on a good night he woke at 5, but most mornings he woke around 4 AM.
The first night, he lay motionless in bed, terrified of waking Helena. He couldn't help suspecting that she would want him to talk about it, and embark on an endless quest to understand why he couldn't sleep. Since he emphatically did not want to discuss it, he was determined that she wouldn't know. Nor did he want to burden Madam O'Malley, who had already been so kind and done so much.
But Helena was a sound sleeper, as he quickly discovered. Hadrian soon developed the habit of moving over to the rocking chair when he woke in the night. He would stare out at the stars, and then watch as the world greyed into dawn. He was often tired and wished that he would sleep properly, but there was something peaceful about those hours, too. Sometimes he thought about Sirius, or Cedric, or his parents. Always he wondered whether things might have been different, if only—but if only what, he was never sure.
Despite his difficulties sleeping and the constant state of weariness that settled on him as a result, Hadrian admitted to himself that it was the best start to the summer that he'd ever had. The grueling physical chores he had always done for the Dursleys had similarly exhausted him, so he was accustomed to being tired during summer holidays.
Hadrian loved the cottage as a home—like Hogwarts, but more personal—especially the kitchen, and especially the meals they shared there. He loved it so much that he wondered whether he was being disloyal to the Weasleys and the Burrow. However much he might love the bustle and chaos of the Burrow, and however welcome he might feel there (at least as Harry), the O'Malley cottage near Cork was his in a way the Burrow had never been. In the cottage, he did not feel like a guest.
Making breakfast in the morning made Hadrian feel like the kitchen belonged to him, at least a little, and he loved the structure of the days. Even the hours spent studying weren't so bad, since he shared them with Helena (not that he had any intention of admitting as much). Their rambling explorations of the countryside were wholly outside his previous experience, but he quickly grew to love them almost as much as he loved flying. The same went for the after-dinner conversations.
He could tell that the hours they spent together after dinner seemed entirely natural and ordinary to Helena and their mam. Privately he wondered whether his parents had spent such evenings together when he was a baby, simply sitting and talking through the evening after they had finished washing up. The Dursleys had always been too absorbed in the telly to talk to each other much, and certainly never engaged in the sort of wide-ranging intellectual debates that seemed so natural to the rest of his new family, and of course he had never been included in Dursley family activities when they could help it. Hadrian treasured those hours, especially the stories his mam told, even as they often confused him.
As the weeks wore on he wondered, tentatively, whether this was what it felt like to have a family of his own.
#
On their second Saturday in Cork, Tonks showed up at the door with two vials of de-aging potion, an old camera, and some timeless children's clothes. Hadrian and Helena spent the afternoon as six year olds, gleefully playing with Tonks, who used her metamorphmagus skills to appear as a younger version of Madam O'Malley, while the real Madam O'Malley snapped "childhood" photos of them.
But when the potions wore off that evening, the children understood both why such potions were used so rarely—apart from the expense of the ingredients, which Helena knew to be considerable—and why the adults had insisted that they be up in their room before the effects ended: they spent the next two days lying in bed, dizzy and aching all over, barely able to move. On the second day, when they finally had enough energy to talk, they agreed fervently that they would be happy to never take that potion again.
#
The following weekend Madam O'Malley took them to the magical district of Cork, located at Fae Court. In the morning they shopped, first getting dragon-hide boots for both children, then informal outer robes—which were very like the outer robes of their Hogwarts uniforms, but without school insignias, and they got one set each in navy and grey, rather than black—before heading to the bookstore. Here Madam O'Malley told them that they could pick out one book each and to be ready in half an hour before turning decisively towards the display of recent arrivals.
Hadrian went directly to the Quidditch section, where he quickly picked a book about the Irish national team that had won the previous year's World Cup as the book Snape was most likely to let him keep. He then settled in with a history of the Chudley Cannons, knowing he still had at least 20 minutes left—and very likely more, knowing Helena as he did.
Helena wandered through the more academic sections of the bookstore, considering the possibilities as she casually browsed, before stopping at the section on warding. She found the new subject fascinating, and was particularly interested in learning how it could be refined and strengthened using Arithmancy, based on her Mam's comments. Helena pulled several likely-looking possibilities off the shelf and knelt on the floor with them, losing all track of time as she engrossed herself in the serious business of deciding which book she wanted.
When Madam O'Malley found her 45 minutes later (Helena was not the only one susceptible to losing track of time in bookstores), Helena was sitting with seven possible choices spread out in front of her, with a dozen discarded possibilities piled off to the side. When she saw the subject material, Madam O'Malley knelt on the floor beside Helena. Three books were eliminated because Madam O'Malley already owned them, a fourth forbidden because the author was sloppy in his notation, and a fifth disqualified for being too theoretical to have any practical applications.
Gathering the final two choices and adding them to her own pile of three books, Madam O'Malley stood up. "I think we've kept your brother waiting long enough."
Helena's hesitated a moment, then grinned as she understood. "Thank you," she said quietly, enveloping the older woman in a hug.
Her adoptive mother smiled at her conspiratorially before asking, "Where is your brother, do you know?"
"Have you checked the Quidditch section?" asked Helena, thinking with a pang of guilt that she probably should have made him choose something else, for the sake of verisimilitude.
