Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Potion Mistress, whose beta-reading makes this story so much better. Thanks also to everyone who has read and reviewed – your comments are always welcome and appreciated.
Walking back from the train station with Harry and Ron, Hermione found herself taking in her surroundings with a touch of melancholy. For all the times she had walked the path from the high iron gates to the castle doors, she wondered whether she had ever truly appreciated the glory that was Hogwarts' castle and grounds. The warm summer sun shone on the glistening lake, the Forbidden Forest and sweeping lawns a subtle kaleidoscope of browns and greens. The stones of the castle, strong and ancient, changed colour with the light and the time of day. Grey and cool in the morning, the west-facing wall turned brown in the afternoon sunlight, radiating the warmth of the fading day.
The castle itself seemed to be thrumming with a quiet energy, or was Hermione simply imagining things? Perhaps it her own anticipation she could feel, more evident now, in the absence of the distraction her classmates had previously provided.
"When is the rest of the Order arriving?" Ron's voice broke the silence as they reached the shadows of the castle.
"This afternoon, according to Dumbledore," Harry said. "I don't think anything is happening tonight, though. He'll probably call a meeting in the morning to discuss everything. We've been through it a bit, but I still really don't know what the plan is."
Hermione eyed her friend worriedly.
"Doesn't that bother you, not having a clear idea of what you're going to have to do?"
"It did," Harry said slowly as they reached the castle doors. He held the door open for Hermione and Ron, followed them inside and closed it before he spoke again. "Dumbledore says it will become clear what I have to do when it needs to be done, that it might be the most simple thing, in the end, which will see us win. It's the prophecy… it has to happen a certain way. I might not know what that way is now, but I will."
"Seems a bit like going into battle with your eyes closed," Ron murmured hesitantly, seeming, like Hermione, reluctant to dissuade Harry's mystifying confidence.
"It does seem that way," he agreed, "but I really don't have a choice. This is the only chance we've got to lure Voldemort into a trap. If we can't make it happen on Monday, who knows how long it will be before another chance comes along? I know I can do this – we can do this. We have to."
Despite feeling slightly uncomfortable with the lack of a clear-cut plan, Hermione knew Harry trusted Dumbledore's judgement and, above all, simply wanted the waiting and wondering to be over. If he was meant to defeat Voldemort come Monday, it would happen, and if it wasn't meant to be…
Hermione shivered in the sudden coolness of the castle after the warmth of being outdoors… or was it a result of the disturbing thoughts passing through her mind? She brushed them aside, trying to focus on her friends' conversation again, which had turned to other things. Too many people had sacrificed far too much for this to end badly now, she told herself firmly. They would prevail… and if she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that just yet, she could at least hope.
That afternoon, Hermione packed up the remainder of her belongings, stowed them in her Transfigured trunk and left the Head Girl's room for the last time. With the other students of Gryffindor gone for the summer, Harry, Ron and Ginny had decided to spend their remaining nights in the castle in the common room. Hermione levitated her trunk out and lowered it down next to Ginny's, behind one of the long couches.
The youngest Weasley gave her an odd look as Hermione sat down in one of the armchairs, curling her legs up beneath her.
"Are you staying here with us?"
"Well… yes, for a bit," Hermione said slowly, confused. "Is that all right?"
"Oh, of course it's all right," said Ginny dismissively, lowering her voice as Harry and Ron came down the stairs from the boys' dormitories, trunks floating behind them. "I just thought you'd be staying with- with Snape."
"Oh, I- well, I suppose I will, but I'll leave my things up here." It was second nature for Hermione to spend nights with Severus while her belongings remained in her room. Besides, she didn't think he would appreciate her dumping the oversize trunk in the middle of the sitting room… not to mention the reaction if anyone else happened to see her dragging it down there.
Harry and Ron joined them in the chairs facing the fireplace, and they all talked until it was time to head down to the Great Hall for dinner. Looking around at each of her friends in turn, though, Hermione could sense a bitterness surrounding each of their smiles, shrouding any real happiness in their eyes. Ginny's smile was genuine enough, but it slipped when she wasn't paying attention, as though it took conscious effort to keep it in place. Harry was laughing at something Ron was saying, but his hand was gripping the armrest of his chair a little too tightly, clenching and unclenching in a gesture of nervousness.
There was something missing for Hermione, too, and it was with a start she realised that something – or someone, rather – was Severus. She often thought about him when they were apart, but in the presence of her friends she thought of him less than when she was alone.
It was unthinkable, six months ago, that she would have wanted to be anywhere but with her friends in the days leading up to the final confrontation with Voldemort. And yet now she wished she was somewhere else, curled up in one of Severus' armchairs… or better yet, in his arms.
On their way down to dinner, walking a few steps behind Harry and Ron, Ginny seemed to sense Hermione's unease… and the reason for it.
"There's no shame in wanting to be with someone you care about, Hermione," the younger girl said quietly, startling Hermione from her thoughts as she gestured to her brother and Harry. "They'll understand; they know how you feel, and it's not as though you haven't been here for all of us these past few weeks."
"But I care about all of you; I just can't be with all of you at once." She laughed softly. "Well, I could, but I don't think Harry and Ron would appreciate Severus' presence, or vice versa."
Ginny laughed, too, and said, "No, probably not."
Reaching the bottom of the main staircase, they heard Harry and Ron talking to another familiar voice, and Ginny gave a shriek of delight and rushed forward, throwing herself at the tall figure of her now-oldest brother, Charlie.
"You're early," she said, hugging him tightly. "We didn't think you'd be here until tomorrow."
Ginny, Charlie and Ron went into the Great Hall together, and Harry beckoned to Hermione, his happy expression faltering as the others disappeared.
"Hungry?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Not really."
"Neither am I." He sighed. "I suppose we better put in an appearance, though."
Following dinner, Hermione did return to the common room for some time with Harry, Ron, Ginny and Charlie; they sat around the fireplace, listening to the two younger Weasleys describing their exams to their older brother. Unlike that afternoon, when they had all studiously avoided the topic, the conversation turned to the approaching confrontation with Voldemort.
"How are you feeling about it, Harry?" Charlie enquired. "Confident?"
"I don't know if confident is the right word." Harry blew out a deep breath as he spoke. "But I know I've done all I can to prepare myself, so I just hope that will be enough. It's not as if I'll be there alone; it's good to know I'll have the whole Order behind me."
"And we'll all be there to back you up, too," Ginny said firmly.
"The rest of us will," Charlie said, frowning at his sister. "You won't."
"What?" The red-haired girl's voice could have cut ice, and Hermione exchanged an apprehensive glance with Ron and then Harry.
"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny," Charlie crossed his arms, his frown deepening. "You're not in the Order, and you're not even of age. You'll be going nowhere on Monday."
"Like hell I won't." Ginny was on her feet, her eyes flashing with anger but also brimming with tears. "If you think I'll stay here like some… some coward, while you all go off to your– to fight him… It's not going to happen."
"No." Charlie rose to his feet, looming over his younger sister. "What's not going to happen is you going out there, putting yourself in harm's way, for something that has nothing to do with you."
"Nothing to do with me?" Ginny yelled. "Those bastards murdered my parents – our parents – almost our whole bloody family! Do you honestly expect me to stay here and wait for the news they've killed the rest of you, too?"
