May 1998

Hermione looked out over the Great Hall, feeling completely numb. Pain, blood, suffering and grief everywhere. Remus and Tonks lay side by side near the wall, still and silent. Someone had linked their hands. Lavender was completely unrecognisable but for the silver bracelet she always wore and the strands of hair that weren't completely soaked with blood. Parvati Patil sat next to her friend, holding Lavender's hand and that of her sister, Padma, who lay still and unmoving next to the blonde girl.

They had put the teachers along the other wall and Hermione couldn't bear looking at them. Professor McGonagall was laid out next to Professor Slughorn. The old witch had been duelling Antonin Dolohov when another Death Eater had sliced her open from behind. Professor Slughorn had taken that one out but had in turn been crushed under a large boulder when a staircase collapsed. Madam Hooch was there too, her body twisted and contorted by a curse even in death. Several other teachers had been badly injured and taken to the Hospital Wing, including Professor Sprout who had lost her right arm and lower leg and Professor Sinistra who had multiple internal injuries. Professor Flitwick was also gone, a Death Eater had caught him from behind while he was duelling two others, and someone had covered what was left of him with a blanket.

"I need to be with my family," Ron had said and walked over to his mother without a second look back at Hermione. The Weasleys were gathered on the Head Table dais with their dead. They'd lost Fred when he was caught under a caved-in wall, and Bill to a stray hex. Mr Weasley… Arthur had been caught by the Acromantulas, and Ginny had been struck down by Bellatrix with a quick Killing Curse before Mrs Weasley returned the favour and killed the mad witch. Hermione looked at them, huddled together, the redheads and Fleur banding together in their grief, but she hadn't been invited and didn't want to disturb them.

And Harry…

He had gone to the Forest, seeking Voldemort. Hagrid had carried his body back, crying all the way. Somehow he had woken up again and managed to confront Voldemort after Neville had chopped off Nagini's head in a completely unexpected act of bravery. Harry had taunted Voldemort, telling him and everyone who listened about Professor Snape's true loyalties, and then they had duelled.

It was over.

Somehow the two of them had become locked in a standoff, magic crackling in the air around them, arcing between their wands, before it somehow inverted itself. The light and energy was pulled into a tight blinding ball of magic which exploded outwards, blinding everyone temporarily. The whole Castle had shaken, groaned and trembled under the magical onslaught.

When she could see again, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord was dead, lying on his back with sightless eyes staring straight up, before his body started to disintegrate. A cloud of ash rose from his robes before someone — Hermione thought it might have been Kingsley — threw a Bubble charm on the remains, capturing the ashes inside.

Harry, too, lay on his back, no longer needing his glasses that had cracked, again, during the duel. He was gone. Blood had trickled from his mouth and nose but otherwise he looked unharmed, as if he was just asleep. He'd been carried over to where the Weasleys were gathered, laid down next to Ginny and fussed over by Mrs Weasley.

She took another deep breath. Suddenly it was all too much. The weight of all these deaths were crushing her, making it hard to breathe. Still, there was one missing in the Hall, someone whose loss stood out even more now that the others were honoured and cared for. Headmaster Snape wasn't there. For some reason that felt especially wrong, grating her senses like a splinter stuck under her skin. She'd seen him die, after all, had witnessed his last gasping moments in the shack of his nightmares, where he died alone and in agony with everyone thinking him a traitor of the worst kind. She hadn't even tried to help him although she still had a few potions in her trusty beaded bag. They'd gone back to fetch it from their tent a few days after their rescue from Malfoy Manor. Although the tent had been slashed to ribbons most of her books were intact, as was the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black and the bag. Fleur had supplied some potions from her own meagre stash just before they were about to leave for Gringotts.

After another quick look around she made her way over to the teachers' entrance near where the High Table used to be. No one was looking her way when she opened the door and silently slipped inside. The torches were extinguished but light trickled in from the windows. There was some debris from the battle, a few windows had been smashed in, but overall the corridor seemed to be undamaged. She trailed a hand on the wall as she walked, feeling the rough, cool stone against her fingertips, soothed by the fact that the Castle, at least, would weather even this.

Her steps took her higher up in the Castle even though she didn't really have a plan for where to go. She was beyond exhausted. They'd gone from Gringotts directly via dragon to Hogsmeade and then everything had gone to hell. She'd managed to sleep a few hours after midnight, curled up in a corner of an abandoned classroom, but she had only eaten one sandwich supplied by Aberforth since their last breakfast in Shell Cottage.