By the time they found Hadrian in the Quidditch section, he had gotten through nearly five chapters of the history of the Chudley Cannons. Looking at his watch, he realized he'd been reading for almost an hour. At least he had plenty to write to Ron about now—the Cannons were always a safe choice, and he knew he couldn't write anything about his life in Ireland. Shrugging, Hadrian put the book he'd been reading aside and held out the book about the Irish national team. He noted that Helena looked relieved and Madam O'Malley looked amused at his choice, which he figured boded well for Snape letting him keep it.
After lunch Madam O'Malley took them to the Healer to have their teeth straightened. Their mouths were quite sore for several hours, even with pain-relieving potions, but it was worth it. Even Hadrian was happily surprised to see how much better (and less Snape-like) he looked with straight teeth, and Helena was clearly thrilled.
That night after supper, Hadrian wrote to Ron while Madam O'Malley gave Helena a first formal lesson on the uses of Arithmancy in warding. Using the enchanted quill from Dumbledore, it was almost strange to see his old writing, and he grimaced slightly as he realized how much neater his writing had become as Hadrian. He wrote only a short paragraph about himself, saying that he was fine (true), but missed Sirius (also true), and that being so confined was difficult (laughably inaccurate when he thought about the day's trip into Cork and all the afternoons he'd spent flying or rambling over the countryside, but Harry wasn't getting to do any of those things, so he figured he should pretend). He then continued for two pages about Quidditch, happy to discuss details of the Cannons team of 1937 with someone who would care, and then finished with a barrage of questions about summer at the Burrow, the twins' joke shop, and Ron and Ginny's summer. It was a much easier letter to write given his reading at the bookstore, and Hadrian put the unsealed letter aside for Madam O'Malley to pass on to Dumbledore with a light heart.
#
When Hadrian and Helena returned home from their afternoon ramble on Monday, having visited a meadow dotted with blooming furze that Hadrian was particularly fond of, Madam O'Malley awaited them with mail.
Hadrian had letters from Ron, Ginny, Neville, and, amusingly, Hermione, all over a week old. Neville had written soon after school ended, mostly about the plants he was growing in the greenhouse at home, but clearly concerned about Harry's wellbeing. Ron and Ginny had sent their letters together, the week before last. Ron's letter was short, mostly about Quidditch, with a bit of moaning about de-gnoming the garden the day before he'd written. Ginny's letter was only slightly longer, and mostly about the twins' progress on their joke shop and products. Hermione's letter had obviously been written weeks before, and was all about their summer homework, which simultaneously amused him and made him roll his eyes. A bit ridiculous, really, when she had been at his side and ensuring that he studied every day for weeks.
Still, it cheered him immensely to read all the letters and hear from his other friends, even if they were all short. Even the familiar handwriting of Hermione's letter stirred feelings of fondness. He missed Ron, Ginny, and Neville. It was nice to know that they were thinking of him.
Rather than letters, Helena had received a series of newspaper clippings. The first came from a Muggle newspaper, and was dated July 9.
Oxfordshire Girl Dies Heroically Saving Younger Girls from Bus
Sixteen year-old Headington resident Hermione Granger was pronounced dead Monday afternoon only minutes after being hit by a bus near a play area on Quarry Road. Amanda and Alison Alderbrook, ages 5 and 7, had been playing in the street near the park and did not notice the approaching bus. Granger, who was passing by, saw their danger and pushed the two younger children to safety, but was unable to escape the bus's path herself. The bus driver, who has been placed on administrative leave, says he did not see either of the younger girls in the street.
Mrs. Susan Alderbrook, the younger girls' mother, tearfully explained to reporters and medical personnel that she had been occupied with her 2-year-old son on the other side of the play park. She praised Granger's selfless bravery, thanking her for saving her daughters' lives.
Granger, an only child, attended a small independent school in Scotland. She is survived by her parents, Drs. Margaret and Matthew Granger, who did not respond to a request for comment.
Funeral services for Hermione Granger will be held at St. Andrew's Church in Old Headington at 2 PM on Friday, July 12.
The other two articles were clearly from the Daily Prophet. The first contained much the same information as the Muggle paper, mingled with the added information that she had recently completed her 5th year at Hogwarts, had been a Gryffindor prefect, and was well known as a close friend of Harry Potter's.
The second article from the Daily Prophet was about the funeral, and a large photo showed the magical attendees. The entire Weasley family (save Percy) stood in the front row, with Ron leaning heavily on Mrs. Weasley and Ginny sandwiched between the twins. In the row behind them were Neville and his grandmother, Luna, a man who Helena supposed must be Luna's father, and, somewhat surprisingly, Susan Bones and her parents. The third row held Hogwarts professors: McGonagall, Vector, Flitwick, Burbage, Sprout, and even Sinistra. Behind them she could see glimpses of Tonks, Lupin, the Creevy brothers with a man who must be their father, and even Lavender, Parvati, and Padma. Everyone in the photo was crying, and Helena felt her chest clench as she examined it.
She felt awful, seeing how much pain they were all feeling as a result of her choices. It hit her then that she was lying—not just to her parents and extended family, but to each and every person in that photo (except Tonks). It wasn't a small lie, either, but something terrible, perhaps unforgiveable. As the reality of it hit her, she wondered why Dumbledore had thought it worthwhile to allow her the choice she had made. What gain could possibly be worth so much sorrow? A tear dripped off of her chin and Helena realized that she was crying too.