"Ginny-" Hermione began quietly, reaching for her friend. The younger girl tore her arm away, backing out of Hermione's reach.
"Be reasonable, Ginny," Ron said, trying to appear calm, though Hermione could see the panic in his eyes. "There's nothing you can do out there. It would be better if you were here – there are still things you can do to help, and we won't have to worry for you, which means we'll be able to concentrate more on what we have to do."
Ginny stared at both of her brothers, breathing quickly through her nose.
Despite her attempt to calm the red-haired girl herself, Hermione had the sudden feeling that she and Harry were in the middle of something that, while they were close friends, should only be between Ginny and her family – her brothers.
"Perhaps we should leave you to talk about this," she said quietly. None of the Weasleys seemed to have heard her, and she beckoned for Harry to follow her, making her way to the portrait hole and out into the corridor. Just as the portrait closed behind them, they heard Ginny's voice again, high and accusing.
"They're right, you know," Harry said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans as they wandered down from Gryffindor Tower. "She shouldn't be out there. She's too young."
"I know," Hermione said. They were all too young to be facing such trials, really… but what choice did they have?
Hermione left Harry a while later; he mentioned visiting Professor Lupin, who had returned that evening with some of the werewolves he had recruited to help the Order. When they parted ways, Hermione headed for Severus' quarters and, as she had many nights in the past, found him sitting at his desk, staring across the room and twirling a quill between his fingers.
"Hi," she said softly.
One corner of his mouth quirked up, but he didn't speak, and she crossed the room towards him.
"I thought you might have emerged for dinner," she said. "All the teachers have gone, except those in the Order. Madam Pomfrey is still here, but she was at dinner when everyone was talking about Monday, so I think Dumbledore means for her to know, anyway."
Severus set his quill aside and sat back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.
"The Headmaster is calling an official meeting in the morning to discuss business for Monday. He has asked me to attend after some initial explanations are put forth to the Order."
He looked worried, Hermione noticed, and she wondered if it was worry for what his reception might be in the morning.
"They'll be pleased to know you're all right, you know," she said conversationally, perching on the edge of his desk and ignoring the disapproving look he gave her. She knew it annoyed him when she did it, but he couldn't avoid her when she was sitting right in front of him.
"Another wand on our side will be useful, no doubt," he answered noncommittally.
"It's more than that," she insisted. "They know what you've done for the Order over the years. God, Severus, most of them think you gave your life, in the end. Whatever you might think, they'll be glad it didn't come to that."
"Most of them will," he conceded. "There will always be those suspicious of my long absence, Hermione. Don't tell me you haven't heard rumours of my defecting to the other side and having fooled the Headmaster all these years."
She looked down, not saying anything.
"I'm not daft, Hermione," he continued, quite mildly given the subject matter. "There will always be those who believe I chose my loyalties according to the winning side, those who will wish me harm for either past indiscretions or others' actions which I failed to stop."
"It's unfair of people to blame you for that, though. They should look beyond what is immediately obvious."
"They should," he agreed, "but people seldom do. It has been a long time since the wider population's opinion of me concerned me in the least, and I do not intend to let it bother me now."
"It bothers me," she said stubbornly, but dropped the subject.
Instead, she told him about the row in the common room and how she and Harry had wisely left before they, too, were dragged into the argument.
"I understand that Ginny's scared she's going to lose the only two brothers she has left," Hermione finished, "but that's no reason to put herself in danger. Charlie was right to put his foot down, so to speak, and forbid her from coming with us on Monday."
"I should think he would forbid it," Severus said reprovingly. "Miss Weasley is not yet of age. I daresay that family has lost enough without putting another of their number unnecessarily at risk."
"That's exactly what Charlie said, but Ginny wouldn't listen. I don't know how they're going to work it out; she won't back down, but neither will Charlie, and anyone else who might have some influence over the decision – Professor McGonagall, perhaps, or Professor Dumbledore – they'll both back Charlie. I hate to see them at odds right now, though."
"Perhaps Miss Weasley will calm down overnight," Severus suggested. "Her brothers are only looking out for her best interests, and I daresay she will realise that, given time to think."
"I hope so," Hermione sighed.
"And what of Mr Potter?" he asked. "I thought you might be spending some time with him tonight."
She shook her head. "He wasn't in the mood to talk much when we left the common room, and then he decided to go and see Professor Lupin. They haven't talked for a while and… I don't know, I think he–" she paused, struggling to find the right words "–feels close to his parents when he's with Professor Lupin."
"Understandable," Severus said thoughtfully. "Lupin is… the last of that group of friends. It is a given that Potter will feel some sort of affinity to his parents through one of their friends."
"That's the thing… I honestly don't know what he's feeling," she admitted. "He seems strangely optimistic all of a sudden… no, I don't think optimistic is the right word. He doesn't seem concerned anymore that no one knows exactly how he's supposed to defeat Voldemort, but I can't tell whether he's genuinely confident or whether he's just putting it on for the sake of appearing so. Maybe I'm mistaking optimism for resignation; he knows what he has to do, and if he dies trying…"
Her voice trembled as she trailed off, and Severus stood up and put his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him.
"Don't think that way," he said reproachfully. "Remember what you told me? Have some hope, hmm?"
She mumbled her response into the soft fabric of his shirt, and he drew back from her.
"What was that?"
"I said, I'm trying, but the façade is wearing a little thin."
He smiled sadly, raising one hand to cup the side of her face and brushing her cheek softly with one thumb as he said, "I know, Hermione. We're all wearing thin, but it won't be long now."
In the early hours of the morning, Hermione found herself stumbling out of Severus' bed, bathed in a cold sweat, having woken from a dream; she could hardly remember it, but even now, awake, it filled her with an inexplicable sense of dread. She stood, glancing behind her to see whether her sudden exit had woken Severus; he slept on, and she walked to the window, plucking the blanket from the back of the armchair and wrapping it around her shoulders.
Standing at the window, she gazed out at the landscape shrouded in darkness. The thin moon offered little illumination, and the lake appeared a dark, flat mass surrounded by the towering trees of the Forbidden Forest. A movement caught the edge of Hermione's vision, and she peered more closely at the fringe of the forest where the trees met the sweeping lawns leading up to the castle. She watched for a few minutes, but didn't see another sign of whatever had been there.
Maybe she had imagined it… although the undergrowth on that edge of the forest was particularly thick. Furrowing her brow in thought, she realised she was looking at the same place where she had met the moonfilly, that night in February, so long ago. The tiny creature had come out of thick undergrowth, sacrificing its most precious gift to save Severus' life.
She glanced back into the darkness of the bedroom, hearing his soft, even breathing across the room. It was hard to believe that night had been less than four months ago. On Monday, he would be in as much danger as he had been the last time he had faced Voldemort… more, perhaps. And so would she… so would they all.
Fragments of her dream came back to her then, and she realised, through coincidence or otherwise, it had been about the days following the night Severus had nearly died at Voldemort's hands.
Returning to bed beside Severus, she found he had rolled onto his side, facing the edge of the bed. She crawled in behind him, wrapping one of her arms around his waist and resting her face against the chilled skin of his exposed upper back. He roused briefly, clasping his hand over hers before falling back into slumber with a soft sigh.
