One Young Heart
Chapter 13: The World that Shaped the Man
By two o'clock that morning, the entire faculty of Hogwarts was pacing the corridors and their rooms. Harry and Hermione stood in Dumbledore's office. Ginny Weasly was in a chair, in a dead faint. There was silence in the room. Hermione studied the Dumbledore's face as he stood silent, waiting.
A door burst open farther down the hall, and Hermione saw the minute start that belied the Headmaster's apparent calm. Professor McGonagall stopped just short of the desk, and, her voice sterner than usual, "Well, the Weasly boy is definitely gone. I looked everywhere. Ravenclaw is awake. Trust Peeves to get underfoot at a moment like this. And I got asked seven times where Severus is. Poppy wanted to know, for Merlin's sake. Poppy. The last time she noticed anyone who wasn't injured was the day that first year boy managed to incinerate the entire left wall of the Hospital wing."
Harry, actually managing to ignore evidence against Snape for once, cried "Ron! Where is he? did he get....did it...." He trailed off, His green eyes wide in fear. God help Harry, thought Hermione. If Voldemort kills someone else he loves, he's done. Heaven knows he never got over Sirius. The Deputy Headmistress looked at him sharply, then answered gently "No. He packed and left, it would seem. No doubt he heard your story before you left the dormitory and left right after you. Still, we will have to find him." Harry had taken a sharp breath of relief, but now his eyes were determined. "I have to go find him. It's my fault."
Now Dumbledore moved, fluidly behind Harry, gripped his shoulders. "No, Harry. You must stay here. You cannot hear any more. You have failed at your Oclumency, or you would not even know this." He paused. "Go to see Hagrid. He will enjoy your company." He scrawled out a hasty note, handed it to Harry. "Minervra will take you there." She swept him out of the room.
The room was silent for a moment after Harry left. Dumbledore had instantly spun around to face Hermione, but did not speak. Hermione was looking at the floor as hard as she could, brain racing, trying to solve the mystery, but unable to pass one fact. Harry had let his guard down. Fred Weasly was dead. And Professor Snape had been called, by name, to their meeting. What had Voldemort seen? Nothing beyond a sleeping boy suddenly aware of his anger? The hate of a man? Or everything Harry knew or guessed?
Softly and gently, as though he was afraid she would break, Albus Dumbledore touched Hermione's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was softer than usual. "Miss Granger, I regret that you are involved in this mess. However, you are professor Snape's aide. I must ask you how much you know about...Severus...This."
"Enough." The voice didn't sound like her, and the tone certainly wasn't her, defiant and harsh, but she remembered the Potion Master's words, playing in a loop through her head "Albus Dumbledore is a rat who would rather serve a handful of vague ideals and a corrupt politician than keep faith with those who trusted him... you should know that I have no choice but to serve him." If the Headmaster was surprised, he did not show it. Calmly, he observed. "Good. It is better that way. I... don't suppose you knew of this meeting?"
Three weeks of working with Severus Snape hadn't done much for Hermione's temper, or for her love of the Headmaster. She bluntly denied any knowledge of his movements what so ever, in a tone suggesting that she wouldn't say if she did know.
---
Albus Dumbledore knew Severus well, and he was surprised that he had made such an early impression on Hermione. Quick work for a man more likely to throw a teapot at you than confide in you. He had a pureblood temperament, all right. The Headmaster sat down in his majestic chair, and let Miss Granger brood. Quietly, she said "Will you be taking any steps to explain his absence, sir?"
The Headmaster rocked back in his chair, fingers steepled. If this girl already did not trust him, then she must know something about Severus, though she was clearly unwilling to discuss the Potion Master's psyche with him. Still, he would do quite a lot to understand Severus Snape. Slowly, he answered "Well, it really depends on what you can tell me. I wouldn't want to defend the man if he is betraying me." Miss Granger voiced a sound like a steam engine exploding "Sir, you know that perfectly well." "But do you, Miss Granger?" She considered the question a moment, then responded with a question that surprised him with its boldness even as it made him think, hard, about a time he had tried to leave behind him. What had he done to Severus? What, indeed.
