Chapter 21: Beginnings?

The funeral had been underway for a while now. Severus Snape stood at the back of the crowd, looking as properly disinterested as he should, and earning himself stares of disapproval.

He wasn't interested. Dumbledore had been characteristically cunning in demanding the presence of all Potter's teachers so that Severus's presence could be justified. However nothing justified standing shoulder to shoulder with Hermione at this moment. They were playing endgame and needed now more than ever precision control over themselves and their appearances.

Instead of pining to be with Hermione, he concentrated on projecting emotions of calm and composure to her across the crowd. Shielded by all the other people, it was no easy task. But it was necessary.

Ronald Weasley had been there with the rest of the clan, all looking suitable distraught. For himself, he couldn't countenance such an outward display of emotion. Why did these people need to prove to the world how much they were grieving; why did they need to prove publicly how much they loved the deceased? Shrugging it off, he decided maybe it was just their way, and each to his own.

But Ron, as soon as he had seen Hermione had felt compelled to rush to her side and ask her if it was true. 'There's lots of truth out there. Which one were you searching for in particular?' He had heard her say as he moved away, and had smiled. It was something he would have said. 'About the rumours. What Malfoy's saying?' He had caught, and stopped at the edge of hearing range to await her reply.

Though the intense grief he had felt come off her when she had eventually answered had stopped him smiling:

'If he's saying that Harry and I helped kill Voldemort, then yes, it's true. If he's saying that I killed Harry on purpose, then no, it's not.'

'And the other thing?'

Hermione had just turned away, unable to answer. In the clothes she was wearing it was obvious she was seven months pregnant.

And so the funeral had begun, with a small, but discernable distance between Hermione and the people standing around her. It was sad, but understandable.

However, as Severus had been musing and focusing on Hermione, he had not noticed the funeral come to an end. It was only the flow of people moving away that alerted him to the fact. Hermione had yet to move.

Once everyone bar himself, Hermione and Dumbledore had disapparated of disappeared, he released his partial control of her emotions to let her deal with things her own way, then settled down to wait. Dumbledore came to sit beside him, and the two were peaceful until a series of little plops announced a few new arrivals.

Hermione remained unaware, but the two men turned to be met by Cornelius Fudge himself, with a guard of four aurors.

"I asked to be informed when she was ready to spoken to." Fudge opened coldly.

"And we will, minister." Dumbledore answered equally coldly. The lack of capital letter on the honorific was obvious, too.

"I meant when she awoke."

"Then I'd advise you to say what you mean. It generally avoids confusion."

"Then let me be clear. There will be no more attempts to prevent this investigation from going forward. I will interview her today, and bring this to trial as soon as possible."

"No, you will not." That was Snape, evil Snape, icy Snape, intimidating Snape speaking.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'd apologise, but then I'm not sorry. I thought we were speaking clearly, so here it is. Miss Granger has her NEWTs in two weeks, and these proceedings will disrupt that. Her pregnancy means they cannot be delayed. I'm sure you were not aware of that, or you would not have made the suggestion."

His tone, however, said he believed the exact opposite.

"So, I would like you to consider that the outcome of the trial exonerates Miss Granger entirely, as I expect it will. You will have prevented her from qualifying as a witch, which I will take personally. I have spent a considerable amount of time tutoring her in readiness for these exams. If there's one thing I dislike more than you, minister, it's wasting my time. As I said, I take it personally.

"You think Miss Granger was out for revenge, so let me tell you, you have no idea what a vengeance quest looks like. I do. And I would be happy to show you. So let me explain. Should you prevent Miss Granger from qualifying as a witch, or give her an unfair trial, I will publish the details of every death Voldemort or his death eaters has caused in the three years since his resurrection in any media interested.

"Don't look so disbelieving. You might not rate the Muggle police, but I have (like everywhere else) contacts there. Contacts happy to compile a list of every body found with the ritualistic markings that the death eaters love to leave, of any and ever crime featuring a dark mark hanging in the air. And you know how long that list is going to be. Try having a working relationship with the Muggle Prime Minister after that, because he will receive a copy, you can be sure.

"And if that is not enough to turn public opinion against you, I will publish the name of every death eater I have encountered, along with the amounts of money they have contributed towards your private ministerial coffers. And yes, I do have that information already.

"So, if these are events you do not want to come to pass, then here is what you will do. Nothing, until Hermione's results are published. Then you will hold a trial, where both Miss Granger and I will testify, under the influence of verisatum, administered and brewed by an independent official. All the national media will have representatives there. And we will have the truth out once and for all.