Hermione lay awake for a long time, trying to memorise everything around her; the room, the feel of the soft duvet and the slight roughness of Severus' hand covering hers; the sound of his soft breathing and the smooth skin of his back. The wan moonlight threw a sickly light over his pale skin, and his hair was a dark stain across the pillow beside her head. Unbidden, the image flashed before her eyes of her Boggart in his form, hair similarly splayed beneath his head as he lay cold and motionless before her. Squeezing her eyes closed in a futile attempt to banish the vision from her mind, she let out a small, stifled sob and nestled closer to him. She focused on his voice, echoing in her head from the previous night… They are not premonitions… only what you fear may come to pass.
The following morning, Hermione gathered in the crowded Headmaster's office with her friends, the rest of the Order, and a group of men and women she didn't recognise. The unkempt witches and wizards seemed to look to Professor Lupin, who stood with the group, and Hermione realised they must be the werewolves he had recruited on the Order's behalf.
Surprisingly, there was also a group of ex-students present, older than Hermione, but not to her knowledge members of the Order. There were some Gryffindors among them, and Ron, Harry and Ginny crossed the room to talk to their Quidditch teammates from years past, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson. Lee Jordan, best friend of the Weasley twins when they had been at school, was also there, and Hermione couldn't help but notice how much he had changed since she had last seen him.
The student who had spent more time laughing than studying at school was now a young man with very little light in his dark eyes. Hermione hadn't noticed him at the Weasleys' funeral – surely he had been there, though – and now she realised just how far-reaching the effects of the Weasleys' deaths had been felt. Beyond her own close-knit group of friends, she hadn't considered the true impact of their deaths. It was without a doubt their old classmates were here to honour their friends and the commitment Fred and George would have made to fight with the Order.
Allowing her gaze to wander across the other side of the room, Hermione smiled at Hagrid, standing in the far corner and towering over all those around him. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey – the only teacher present who was not in the Order – were standing near Hagrid, talking to the grizzly-haired ex-Auror, Moody. Hermione watched him surreptitiously for some time, wondering what his reaction to Severus would be when Dumbledore revealed all that had happened in the past few months. It would be less-than-favourable at best, and Hermione hoped Severus would control his temper despite whatever accusations Moody might throw at him.
As though sensing her scrutiny, or perhaps returning it with his magical eye, Moody swung around suddenly and fixed both eyes on Hermione. She looked away quickly; she had no wish to be drawn into any sort of conversation with the ex-Auror, especially knowing his opinion of Severus' supposed disappearance.
The murmur of conversation quietened as Dumbledore entered from a side door, Fawkes perched on his shoulder. He gestured for everyone to sit – Hermione smiled bemusedly at the fact there seemed to be just enough chairs for everyone – and sat behind his own desk, gazing at the group before him.
"Upon entering this room today," he began quietly, "you have entered a binding contract not to speak of anything discussed in this room with a third party. You are also bound to remain at Hogwarts until the Portkeys created by myself take you – those of you who are of age – to the designated location for our mission. If any of you wish to withdraw, now is the time to do so. You, too, will be bound to remain at Hogwarts until our mission is complete. Does anyone wish to take their leave?"
The room was silent, and Hermione noticed Ginny had not reacted to the Headmaster's comment that excluded her from the mission. She seemed to have accepted her brother's decision overnight.
"Very well," Dumbledore continued, looking pleased. "I commend you all on the decision to remain. The task ahead of us is a difficult one, yet one which I hold a firm belief will be a success."
There was a murmur of agreement, but Hermione couldn't help notice the faces of more than a few witches and wizards seemed doubtful.
"Before we move on," he continued solemnly, "there is one of our number who has not yet joined us here today. Many of you have questioned his whereabouts in the past months, and I regret I have been unable to answer your questions until now… but if you will allow me to explain, all can be revealed at this time."
Picking up his wand from where it lay on the desk, Dumbledore pointed at the fireplace, and the flames crackled loudly; it was obvious to all who were present that it was a signal of some sort. Hermione held her breath as, a moment later, green flames flared and Severus stepped from the hearth. Wearing his teaching robes, he looked every bit the Potions master who had vanished from public life nearly four months before.
The stunned silence lasted all of an instant before the room exploded with noise. It was immediately obvious who in the room had been aware of the situation already; McGonagall remained near the back of the room, watching with a pleased expression on her face. Lupin, too, simply nodded at Severus by way of greeting.
The ex-students were watching their former Potions master with curious expressions as he stood on the hearth with a carefully schooled face.
The first person to approach Severus was, surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey, who pushed her way from the back of the room to reach him, her lips pursed together in a tight line. As Hermione looked on, though, her eyes glimmered and her face cracked into a smile; unclasping her hands, she grasped one of Severus' and wrung it tightly.
"I knew you were still with us, young man," she said, beaming. "I'm so glad to see you."
"Thank you, Poppy." Severus looked uncomfortable, but tolerated the older woman's joy nonetheless.
"Good ter see yeh back, Prof'sor," Hagrid called, his voice booming from the far side of the office, and Severus nodded to the half-giant.
Many of the other Order members, amongst their exclamations of surprise, were looking to Dumbledore for further explanation.
"Severus," the old wizard spoke after a moment, "perhaps you might take a seat and I can explain to everyone a little of what has happened these past few months."
"Please do," came a rough voice across the room, and all eyes turned to Moody. He was glaring at Severus with an expression of utmost loathing and distrust.
"Alastor," Dumbledore reproached, "if you would please save your comments until after I have spoken. I believe my explanation should satisfy even the most dubious of us here today."
Moody's face darkened, but he sat back in his chair, magical eye remaining fixed on Severus.
Coincidentally – or not, if the Headmaster was at all involved – the only spare seat was in the corner of the couch next to Hermione; she could have sworn there hadn't been room there before. Severus sat without sparing her a glance, folding his arms stiffly and looking down at the floor as Dumbledore began to outline the events that had led to the discovery of Severus' duplicity and the night Voldemort attempted to kill him.
The Headmaster briefly outlined Harry's role in saving Severus' life the following day, not mentioning the exact nature of the blade or the effect it had on the Dark magic already within him.
He moved on to speak of the work Severus had continued to do for the Order while confined to his rooms, as well as reminding them of his earlier efforts to create the antidote to his Cruciatus potion. There was a murmur of appreciation from the group of werewolves when they realised Severus was responsible for the potion that was allowing them to live close-to-normal lives, and Dumbledore also mentioned the time Severus had spent working with both Draco and, more recently, Harry.
"Without his tireless efforts," Dumbledore finished, "I do not doubt we would be far less likely to be ending this war tomorrow. Severus' work with young Draco has helped lead Tom into the trap we have set for him, and everything he had done under the guise of serving Voldemort – not only recently, but for many years now – has been in the service of the Order, of me, and for the greater good of all of us."
Hermione glanced at Severus, a small smile on her face, but saw that his own face was still expressionless, his eyes staring fixedly at a spot on the worn stone floor.
There was silence for some time while the news of what had happened to Severus sank in. Many eyes were looking at him with pity – something Hermione knew he would hate if he raised his head and saw it; others were contemplating him with curious expressions, perhaps trying to guess how he was feeling behind the stoic mask.
One, Hermione noticed, was still glaring at him with utmost contempt.
"Sure he hasn't fooled you again, Dumbledore?" Moody asked loudly, standing from his place at the back of the room and pushing past the other chairs, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the stone floor.