---
Hermione watched him closely after she asked the question. After a long time, he cautiously said "Well, you might say that I obliged him to recognize the proper course of action." A girl as intelligent as she didn't need that explained. He had done something wrong, and he didn't want to admit it. "You forced his hand, you mean." He looked as though he was going to explode, but then mastered his temper, and sank quietly back into the Headmaster of Hogwarts school again, tired, wise, and weighed down by many difficult decisions. "Yes, Miss Granger. I forced his hand. But not until he told me what the wished his hands to do." "But not what he intended them to do?" she asked the question as plainly as she dared. Provoking Professor McGonagall to get information was different from provoking the Headmaster for knowledge. He was a rouge force; there was no knowing what he would do. "You will never see a pureblood act against their own interests, my dear. They have to be forced, even if they hate what they have been doing with even fiber of their being. Severus hated what he was doing. But he would never leave it." "Some people call that honor." Observed Hermione bitingly. "Yes," said Dumbledore softly, "and so do I. But what would you have me do, Miss Granger? so the Voldemort makes fools of us all."
Arthur weasly managed to fall through the fireplace and land squarely on the hearth rug, followed shortly by Professor Sinastra. Her usually distinguished profile was contorted by anguish, turing to embarrassment as she realized who it was she had fallen onto. "I beg you pardon, Arthur. I was in too much of a hurry to look where I landed" She helped him up, but the instant she let go, he fell down again and their voices rang out simultaneously "Albus, what have you heard? did you find them?" "Headmaster, I found them! But, it isn't pleasant at all." "Damn pleasantness, ma'm! He's my son!" And Dumbledore's voice rang out over all of them, imposing order in the midst of death and anguish "Arthur, control your temper! there is a girl present. Where is the boy?"
As the others filed past into the floo network, Dumbledore turned to one of the paintings on the wall. "Johannes, run down to the Infirmary mural. Tell Madame that Miss Weasly has fainted and she should help her to bed. We will naturally communicate the news to her later." Behind him, unseen, Ginny Weasly opened her eyes, alert, tense, and fully conscious. Professor McGonagall entered alone, and the Headmaster guided her into the flames. On the edge of the fire, she saw Hermione, and asked, surprised, "Is Miss Granger coming?" Dumbledore looked at her steadily through his half-moon spectacles before answering softly "Yes. Any young girl who willingly defends a man as she did tonight deserves to witness the world that shaped that man."
Mist.
Darkness that would be expansive and heavy if not for the mist, present, terrifying.
Claustrophobia.
Cobblestones.
Hushed voices.
A pool of blood.
Arthur Weasly crying.
A figure approached at the edge of the mist, stopped. The wizards stood uncertain, wands out, wands lowered.
George Weasly, disheveled, filthy and bleeding, wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Weasly's Wizard Wheezes: The best jokes this side of London! Catering to all you're joking needs, practical and magical' in bright cheerful letters. There was a gash through the word London, and the bottom of the shirt was scorched off. Approaching the pool, he dropped his sports bag- Dimly through the night of horror Hermione remembered Mrs. Weasly's claim that it was a scandal, his carrying a muggle bag. Halfway to his knees, he froze, a split second in time, a turn of the tide. He looked oddly peaceful as he hovered there, bent, his eyes unfocused. Cracked lips whispered "oh, ah".
Then he fell, knees cracking on the pavement, a cry ripped from his lips, wordless, soulless, animalistic and hopeless. He doubled over, cradled his twin, yelled his grief to the stars to witness; another life dies, loses the will to live; another heart is pushed beyond endurance. Fists beat on the pavement till they bled. Eyes were red, and hair was torn. Then it was over, George unconscious, bowed over his twin even as he surrendered.