Somehow she ended up in front of the Gargoyle leading to the Headmaster's office. To her surprise, it blinked slowly and then opened the stairwell for her in a clear invitation. She nodded at it and entered, letting the stairs carry her up to the Headmaster's office. The door at the top of the stairs swung open at her touch.

The room was still lavishly decorated, and the portraits of former Headmasters still lined the walls, but the whirring and clicking contraptions that Professor Dumbledore had kept were gone. Many of the portraits were crying but several looked up as she entered. Cracks lined the walls and an ink bottle was overturned on the desk, bleeding black ink over the mahogany surface.

"Miss Granger," Headmaster Black called from his Hogwarts frame. He stood tall and strict, looking down at her. "What news do you bear?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Voldemort is dead."

Some of the portraits cheered but Phineas Nigellus Black looked grim as ever. "And more?"

She nodded, tears welling up, blurring everything. "Yes… Harry is dead." It was hard to breathe, hard to speak.

"The Headmaster?"

"Dead."

The portraits went silent, mostly. Some were crying. A witch in a very old-fashioned dress was leaning on another witch, halfway through the frame. An old wizard in bright green robes was shaking his head and then hid his face in his hands, turning away.

"The Deputy?"

"Dead." It came out as no more than a hoarse whisper, she had no energy left. Dead, so many dead, so much sorrow.

"What about the Heads of Houses?"

More sobbing from the portraits.

"Yes… only Professor Sprout remains and she was badly injured," Hermione said quietly. "I don't know if she will make it."

Dilys Derwent approached through the frames, making her way over to Headmaster Black who merely nodded at his colleague and made room in his frame. "Miss Granger. I have followed your perilous quest through the reports of Phineas, and many of us are simply appalled by the way you've all been treated during this time."

Hermione shrugged. There had been no choice, as far as she could see. "Thank you, Headmistress Derwent."

The old witch smiled. "Call me Dilys, dear."

Several inhabitants of the surrounding portraits glared pointedly over at Professor Dumbledore who appeared to be snoring peacefully in his frame, a bowl of lemon drops visible on a side table next to his armchair.

"The situation is still dire, for reasons that should never have come to pass. Hogwarts… Hogwarts is severely damaged. With the Head gone, and the Deputy, and most of the Heads of Houses…"

The Castle shook as if to underline what Dilys said, and many of the portraits were still crying.

Headmaster Black took over. "We have a proposal for you, but first you must understand more."

He pointed at the Pensieve which Hermione only now noticed, the massive stone pedestal with a silver bowl where faint silvery shadows emerged and disappeared through the mist that coiled just above the surface. She approached it, hesitant. She'd heard Harry talk about using one but had never had the opportunity herself.

"How do I…"

Dilys answered her. "Lower your face to the surface, and you'll find yourself in his memories."

Hermione nodded, took a deep breath and dove in. A young boy, a poor Muggle neighbourhood, magic. An abusive childhood, a drunk father who hated what his son was. A friend, someone similar, another one who was different from the others. And then… Hogwarts, Sorting, bullying of a different kind instead of acceptance. Friends, acquaintances, a young Lord Malfoy, was that Regulus Black? Then the inevitable, drifting apart, the vivacious and popular Lily giving up on the unkempt, sullen Slytherin boy, the final rift when it all came apart. Loneliness, aching bitter loneliness as she chose his worst rival.

The Hog's Head, overhearing the Prophecy. Hermione walked upstairs just ahead of Memory-Severus. Just as Sybill started chanting she saw the door to the Headmaster's rented room crack open, a slanted ray of light spilling out into the corridor. Hermione bit her lip to quell her sobs as the harsh, guttural voice of the Divination teacher rang out, telling those present about the life and death of Harry.

The memories continued. His defection, begging Dumbledore to save her… save them, even. Her heart broke for him, and even more so at his anguish when both his masters failed him. How could he live with it? The double life, maintaining appearances yet always, always protecting the son of his tormentor. Dumbledore pushing, using his loyalty, yet seemingly never trusting him.

Dazed she staggered out of the memories when the final one had played out. She stared unseeingly straight ahead and stumbled to a padded bench by the window, sitting down heavily. Dust danced in the slanted rays of sunlight through the window. It would be a fine spring day, teeming with new life.

"This, this is not right," she whispered. "None of this is right."