Hermione felt Severus tense beside her, the tips of his fingers curling back into the cuff of his sleeve, where she knew his wand was stowed.
"Severus has never fooled me, Alastor," Dumbledore said calmly, though there was an undertone of warning in his voice. "It was not because of distrust that I held him under an Unbreakable Vow for almost twenty years. I am not proud to admit that Vow was made for my own selfish reasons and my desire to be in complete control, but I am pleased to say that Vow no longer holds sway over Severus; he has been released."
"Released, eh?" Moody's magical eye swung around to fix on Severus. "Convenient timing. How d'you know he hasn't crawled back to You-Know-Who since you've let him go?"
"Be reasonable, Alastor!" It was McGonagall who spoke in Severus' defence this time. "Voldemort tried to kill him!"
"Yeah, and it didn't work, did it?" Moody went on. "That was convenient, too. Nobody lives when Voldemort wants them dead."
"I did."
Harry's voice was quiet, and Moody eyed him keenly.
"You're an exception, Potter."
"What would convince you, Moody?" Severus enquired, rising to stand face-to-face with the other man. His voice was dangerously soft. "What would convince you of my loyalties once and for all?"
"Nothing," Moody spat. "I've said it once and I'll say it again: some spots never come off. As far as I'm concerned, as long as you're marked by him, you're one of his."
"Really?" Severus said, a slow smile spreading over his face. His right hand reached for the cuff of his left sleeve, and Hermione saw Moody's eyes dart to the movement, thinking the younger man was drawing his wand. Hermione knew what Severus meant to do, though, and evidently, so did Dumbledore.
"Severus, you don't–" the Headmaster began, rising from his chair, but Severus cut him off.
"No, Albus," he said, reaching for the buttons of his left sleeve. "It seems, for one of us here–" he sneered at Moody "–your word of my loyalty is not sufficient. I ask anyone who does not believe your explanation – anyone who thinks some spots never come off - to explain this."
Popping the last button undone, he pushed his sleeve up roughly and held his arm out, the pale skin of his inner forearm facing upwards for all to see as he turned a slow circle in the centre of the room.
Hermione noticed with satisfaction that Moody was speechless, his magical eye spinning back and forth between the unblemished skin of Severus' forearm and the stunned reactions of others in the room. The magical eye must have passed over Hermione, who had remained sitting calmly on the couch, because he suddenly rounded on her.
"And I suppose you knew?" Moody snarled.
"Yes, I did," she retorted, meeting his accusing glare defiantly.
"I knew, too," Harry added quietly from where he was sitting on the opposite side of Hermione to where Severus had been.
"There are a select number of staff and students who were aware of the situation," Dumbledore interjected as Moody opened his mouth to speak again. "Harry and Hermione both contributed to saving Severus' life when he first returned, and Hermione was kind enough to take over some of the brewing Severus previously did for the school."
Glancing back at Severus, Hermione watched him pull down his sleeve and re-button the cuff; his lips were set in a tight line, and she could tell he was terribly angry with the ex-Auror.
"Hmpf," Moody snorted contemptuously. "So she's been helping Snape down there in the dungeons, eh? Hope you've been keeping an eye on 'em, Dumbledore – for her sake."
A shocked murmur rippled through the room, and McGonagall rose from her chair, starting angrily forwards. The only thing that stopped Hermione from jumping out of her seat in her own defence was the briefest of glances from Severus, his eyes flashing a warning not to speak.
"I refuse to listen to this," he ground out. "Whatever you may think, Moody, it is clear others in this room do not share your opinion. It is bad enough you feel the need to continually question my loyalties after Albus' reassurances, but to question my propriety, not to mention Hermione's as well–"
"Hermione, is it now, eh?" Moody leered unpleasantly. "Slip of the tongue there, Snape?"
"She is a young adult witch," Severus replied through clenched teeth. "I have not been her teacher for months. Such formal addresses seem inappropriate given the time we have spent working together."
During the last exchange of words, Dumbledore had crossed the room, and now came between the two men who were facing off.
"Severus ceased to be a teacher the day Tom tried to take his life," he interjected firmly. "I will not have you making accusations of impropriety, Alastor. Both Severus and Hermione have contributed greatly to the Order through their work together, and if they have also developed a friendship, who am I to discourage it? Every one of us needs support, especially in times like these, and it is often our friends who will pull us through the darkest of times."
"I'll second that," Ron spoke up for the first time since the meeting had started. Some of the older ex-students were looking at Hermione curiously, as though they were trying to comprehend a 'friendship' with Severus. She supposed she couldn't blame them… it wasn't something she could have comprehended not so long ago, either.
"Alastor," Dumbledore said quietly, though his blue eyes were glittering with annoyance. "I must ask you to desist in these baseless accusations against Severus. I have great respect for you, as a member of the Order, an exemplary wizard and a good friend, however you are my guest in this school, and as such I expect you to extend all of us within the school the same courtesy you do me. I am appalled at your inability to accept that for once, Alastor – once – you have been wrong about someone. We are all on the same side here, and I will not have two of my comrades at odds going into this confrontation. There can be no fear that one of us will hex another when his back is turned. Do I have your assurances you will not act foolishly?"
Moody's good eye narrowed as he stared at Dumbledore, the magical one swinging backwards, obviously to fix on Severus.
"You do," he said eventually.
Without a glance at Severus, he turned and stumped back across the room to his chair near the back. Dumbledore gave Severus an apologetic look and motioned wordlessly for him to sit down again.
He sat down beside her again, letting out a slow, deep breath, his hands clenched on his thighs. Under the pretence of rearranging her own robe, folded in her lap, Hermione brushed the side of his hand very lightly with the tip of her pinky finger. He snatched his arm away sharply, scowling, and folded his arms across his chest, instead.
Looking around to see whether anyone else had noticed the interaction, Hermione saw Moody watching her from across the room, eyes narrowed, a nasty half-smile on his face.
She looked away, turning her attention to Dumbledore as the old man sat behind his desk and surveyed the room again.
"Now, to the plan for tomorrow."
It was mid-afternoon when they finally emerged from the Headmaster's office, glad to be moving about again after the lengthy meeting. Despite the time they had spent in discussion, the plan for the following day was quite devastatingly simple. Harry would arrive at Godric's Hollow, seemingly alone, hours ahead of when Malfoy had told Voldemort his nemesis was supposed to arrive.
Using a spell the Headmaster had taught him to detect wards and concealing charms, Harry would ensure none of the enemy had arrived ahead of him in the area. A signal to the Order via a coin carrying a Protean Charm – similar to the one Hermione had used for the DA in their fifth year – would alert Dumbledore to the outcome of Harry's detection spell. If the coin became cold and silver, all was well. If, on the other hand, it became hot and glowed orange, trouble was afoot. The Headmaster would gather the Order post-haste and Portkey into Godric's Hollow immediately.
If all was well, the Order would remain at Hogwarts for a further hour before they Portkeyed in groups to the area. The Portkeys Dumbledore had created were interwoven with concealment charms, and the new arrivals would be neither seen nor heard until a spell was cast by someone in the group, breaking the concealment charm.
The element of surprise would serve them well if, as Dumbledore, Severus and Harry all assumed, Voldemort brought his Death Eaters with him to supposedly witness the downfall of his nemesis.