"Do you agree?"

Fudge swallowed, the answered,

"You wouldn't dare."

Snape merely raised one eyebrow. "Try me."

Dumbledore nodded his assent and approval.

Fudge disapparated, followed by the aurors, who were grinning. It seemed no-one likes a bureaucrat.

* * *

Hermione had felt the empathic emissions from Severus weaving their way to him across the crowd - calm, strength, control, love. They were a crutch she felt grateful for; they allowed her to carry on without breaking down entirely and maintain some dignity, in what seemed to be a sea of hostile faces. But they were only a crutch, not a reality, she reminded herself, as the funeral progressed.

After Ron had spoken to her, virtually accused her, she had abandoned trying to follow the words. The sentiments were enough, and she tuned out the voice leading the service to little more than a lilting hum, so that her thoughts could follow their path unhindered.

She began tracing the route between first meeting Harry and Ron on the train, through the incident with the troll, and the adventures that had ensued. Logic and poisons - basilisks - werewolves - dementors - time travel - dragons - screaming eggs - endless hex practises. She was just reviewing the incident in the fifth year with the errant broomstick and the giant squid with something approaching amusement, when she felt her crutch collapse.

Turning quickly, she scanned where the crowd had been for Severus, and instead found it gone, and Severus and Dumbledore standing a way back waiting for her. It seemed the funeral had ended and she hadn't even notice, but Severus seemed prepared to wait as long as was necessary.

Turning away, she missed the arrival of Fudge and his aurors.

Instead her attention focused on the graves before her. Harry's was still fresh, as were the tumult of emotions running through her at the moment, so she wandered on to the next headstones. Lily and James had been buried in the same grave, a circular symbol representing eternal love carved into the stone. Beyond that the previous generations of Potters were lined up, the dates displayed on their markers stretching back over several centuries. It appeared the Potter ancestral home had been in Godric's Hollow for some considerable time.

Which raised a big question Hermione had been avoiding. Was Harry going to be the last Potter? Genetically, she knew the answer was no. Her child was currently the last Potter, but it took more than a genetic match to make a parent, or come to that an heir. By Hermione's reckoning anyway. In her mind the issue was simple - her child would be a Granger, but recent events had made her wonder.

As her anger at Harry had dissipated, she had begun to wonder whether or not she owed him anything. He had certainly never asked her to take his name, or bear him an heir. She knew she had no obligation to him, but they had been friends - virtually inseparable - for six years, and he had saved her life on more than one occasion. And when it had come down to it, he had fought for her, rather than against her.

Finally, she felt ready to face his grave. Hesitantly she sat down at the foot of it, and crossed her legs underneath her. In her mind, she said what she had to say, although around her there was only silence.

'Harry', she wanted to scream, 'you betrayed me worse than anyone else ever has. You caused me the most intense mental and physical pain I've ever known. The hurt you caused me will never leave me.

'You were my best friend - and Voldemort managed to persuade you to do that to me - and that's why I was so angry with you. Why wasn't I good enough, or important enough to you, to fight? I'd have really liked an answer.

'But despite that, I can't be angry any more, or hate you. The way you died - well up to then I'd have said you'd failed in your fight for good - but now I'm not so sure. In the end, you did what I know you've always wanted to: kill Voldemort. We couldn't have done it without you.

'I'm having your child, and I'd like you to have known about that properly, perhaps to have seen your daughter. I don't know if she'll look like you. I'm sure she'll do and say things that remind me of you - but at least the memories won't be so overriddingly painful. But I don't know if I'll tell her about you, or if she'll take your name.

'I'm sorry. I don't know why, or what about, but I wanted to say that. I hope you find your peace.'

The thoughts were sealed with more silence. Vaguely she could hear Severus talking in the back ground, and then turned to find Fudge flouncing away, then apparating, and Severus drawn up to his full and impressive height, looking truly menacing.

She had said all she had to say - made her peace - and knew that it was time to leave. Her silent monologue had cleared the air, and made a definite end to the relationship. In her heart, Hermione knew she had visited Harry's grave for the last time, and shed her last tear for him. She walked over towards her lover.

As she approached, she caught the tail end of a conversation with Dumbledore saying,

". . . really think it was a wise offer to make?"

"Albus, there's no such thing as an independent official. Trust me, I have a plan."