Arthur Weasly was silent as he stared down at his family. He did not move until the shadows deepened into further night, blacker than Hermione had ever known it could be. Turning slowly and hopelessly away, his shoulders bowed, he said hoarsely the only thing his grief could understand: "Molly. This will kill Molly." Dumbledore touched his shoulder briefly, then gestured him silently to the small fire built for the floo traffic.
Minervra McGonagall rose from the spot where she had rested, sobbing quietly. Looking at her, Hermione suddenly realized how like the woman in the painting she was. Miserable, her heart breaking, she still stood silent and proud. supporting Dumbledore, giving her whole heart to Hogwarts because she realized that it was utterly and completely right. Unhappily she wondered what it would take to break that iron faith, and if Voldemort would manage it. Firmly, she lifted the miserable boy and carried him into the fire, to the Headmaster's office. Hermione might have wondered at this, but now she was able to see Fred's body for the first time.
He had been killed rather early in the process, it would seem. Hermione's trained eye saw that many of the bruises and cuts that covered his stripped body had been administered after death. But he had still been alive when they cut him and ground salt into the wounds, when they cut out his tongue. When they had carved the symbol of the Death Eaters into his chest. Hermione stumbled backwards with a desperate cry. She wanted to flee, to fight, to scream, anything to end this interminable mist, this darkness, this despair. The last sound she heard before she fell into complete blackness was Dumbledore's voice, cold, old beyond her ability to comprehend, and more tired than a young girl could ever understand "This night belongs to the Dark Lord. Let him look upon his work, and be proud."
Hermione was overwhelmed, and so she did not feel the arms that caught her, that cradled her with a fondness which would have surprised her were she conscious. She di not see the face of Severus Snape, shrouded by his Death Eater costume. She did not hear him murmur "Now, she understands. Now, she will leave me." He gave the closest approximation of a laugh that he had voiced for thirty years. "Now I'll have to grade my own bloody papers." His face softened for a moment, and he brushed a lock of her hair off her face, and his voice, too, was gentler as he whispered "Damn you, my lord. She should be an innocent. She did not call this down."
Chapter 13: The World that Shaped the Man
By two o'clock that morning, the entire faculty of Hogwarts was pacing the corridors and their rooms. Harry and Hermione stood in Dumbledore's office. Ginny Weasly was in a chair, in a dead faint. There was silence in the room. Hermione studied the Dumbledore's face as he stood silent, waiting.
A door burst open farther down the hall, and Hermione saw the minute start that belied the Headmaster's apparent calm. Professor McGonagall stopped just short of the desk, and, her voice sterner than usual, "Well, the Weasly boy is definitely gone. I looked everywhere. Ravenclaw is awake. Trust Peeves to get underfoot at a moment like this. And I got asked seven times where Severus is. Poppy wanted to know, for Merlin's sake. Poppy. The last time she noticed anyone who wasn't injured was the day that first year boy managed to incinerate the entire left wall of the Hospital wing."
Harry, actually managing to ignore evidence against Snape for once, cried "Ron! Where is he? did he get....did it...." He trailed off, His green eyes wide in fear. God help Harry, thought Hermione. If Voldemort kills someone else he loves, he's done. Heaven knows he never got over Sirius. The Deputy Headmistress looked at him sharply, then answered gently "No. He packed and left, it would seem. No doubt he heard your story before you left the dormitory and left right after you. Still, we will have to find him." Harry had taken a sharp breath of relief, but now his eyes were determined. "I have to go find him. It's my fault."
Now Dumbledore moved, fluidly behind Harry, gripped his shoulders. "No, Harry. You must stay here. You cannot hear any more. You have failed at your Oclumency, or you would not even know this." He paused. "Go to see Hagrid. He will enjoy your company." He scrawled out a hasty note, handed it to Harry. "Minervra will take you there." She swept him out of the room.