Other than the arrival, Dumbledore's instructions had been minimal, at best.
"Our objective," he had said, "is to survive, but also, though hopefully not contradictorily, to protect and support Harry so that he may do what is required of him."
Severus had left the meeting quickly without speaking to Hermione, perhaps not wanting to give Moody another excuse to question him, and so she made her way down the spiral staircase with Harry, Ron and the other two Weasleys.
At the base of the stairs, Harry pulled Hermione aside.
"I need to talk to you and Ron," he muttered quietly. "I'm leaving the castle this afternoon."
"What?" Hermione asked, startled. Lowering her voice, she added, "Dumbledore didn't say anything about that."
"Dumbledore doesn't know… yet," Harry replied. "I didn't want to bring it up in there, because if everyone knew I was going now, some of them would want to come with me, and I don't want that. I appreciate it, but I need some time there by myself, you know?"
She nodded, a strange feeling suddenly coming over her. Was this the last time she would see Harry until they were in the thick of the battle? Her throat tightened, and she found herself unable to speak the hundred things that had suddenly come into her mind.
"I–"
Harry shook his head, silencing her attempt to speak as a small group of Order members passed them in the corridor.
"Not here," he said. "Let's go outside."
Beckoning to Ron, who threw them a curious look but then, seeing their serious expressions, left his brother and sister to join them, they went downstairs and out the main castle doors, stopping only when there were half-way across the sweeping lawns towards the Quidditch pitch. The sun was warm, the ground dry, and so they sat together, looking out across the grounds with the castle behind them.
Harry repeated his reasons for leaving tonight to Ron, who seemed as worried as Hermione had felt at first, but neither of them openly questioned his reasoning.
"So, this is it, then?" Ron asked quietly.
"For today," Harry said, a rueful smile on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow… and the day after… and the day after that."
Hermione bowed her head, not wanting either of her friends to see the doubt and worry she suddenly felt reflected on her face. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears that had formed in her eyes not to escape, but to no avail.
"Hermione?"
Harry had stood again, and as she looked up, he extended a hand to her and pulled her to her feet when she grasped it.
"None of this, Hermione," he said upon seeing her tears. "Don't want anyone back at the castle to realise what's happening. Come on, I should go up and tell Dumbledore. Hopefully he'll let me Portkey from his office, like he had planned tomorrow."
"What if he tries to stop you from going?" Ron questioned.
"He won't." Harry shook his head. "He'll understand; he'll let me go."
"Wait, Harry." Hermione couldn't help herself; she threw her arms around her friend, pulling him into a tight hug as her tears spilt over again. Sensing Ron beside her, she reached out one arm and pulled him into the embrace as well. The three of them stood together for a short moment, before Harry drew back.
"No more tears," he said, smiling at her fondly. "After tomorrow, everything will be different."
"I know, I'm sorry," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. Things would be different after tomorrow… that much she knew for sure. But her uncertainty lay in whether things would be better… or worse. Despite all the preparation, all the planning, that led to the following day, there was still the slightest, frightening possibility that they would not win. For all Hermione tried to be optimistic, for all she had tried to encourage others to share that optimism – Severus, in particular – now that the time was almost upon them, she found all her concerns returning a hundredfold.
Walking back to the castle arm-in-arm with her two friends, she was startled to see a dark figure standing on the castle steps, arms folded as he leant against the stone wall, warm in the afternoon sunlight.
"Severus? What are you doing out here?"
He looked from her face to her arms, still tightly linked with those of her friends, and raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Seeing as I am officially among the living again," he said, "I thought a change of scenery would be in order."
It suddenly occurred to Hermione that this was the first time Severus had stepped outside in almost four months. It was no wonder he was taking a moment to enjoy the last rays of sunlight that afternoon.
"Of course, I didn't–"
A tug on her arm interrupted her, and Harry and Ron stepped away from her.
"We'll see you inside in a minute, okay?" Ron said, his eyes darting briefly from Hermione to Severus.
"Okay," she echoed as they disappeared through the thick oak doors, and she turned back to Severus, looking up at his face as he looked out across the grounds.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked quietly after a moment.
"I didn't realise how much I enjoyed something so simple as being outdoors until the choice was taken from me."
She smiled and moved closer, stopping when her arm lightly brushed against his. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed again, even shifting slightly closer himself.
"There's a lot to be said for simple things. Sunlight, good friends… freedom… love," she added softly. "They're all simple, but who would be without them?"
"Indeed," he agreed.
"I wish I could stay out here longer," she said regretfully, "but I should go in. Harry and Ron will be waiting to… to talk."
She felt guilty not telling him of Harry's intentions to leave the castle shortly, but she kept her word to her friend and didn't speak of it. If Severus sensed anything amiss in her tone, he didn't comment, but pushed away from the stone wall and descended a couple of steps before he turned back to her.
"I think I'll enjoy the fresh air while the light lasts. I may see you later."
"You will," she said firmly, and as he continued down the steps and out into the grounds, Hermione turned and re-entered the castle, where she found Harry and Ron waiting for her.
Despite her best efforts, Hermione was unable to avoid another teary moment when they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Luckily, there was no one else about to see it, and even Ron's voice seemed slightly thick as he said, "See you tomorrow, mate."
When Harry disappeared up the revolving staircase, Ron put his arm about Hermione shoulders and squeezed tightly.
"He'll be right, Hermione," he said. "It's not like he's going off to face Voldemort alone. We'll all be there to help by the time he shows up."
Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes again and wondering when Ron had become to optimistic one; usually it was she who had to convince him when he lost interest or motivation in something.
After dinner, Hermione gave Ron's shoulder a meaningful squeeze and took a different corridor from the others, heading back to the common room.
Ron's face was understanding as he nodded; he needed to spend time with his family, and she, without family nearby and already having spent the afternoon with her friends, knew the one place she wanted to be for the remainder of this strange waiting time before the approaching conflict tomorrow.
Unlike all the times past, Hermione made for the dungeons rather than the first floor. She walked past the closed door of the Potions classroom to another door, which she had used only once before, months ago, when Severus had taken her to the Forbidden Forest for her first encounter with the moonfilly.
The door swung open a moment later, Severus looking at her in confusion.
"What are you doing here?"
Her smile faltered. "I– well, I thought– I… you…"
He rolled his eyes, taking her arm and pulling her inside.
"Not here," he said, exasperated, closing the door with a snap. "I mean, what are you doing at that door?"
"Oh!" She laughed. "I just thought… Oh, I don't know. It was just a novelty that I could use it, for a change."
He rolled his eyes, striding away from her. On the coffee table was an almost-empty glass of amber liquid, which he retrieved as he walked past, drained it, and set it on the cabinet across the room. Picking up the bottle beside it, he looked at her over his shoulder.
"Drink?"
Hermione shook her head, frowning, as he poured another inch into his own glass and downed it quickly. She had seen him drink very little in the past months at all; now was hardly the time to start again. They would need all their wits about them tomorrow.
As though sensing her disapproval, he stoppered the bottle and turned around to face her, arms folded almost defensively in front of him. She met his eyes, not moving further into the room, and there was silence for an indeterminate amount of time. He watched her almost uncertainly.
Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she asked, "So, what happens now?"
"Now?" he echoed, unfolding his arms and letting them drop resignedly to his sides. "Now, we wait."