"If it's optional, I'd really rather not trust you as far as I can throw you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Hello. What did Fudge want?"

Both Severus and Dumbledore turned immediately, looking slightly like they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Severus smiled his most reassuring smile, "To wish you well in your exams."

"Oh, gods, I'd totally forgotten about them! When are they! I've lost track of time."

"In about three days." Answered Dumbledore.

The information rendered Hermione totally speechless. She looked like a rabbit caught in the glare of headlights.

Severus grinned, almost maliciously. "I suppose this is one of the occasions on which being an insufferable know-it-all comes in handy."

Hermione just shook her head, still in shock. Severus offered her his arm, and she took it dazedly, and allowed him to double apparate her back to just outside Hogwarts.

By the time they were walking up the drive towards the entrance hall, Hermione had found her tongue, and was chattering ceaselessly about the revision she was going to need to do, where she was going to do it, and when, and in what order.

Severus felt himself thinking longingly of her earlier silence, or even her coma, but instead settled for calming her down.

* * *

It was a good thing, Hermione reflected at various points over the next week, that she had spent so many days in a deep sleep. The Monday after she had attended Harry's funeral, her exams had begun. That she was as prepared as any other student that had ever taken them did nothing to quieten her nerves, and she spent the intervals between exams revising frantically.

However, some cruel irony meant that Severus was the only one who ever saw this. All her examinations were taken in the room adjoining Dumbledore's office, and she was collected from her room in Gryffindor tower by a member of staff and escorted there on each occasion. So whilst the morning before a afternoon exam (or the night before a morning exam) she was frantic with anxieties, leafing through her notes over an over, in the hour or so before her exam a muted calm washed over her. It was as if in her heart of hearts she knew that there was nothing more she could do to prepare, and that last minute cramming was unnecessary, as she knew every word that was there anyway. That self-confidence only reared its head at times of most desperate need, but the fact that it did, meant that she was able to perform well in her exams.

Hence when she was collected, there was only one word to describe her manner: poise.

But on the roller coaster between highs of elation at an exam gone well, and calms of pre-exam confidence, peaks of nervousness, and troughs of satisfaction at a paper that contained no unknowns, she was hardly relaxed enough to sleep. That, along with the fact that she had to get up at least twice a night to go to the toilet, meant she found little rest, and by the end of the week saw her running on adrenaline and pepper-up potion.

Beside that, she was sleeping alone, and in her Gryffindor room, not Severus's. If there was a reason for that, she couldn't put her finger on it. It wasn't just that in the advanced stage of her pregnancy she no longer felt comfortable with the idea of making love, because she knew he would understand and respect her reservations. And she couldn't fool herself that it was to spare him the disturbance that her agitated and wakeful state would cause him, as she knew he would care for her, and needed much less sleep than she did. He would look after her, and support her; she knew that, just as she knew he felt hurt at not having the opportunity to. And she regretted causing that hurt.

Yet, in her current state, both mental and physical she wanted to be alone. She had no time to concentrate on anyone except herself, and that had the potential to be even more hurtful to Severus than her avoidance of him.

But now they were over - she had finished with a final exam in charms - and there were no more excuses, she reminded herself. She had to provide a real reason for sitting in her room with no lights on, staring at herself in the moonlit mirror, or she had to go to him.

Slowly she raised her eyes to meet those of the pair reflected in the mirror. The steady brown gaze seemed just a little too knowing, and presented her with two rather cold realities: she knew why she was avoiding Severus; and she was too afraid to admit it.

Deal with the second she told herself, and maybe you'll deal with the first as well.

"Here goes nothing . . ." she whispered to herself, to set the ball rolling.

I am avoiding Severus because I've made an end, or had an end made for me, with all the pain and suffering of the past year. Maybe it's artificial, but there's no perfect time to stop being a victim, and get on with your life in the independent way you always planned, so this is as good as it gets. I want to prove to myself that I can do this alone, if I have to, and that I don't have to lean on him the whole time. That I still have the choice to stand alone.

And because if I get too close and declare my undying love to him, I won't be able to do what I intended. I love him, but I won't let that stop me from keeping my word. The past is not truly over until every loose thread has been tied down. And that is why I don't know if I can go to him. I don't know if I'm strong enough.

Concluding that neither reason should keep her from the man she loved, she gathered her box of floo powder, chucked a handful into the flames, and was gone with a cry of "Professor Snape's rooms."