The room was silent for a moment after Harry left. Dumbledore had instantly spun around to face Hermione, but did not speak. Hermione was looking at the floor as hard as she could, brain racing, trying to solve the mystery, but unable to pass one fact. Harry had let his guard down. Fred Weasly was dead. And Professor Snape had been called, by name, to their meeting. What had Voldemort seen? Nothing beyond a sleeping boy suddenly aware of his anger? The hate of a man? Or everything Harry knew or guessed?
Softly and gently, as though he was afraid she would break, Albus Dumbledore touched Hermione's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was softer than usual. "Miss Granger, I regret that you are involved in this mess. However, you are professor Snape's aide. I must ask you how much you know about...Severus...This."
"Enough." The voice didn't sound like her, and the tone certainly wasn't her, defiant and harsh, but she remembered the Potion Master's words, playing in a loop through her head "Albus Dumbledore is a rat who would rather serve a handful of vague ideals and a corrupt politician than keep faith with those who trusted him... you should know that I have no choice but to serve him." If the Headmaster was surprised, he did not show it. Calmly, he observed. "Good. It is better that way. I... don't suppose you knew of this meeting?"
Three weeks of working with Severus Snape hadn't done much for Hermione's temper, or for her love of the Headmaster. She bluntly denied any knowledge of his movements what so ever, in a tone suggesting that she wouldn't say if she did know.
---
Albus Dumbledore knew Severus well, and he was surprised that he had made such an early impression on Hermione. Quick work for a man more likely to throw a teapot at you than confide in you. He had a pureblood temperament, all right. The Headmaster sat down in his majestic chair, and let Miss Granger brood. Quietly, she said "Will you be taking any steps to explain his absence, sir?"
The Headmaster rocked back in his chair, fingers steepled. If this girl already did not trust him, then she must know something about Severus, though she was clearly unwilling to discuss the Potion Master's psyche with him. Still, he would do quite a lot to understand Severus Snape. Slowly, he answered "Well, it really depends on what you can tell me. I wouldn't want to defend the man if he is betraying me." Miss Granger voiced a sound like a steam engine exploding "Sir, you know that perfectly well." "But do you, Miss Granger?" She considered the question a moment, then responded with a question that surprised him with its boldness even as it made him think, hard, about a time he had tried to leave behind him. What had he done to Severus? What, indeed.
---
Hermione watched him closely after she asked the question. After a long time, he cautiously said "Well, you might say that I obliged him to recognize the proper course of action." A girl as intelligent as she didn't need that explained. He had done something wrong, and he didn't want to admit it. "You forced his hand, you mean." He looked as though he was going to explode, but then mastered his temper, and sank quietly back into the Headmaster of Hogwarts school again, tired, wise, and weighed down by many difficult decisions. "Yes, Miss Granger. I forced his hand. But not until he told me what the wished his hands to do." "But not what he intended them to do?" she asked the question as plainly as she dared. Provoking Professor McGonagall to get information was different from provoking the Headmaster for knowledge. He was a rouge force; there was no knowing what he would do. "You will never see a pureblood act against their own interests, my dear. They have to be forced, even if they hate what they have been doing with even fiber of their being. Severus hated what he was doing. But he would never leave it." "Some people call that honor." Observed Hermione bitingly. "Yes," said Dumbledore softly, "and so do I. But what would you have me do, Miss Granger? so the Voldemort makes fools of us all."
Arthur weasly managed to fall through the fireplace and land squarely on the hearth rug, followed shortly by Professor Sinastra. Her usually distinguished profile was contorted by anguish, turing to embarrassment as she realized who it was she had fallen onto. "I beg you pardon, Arthur. I was in too much of a hurry to look where I landed" She helped him up, but the instant she let go, he fell down again and their voices rang out simultaneously "Albus, what have you heard? did you find them?" "Headmaster, I found them! But, it isn't pleasant at all." "Damn pleasantness, ma'm! He's my son!" And Dumbledore's voice rang out over all of them, imposing order in the midst of death and anguish "Arthur, control your temper! there is a girl present. Where is the boy?"