And wait they did.
It was a strange evening. Neither seemed eager to speak of what was to come, yet they stayed close to one another, sitting in silence, standing by the window or pacing back and forth past one another on the hearth. More than once, Severus stopped beside his desk, toying with the handle on the top drawer. He never opened it, though, and when he saw Hermione watching him curiously, he left it alone altogether.
Many times, Hermione opened her mouth to speak and close it again without a word; words were inadequate to express what she wanted to say. She could feel his apprehension as surely as her own.
Hermione was tired; her eyes were scratchy and she couldn't stop yawning… but she was reluctant to make the first move to retire to bed. Sleeping would bring tomorrow much faster.
It was a double-edged sword, really. She wanted it to be over - they all did – but that didn't lessen the apprehension for what would happen to them tomorrow. Even when Harry did win – she forced herself to think when and not if – it surely would not be a fight without casualties. There was still the possibility that she, Severus or both of them, not to mention her other friends, could be hurt... or worse.
The current routine of her life had become comfortable and familiar. The world wasn't safe, but she was safe within Hogwarts. It was foolish to even wish it could stay that way, though. What sort of a life would it be hiding in the castle because Voldemort was still at large? Once defeated, they could all move on with their lives. Watching Severus' reflection as he stared out the window, lost in his own thoughts, she wondered again what those lives would encompass if they all survived unscathed?
By mutual and unspoken agreement, they finally retired to the bedroom, unwilling to sleep but needing to rest. Severus emerging from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed as Hermione folded her clothes over the back of the armchair by the window. Crawling onto the bed, she knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.
Severus leant back into her embrace with a tired sigh, and the rune pendant hanging around her neck became caught between their bodies, digging into her breastbone. On impulse, Hermione sat back, reached up and unclasped the pendant. Hooking it quickly around Severus' neck instead, she fastened the catch just as he raised his hand to the small rune-shaped object with a soft exclamation of surprise.
"Hermione, what–?" He broke off as she stayed his hands with her own, preventing his attempt to take it off.
"Please," she insisted. "I know it's only a shape – that it doesn't mean anything – but I'll feel better knowing that you have it with you, nonetheless."
"And what about you?" he countered, turning to face her and raising his hand to trace the bare skin over breastbone where the necklace has rested. "I would feel better knowing you're wearing it."
"It's just a shape," she said, shaking her head. "And if it does mean anything, you'll need its protection more than I… please, Severus."
He stared at her, eyes roiling with emotions that she knew, like her own, were too powerful to articulate. Seeing them in his face was enough, and she knew he could see the same fear, tenderness and yearning in her own eyes.
"Oh, Hermione." His embrace was fierce, his voice rough, as he shifted back on the bed and pulled her down with him, holding her close and drawing the duvet up around them. There was nothing carnal about the closeness of their embrace tonight, but rather a simple desire to be together that went beyond lust and sexual need. Hermione clung to him tightly as the silence fell around them again, and despite her efforts to remain awake, to make the moment last as long as possible, she eventually drifted off into sleep.
When they woke up, tomorrow would be there.
Monday morning saw Hermione reluctantly emerge from Severus' bathroom when he was already dressed in his full robes and sitting at his desk. Actually getting out of bed had been the most difficult chore of the morning, stemming from a ridiculous notion that, if she didn't emerge from beneath the covers, the day wouldn't progress without her. It was childish, she knew, and eventually common sense got the better of her and she realised the time before they left for Godric's Hollow would be better spent with Severus and, later, her other friends as well.
Fastening the last button on her own robes – Muggle clothing may have been more appropriate, but somehow it didn't feel right – Hermione joined Severus in the sitting room. The top drawer of his desk was open, and he was examining something in his hands, oblivious to her presence until she scuffed her shoe on the stone floor while crossing to join him.
He started slightly, clasping his hand over whatever it was he held, and she threw him a curious look.
"What are you doing?"
He hesitated, but then shook his head and stood up, closing the drawer and shoving whatever he had been holding into his pocket as he stepped away from her and across the room.
"Not long now," he muttered, glancing at the clock over the mantle.
He seemed apprehensive… more so than the previous night. She wondered if, after all this time spent in relative solitude, he was apprehensive about being out amongst such a large crowd. But he rebuked that idea when she voiced it.
"No, it's not that," he said, not pausing as he paced back and forth.
Hermione followed his movement, her worry increasing at his seeming reluctance to meet her eyes.
"What is it, then?" she finally asked. He paced the length of the room once more before detouring from his path and coming to stand before her.
"I-" he began, then faltered and closed his eyes for moment. He appeared to set his jaw as he pulled his hand from his pocket again and held it up, allowing the object he had been holding to slip from his palm.
Hermione stared at the silver chain dangling from his fingers… and the shiny silver ring hanging on the chain. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tore her eyes from the ring to meet his. It couldn't be…
"It's not what you're thinking," he said quickly. Her face must have shown the mortification she suddenly felt at making such an assumption, because he added, "Not yet…"
"Wha- whe- whose is it?" She stumbled over her words, still staring at the ring, which was swinging slightly on the long chain. It was etched with a swirling Celtic design, centred around a single inlaid stone, pale blue and glinting in the light.
"Mine," he said. "Mine to give, at least. It belonged to my maternal grandmother some time ago, and was passed on to my mother, and then, since I have no sisters, to me… and now to you, if you will wear it."
Hermione had raised her hand to touch it, but she withdrew uncertainly.
"I can't," she said. "Not today. It's a family heirloom, Severus! What if I lose it? What if-"
Severus silenced her by placing his fingers gently over her lips. She stilled, watching as he withdrew his hand, unclasped the catch of the necklace and held it up, motioning for her to turn around.
She opened her mouth to protest again, but he simply shook his head, not to be deterred. With a sigh, she turned her back to him, and a moment later he stepped close behind her and draped the chain around her neck. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he fastened the clasp, and she felt a shiver run down her spine at the touch.
Both hands moved to rest on her shoulders, and she felt his breath as he bowed his head to speak in her ear.
"Perhaps one day," he whispered softly, "you might consider wearing it as it should be worn."
She gasped as she spun back to face him, her eyes widening as the full implication of his words sank in. His own eyes, locked with hers, were glimmering with a strange mixture of anticipation, hope and an underlying fear… of what, she was uncertain.
"No consideration needed," Hermione said softly. "I'd accept in a heartbeat."
Severus smiled, but then his face became serious again as he cautioned, "It's a suggestion… a hope, if you will. Not a promise… not yet. I will not make a promise until I am certain I will be able to keep it."
His meaning was clear… I will not make a promise until I have survived this day… and Hermione swallowed thickly.
"I just want this day to be over," she whispered, stepping forwards into his embrace.
"And soon it shall," he murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head as he held her.
He drew away after a few minutes.
"We should go and meet the others. It wouldn't do to be late." As he spoke, he reached for the ring and tucked it down the neck of her robes, the cool metal like a droplet of ice against her skin.
"Less questions," he said by way of explanation, and she nodded in agreement, albeit a bit sadly.
The air when they gathered with the rest of the Order in the Entrance Hall was thick with anticipation and an underlying sense of fear. Everyone was standing in small groups, talking quietly, or alone at the fringes of the hall, lost in their own thoughts. Hermione was glad to see Ron and Charlie near McGonagall, whom Severus went to speak to immediately. Joining her friends, she was able to linger close to Severus without the suspicious glare of Moody fixed continuously on them.
After a short time, when the crowd in the Hall had grown to quite a size, Dumbledore ascended a few steps up the main staircase and turned to address the group.
"I thank you all for being here, for the commitment you have made to your comrades and the greater wizarding world as well," he said, his voice echoing in the high-domed Hall. "There are many words I could say at this time, but all seem inadequate… all but this: If we believe we are right, if we believe we can win… so we shall. It matters not if their number is greater, their Dark spells more terrible, for we fight as one, as a team, and that makes our strength very great indeed. Trust. Love. The desire to live freely and as equals. Those are our strengths, and they will see us prevail."
The silence was absolute until someone behind Hermione began to clap. Heartened by the simple speech, others joined in, Hermione, Ron and even Severus among them, until the sound of applause was deafening. It was halted as suddenly as it had begun, though, when Dumbledore suddenly shouted, "Silence!"
He held up one hand, and with a jolt of cold dread in her stomach, Hermione saw the charmed coin glowing orange in his palm. Voldemort had arrived; the battle had begun.
Quickly moving forward, wands drawn, groups of eight or ten witches and wizards at a time grasped the Portkeys Dumbledore produced, vanishing as they were taken to join the fight. When Hermione grasped the old, broken pot that was to be the next Portkey, she heard Ron mutter in her ear, "Good luck, Hermione."
"You, too," she echoed, glancing at the other hands holding the pot. Severus' wasn't there, and she twisted around to see him with the last group a few metres away, crowding around a rubber tyre. Their eyes met for an instant, but then Hermione felt a sharp tug and was whisked away in a whirl of colour.
They landed in a heap, falling on soft grass in the middle of a large field. It seemed deserted, but Hermione remembered the charm concealing them would not be broken until a spell was cast within the group.
"There!" someone shouted nearby as Hermione struggled to her feet, grasping her wand tightly.
Hermione spun around to see a dozen black-robed, masked figures advancing on them slowly across the open field they had appeared in… but how was that possible? Weren't they invisible? Turning in another direction, Hermione saw their real target – Harry was standing a short distance away, in the centre of the field, arms at his sides, wand in hand. Behind him, a second group of Death Eaters was closing in, and a third, larger group was emerging from within the trees at one end of the field. Overhead, even in daylight, the Dark Mark, writhing and twisting grotesquely in the sky, cast a sickly, green glow across the landscape.
"Wands ready!" someone else shouted. "Concealment charm is coming off in three… two… one… now!"
Then all hell broke loose.
Appearing in the field with the last group, Severus quickly took in his surroundings, seeing Potter in the centre of the field and assuming the other invisible groups of Order members were close by. He felt a hand close tightly around his arm, just above his elbow, and turned his head sharply to see Moody beside him.
"Just remember which side you're on," the older man growled, before releasing him and disappearing through the group.
Shaking his head, Snape set his jaw and turned to face the group of Death Eaters that had appeared from the nearby line of trees. Robed and masked they were, but Snape instantly recognised the figures of both Malfoys amongst the group, as well as the bulky figures of two other ex-students.
Before he could make out who any of the others were, though, there was a shout across the field, and a group of Order members suddenly materialised. Death Eaters at the other end of the field began throwing curses at the group immediately, and Snape realised his group would be caught in the crossfire if they didn't show themselves. Others evidently came to the same conclusion, because the air was suddenly filled with bolt of light, rushing past him and hurtling towards the unprepared Death Eaters.
Some went down immediately, and a few staggered but regained their footing. Then, the spells started coming back, and as the Order spread out across the field, it was every witch and wizard for themselves.
Without hood or mask, Snape realised he had a distinct advantage over the first few Death Eaters who turned their wands in his direction. So shocked were they by his presence, that time and again he was able to cut them down without having to deflect an incoming spell at all. When one such opponent shouted his name aloud, though, his advantage was lost; the word spread like wildfire that the traitor was still alive, and he found himself cornered by two or three Death Eaters at a time.
The fighting was fierce; all across the field, people on both sides were falling and not getting up. In an effort by the Order to draw the focus away from Harry, the battle was spreading into the trees, and down through the lower end of the field, where a toppled stone or pillar still marked what remained of the house which had once stood in Godric's Hollow.
Snape remained at the other end of the field, though, fighting Death Eater after Death Eater as they all sought to kill the traitor who had caused their leader so much trouble and, assumedly, led them all into this trap today. Curse after curse, hex after hex, he fought them off, immobilising the weaker ones and killing when other options ran dry. He didn't have the energy to maintain a shielding charm around himself, and even if he had, some of the unrecognisable Dark curses would have broken through anyway.
The day wore on, and the sun, high and hot in the sky, fell behind a bank of clouds. The crowd of witches and wizards spread out across the field was noticeably thinner, unmoving figures at random intervals across the ground. A badly aimed curse grazed Snape's leg, tearing his robes and trousers and drawing blood just above his knee, and he spun around, disposing of the offending Death Eater before the other wizard could voice another curse.
Snape's whole body was aching from physical exertion, and stinging where hexes or curses had hit their mark. Thankfully, he'd so far been able to deflect the nastiest ones. A slicing hex above his right eye was dripping blood down his face, impairing his vision, but he swiped it aside with the back of his hand. If that was his worst injury, he was one of the lucky ones.
Some distance away, he could see Potter and Voldemort circling one another, throwing spells but not outright duelling yet. It made sense; Voldemort liked to play with his victims before he killed them, and the Order was counting on using that to their advantage, taking out as many Death Eaters as possible first so Potter could concentrate solely on Voldemort.
Hermione, too, was visible across the field, locked in a vicious exchange of curses with a heavyset figure Snape instantly recognised as his ex-student, Goyle. He watched in horror as the Slytherin sent Hermione off-balance with a spell, and then ignored his wand to grab her and throw her bodily to the ground. Snape's heart leapt into his throat as the Death Eater raised his wand again, but a bolt of red light hit the looming figure, who crumpled to the ground beside Hermione.
Snape took a breath as Draco, hood lowered and mask nowhere to be seen, pulled her to her feet. Glancing across the field in Snape's direction, though, Draco left Hermione and suddenly started forwards, raising his wand again, and Snape spun around just in time to deflect a vicious Entrail-Expelling Curse from Lucius Malfoy's wand. The blonde emerged from the trees; like his son, he wore no mask, only a superior, sadistic smile on his pale face.
"There was a rumour amongst the others," he drawled, "that a certain traitor was still alive. Naturally, I had to see for myself if it were true."
"It's true, my old friend," Snape spat, casting a volley of non-verbal spells at the older man. Malfoy deflected them, returning a vicious curse of his own, one which Snape knew no counter for other than to fling himself out of its path.
He was still climbing to his feet when the next hex hit, and he staggered, but still managed to fire off a slicing hex, catching the blonde across the top of his leg.
"Bastard!" Malfoy spat, going down momentarily onto one knee. Foolishly, Snape hesitated with the spell that was on the tip of his tongue, and Malfoy spat another curse at him, using the distraction to regain his footing and stem the blood flowing from his leg.
The curse struck Severus' right elbow, and he hit the ground hard, stabbing pain shooting up his arm as the bone shattered. He staggered to his feet, the world spinning, and he suddenly became aware that Draco was nearby, yelling at his father to stop.