As the others filed past into the floo network, Dumbledore turned to one of the paintings on the wall. "Johannes, run down to the Infirmary mural. Tell Madame that Miss Weasly has fainted and she should help her to bed. We will naturally communicate the news to her later." Behind him, unseen, Ginny Weasly opened her eyes, alert, tense, and fully conscious. Professor McGonagall entered alone, and the Headmaster guided her into the flames. On the edge of the fire, she saw Hermione, and asked, surprised, "Is Miss Granger coming?" Dumbledore looked at her steadily through his half-moon spectacles before answering softly "Yes. Any young girl who willingly defends a man as she did tonight deserves to witness the world that shaped that man."
Mist.
Darkness that would be expansive and heavy if not for the mist, present, terrifying.
Claustrophobia.
Cobblestones.
Hushed voices.
A pool of blood.
Arthur Weasly crying.
A figure approached at the edge of the mist, stopped. The wizards stood uncertain, wands out, wands lowered.
George Weasly, disheveled, filthy and bleeding, wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Weasly's Wizard Wheezes: The best jokes this side of London! Catering to all you're joking needs, practical and magical' in bright cheerful letters. There was a gash through the word London, and the bottom of the shirt was scorched off. Approaching the pool, he dropped his sports bag- Dimly through the night of horror Hermione remembered Mrs. Weasly's claim that it was a scandal, his carrying a muggle bag. Halfway to his knees, he froze, a split second in time, a turn of the tide. He looked oddly peaceful as he hovered there, bent, his eyes unfocused. Cracked lips whispered "oh, ah".
Then he fell, knees cracking on the pavement, a cry ripped from his lips, wordless, soulless, animalistic and hopeless. He doubled over, cradled his twin, yelled his grief to the stars to witness; another life dies, loses the will to live; another heart is pushed beyond endurance. Fists beat on the pavement till they bled. Eyes were red, and hair was torn. Then it was over, George unconscious, bowed over his twin even as he surrendered.
Arthur Weasly was silent as he stared down at his family. He did not move until the shadows deepened into further night, blacker than Hermione had ever known it could be. Turning slowly and hopelessly away, his shoulders bowed, he said hoarsely the only thing his grief could understand: "Molly. This will kill Molly." Dumbledore touched his shoulder briefly, then gestured him silently to the small fire built for the floo traffic.
Minervra McGonagall rose from the spot where she had rested, sobbing quietly. Looking at her, Hermione suddenly realized how like the woman in the painting she was. Miserable, her heart breaking, she still stood silent and proud. supporting Dumbledore, giving her whole heart to Hogwarts because she realized that it was utterly and completely right. Unhappily she wondered what it would take to break that iron faith, and if Voldemort would manage it. Firmly, she lifted the miserable boy and carried him into the fire, to the Headmaster's office. Hermione might have wondered at this, but now she was able to see Fred's body for the first time.
He had been killed rather early in the process, it would seem. Hermione's trained eye saw that many of the bruises and cuts that covered his stripped body had been administered after death. But he had still been alive when they cut him and ground salt into the wounds, when they cut out his tongue. When they had carved the symbol of the Death Eaters into his chest. Hermione stumbled backwards with a desperate cry. She wanted to flee, to fight, to scream, anything to end this interminable mist, this darkness, this despair. The last sound she heard before she fell into complete blackness was Dumbledore's voice, cold, old beyond her ability to comprehend, and more tired than a young girl could ever understand "This night belongs to the Dark Lord. Let him look upon his work, and be proud."
Hermione was overwhelmed, and so she did not feel the arms that caught her, that cradled her with a fondness which would have surprised her were she conscious. She di not see the face of Severus Snape, shrouded by his Death Eater costume. She did not hear him murmur "Now, she understands. Now, she will leave me." He gave the closest approximation of a laugh that he had voiced for thirty years. "Now I'll have to grade my own bloody papers." His face softened for a moment, and he brushed a lock of her hair off her face, and his voice, too, was gentler as he whispered "Damn you, my lord. She should be an innocent. She did not call this down."