"Stop?" Lucius laughed. "Stop? Whatever for? This piece of vermin has betrayed us, Draco, and everything we stand for!"
"Everything you stand for, Father," Draco said, raising his wand and aiming it steadily at his father. "I stand with Severus."
Lucius paled, his eyes darting from his son to Severus, who tried to raise his own wand, but, finding his right arm useless, transferred it to his left.
"Don't look so surprised, Lucius," Snape sneered. "I gave your son a choice where he previously had none. I taught him to think for himself, something you never allowed him to do. I showed him reason where all you spouted was old-fashioned, pretentious lies. Is it any wonder he has turned against you?"
"You dare!" Lucius screamed, his pale eyes flashing manically. Looking to Draco, whose wand, Snape noticed, was trembling slightly as his resolve in the face of his father's fury faltered. "I'll deal with you in a minute, you pathetic excuse for a Malfoy!"
With that, he spun around to face Snape again, his lips already forming the words to a curse. Snape raised his arm, and a spell exploded from the tip of his wand an instant after Lucius', but there was no blocking the Death Eater's curse.
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a rush of air followed by a searing pain in his chest, and as the world exploded in a brilliant flash of green and he was flung bodily backwards, he thought he recognised the voice ringing out in a horrified scream somewhere across the field.
Then… nothing.
"No!"
Hermione's scream echoed across the field, and she barely managed to throw herself aside in time to avoid the slicing hex a masked figure had thrown at her. Ever since the trio of Severus, Draco and Lucius had caught her eye across the field, her attention had been divided between them and the Death Eater before her. Everything seemed to slow down as she saw the bolt of green light explode from Lucius' wand and hit Severus square in the chest. She hardly realised it was herself she could hear screaming, and it was only her instinct to duck which saved her from being hit with another hex. The next hex did hit her, though, and she felt a searing pain across her shoulder as the jet of magic cut deeply into her skin.
"Stupefy!" she screamed, flinging her injured arm out towards the Death Eater, who was already mouthing another spell. He went down under the bolt of red light, though, and Hermione staggered to her feet again, turning in Severus direction with a terrified sob. If she could just get to him…
She could see him, lying motionless on the rise where the field met the trees, Draco and his father duelling a short distance away. Instantly, a vision of her Boggart flashed before her eyes again, mirroring the way Severus was sprawled out on the grass with terrifying similarity. Surely there were spells other than the Killing Curse that formed a green bolt of magic… Surely he wasn't… he couldn't be… If only he would just move.
Another flash of green caught the edge of her vision, and she turned to see Harry locked in a fierce duel with Voldemort. Torn between helping Harry and running to Severus' aid, she realised there was nothing she could do for Severus… but perhaps she could help Harry.
Setting off at a run, she saw Dumbledore on his knees, surrounded by Charlie Weasley, Tonks and another wizard she didn't recognise, all of whom were deflecting curses being aimed at the old wizard from every direction.
She reached Harry's side at the same time Ron appeared from the other direction, his red hair stained crimson with blood. Whether it was his or someone else's, Hermione didn't know. Harry staggered, and Voldemort gave a shout of triumph, raising his wand to cast another spell. In unison, Hermione and Ron both shouted the same shielding spell, the magical buffer shuddering as it absorbed the power of Voldemort's curse.
The red-eyed wizard laughed wildly as Harry climbed to his feet, adding his own power to the shield as well.
"Need your friends to help you, Harry?" he yelled. "How noble… pity they'll all end up dead."
"Not a chance, Voldemort!" Harry shouted back, gripping his wand with both hands. Hermione could feel her own wand vibrating every time one of Voldemort's curses hit their shield. It was holding, for now, but she was shaking with exhaustion, and she knew Harry and Ron were no better off.
"The traitor is dead," Voldemort taunted, "that old fool Dumbledore has been brought to his knees, and your red-haired contingent is sorely lacking."
Ron, struggling to hold the shielding spell, made a strangled sound, and the pure anger radiating from Harry increased exponentially.
"Now all I have left is to rid myself of you."
Hermione let out a sob, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. If she could just hold on a bit longer… if Harry was just strong enough to finish this.
"I'm going to kill you now, Harry," Voldemort said, his voice suddenly soft and deadly. "I'm going to kill you like I killed your father, and your filthy Mudblood mother."
Harry let out a howl of rage and defiance, but at the same moment and the shielding spell between the trio and their enemy finally failed.
Voldemort laughed, a high and spine-chilling sound, and said, "See, even your friends fail you now."
His hesitation, his need to taunt them, though, was his mistake... his fatal mistake. Hermione saw Dumbledore on his knees, other Order members still duelling fiercely with Death Eaters, refusing to give up, and Severus, still lying motionless at the far end of the field. Suddenly, with a rush of pure adrenalin, she knew what had to be done.
"Avada Kedavra!" Harry screamed, and his voice rose to meet those of his two best friends, shouting the same words with every last drop of hatred they could muster.
Green jets of light shot from the three wands, and halfway to their destination, their paths collided. Instead of ricocheting, they combining to form one blinding green surge of magic, which hurtled towards Voldemort and struck him square in the chest.
There was a deafening crack, louder than a thunderbolt, and a magical explosion of blinding green, which knocked everyone within a fifty foot radius off their feet.
When Hermione raised her head from where she'd been flung flat on her back, she saw Ron climbing to his feet as well, and Harry, just a few paces away, on his knees.
"Harry," she called, her voice breaking as she got painfully to her feet and staggered towards him. He stared up at her dazedly, then his gaze shifted past her to where Voldemort had stood.
"We did it, H'mione," he said, his voice high and shocked.
She turned and followed his gaze to where the man once known as Tom Riddle lay dead on the ground, a torn sleeve exposing his outflung arm and the blackened Dark Mark with which he branded all his followers.
All across the field, cries of jubilation were ringing out as the Order realised Voldemort was dead, the battle won. Ron collapsed to his knees on the other side of Harry, his face pale.
"Is he dead? Are you sure?" he choked out.
With the help of Hermione and Ron, Harry stood shakily and closed the space between his nemesis, staring down at the wide-eyed, surprised expression. The Dark Mark turned from black to grey, the smooth skin cracking and splitting open where it followed the curve of the serpent's body. Blood began to ooze from the wound, and as they watched, horrified, there was a hissing sound, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh, and the blood seemed to dry and lose its colour. The wound down the middle of the Dark Mark became clogged with it; looking up at Voldemort's neck, where another previously bleeding wound now looked the same, Hermione was overcome with a wave of nausea as she realised Voldemort's blood had turned to the ash-like powder in his veins.
"He's dead," Harry gasped out faintly, falling to his knees again. He was exhausted… but alive. They were alive.
With that thought, Hermione's joy turned to fear, her mind drawn to one person. Turning from the dead tyrant and her two friends, a feeling of terror overwhelmed her, and despite her exhaustion, she began to run. She could see him in the distance, lying where he had fallen... if she could just reach him before... surely he was only injured or Stunned.
"Severus!" she cried, her voice rising to a crescendo as she drew nearer, uncaring of who saw or heard her.
Her breath was coming in pained gasps by the time she reached him, and she screamed his name as she threw herself down beside him.
"Severus!"
To be continued…