Headmaster Black nodded grimly. "There is more, Miss Granger. As Dilys said, Hogwarts is injured. The Headmaster is responsible for more than just administration and the appointment of teachers. Their magic resonates through the whole Castle, through the wards and the very core of the Castle, the staircases and the portraits, the classrooms and the dormitories. In return, Hogwarts supports them, lending her strength and tenacity to the one ensconced in this Tower. It's a symbiotic bond, if you will, a resonance that amplifies and enhances whatever is put into it. The Deputy and the Heads of Houses add their magic to this bond, ensuring stability and adding their own voices and perspectives to the Castle. Now, out of the five of them only Pomona remains and she is currently unconscious, partly due to the sheer pressure of Hogwarts suddenly weighing on her mind. It is too much for one mind to bear alone, usually at least two of them are always inside the wards at any time."

"Gods…" She stumbled over to the Headmaster's chair and sank down in it, staring unseeingly at the floor. Would the kindly Hufflepuff cope with the pressure? What would happen if… She blinked, shaking her head, not wanting to finish that thought.

"That's not all though," Headmaster Black continued. "This is a school, not a battleground. Each and every death that happens inside these wards impacts the Castle, damages its magic and the strength of the wards. Each Dark spell being cast here damages not just the physical structure but also the very core of Hogwarts. Without a Head, without the Deputy and the four Heads of Houses, there is no way to replenish the wards and the Castle's magic. The duel in the Great Hall didn't help matters much either, with the release of all that magical energy which had to be absorbed and neutralised by the Castle."

"But… What does it all mean?" Hermione asked.

Dilys smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "Hogwarts is dying, Hermione. Before long the towers will fall, the staircases will stop moving, the lights will wink out and all of us portraits will go silent. Those of us that have portraits elsewhere can relocate there but…"

Hermione shook her head, unable to comprehend what she'd just heard. It couldn't… Surely it wasn't possible?

Another witch stepped forward through the ranks of portraits, a solemn-looking witch with dark curly hair under a brimless old-fashioned pointy hat. "Good evening, Miss Granger. I'm Heliotrope Wilkins. What Phineas and Dilys have told you you is true, I fear. As long as Pomona manages to survive the Castle will fight but there is no way to stop it at this point and she will soon succumb to the pressure of Hogwarts' massive weight in her mind."

Several of the portraits were weeping and sniffling into their handkerchiefs, robes, or in the case of one wizard, his hat.

Headmistress Wilkins continued. "We have a proposal for you, Miss Granger, a way to possibly change the inevitable. There are no guarantees here, Miss Granger. We have no way to know if this will work, but… this way there is a chance."

Dilys took over. "The choice is yours, Miss Granger. If you say no, life will continue from here on on its current path. You will move away from Hogwarts, your life will go on even if the Castle doesn't. If you accept, nothing will ever be the same. We cannot guarantee that it will be better, or that it will be easy, but we hope… we hope you could make a difference to a lot of lives."

Headmistress Wilkins nodded at her colleague through the frames separating them. "Some choices cannot be undone, Miss Granger. This is one of them. If you accept, you will not ever be able to return. The people you know here won't know you, nor will you ever be the same as you are now."

Hermione frowned. That sounded suspiciously familiar. "Are you talking about a Time Turner?"

Dilys smiled again. "Not exactly, no. Time Turners only send you a few hours back. No, there is a way that should send you back further, to a point where you can make a difference."

"But… but how would that work? I thought it wasn't possible?" Nothing of what she'd read about Time magic indicated that such a thing was possible. She'd scoured the Library when she got the Time Turner and even got a temporary pass for the Restricted Section from Professor McGonagall, but the information had been sparse.

Headmistress Wilkins nodded slowly. "It is possible… but the price is high. I know, I paid it myself. I went back seventeen years to alter the course of English history when Oliver Cromwell had caused an uprising in Scotland that led to a massive battle fought at Hogwarts where I was one of very few survivors. The Castle and the Founders' magic sent me back in time in a desperate bid for survival, expending the last of its magic to lead history into a different path. I managed to save Hogwarts but instead he was let loose on Ireland and other parts of Scotland." Pain was evident in her voice, even hundreds of years later. Yet, the older witch squared her shoulders and looked down at Hermione through the frame. "Know that you won't be alone, even if it will seem so at times. Help will always, always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask."

Hermione rested her head in her hands. She felt completely overwhelmed, and had ever since waking up in Shell Cottage what felt like two lifetimes ago. So much pain, terror and grief condensed into such a short time. How could she agree to this, this madness? How could she not? Was it really true, was Hogwarts the Castle dying, just as everyone else had? And, conversely, would she be able to live with herself if she walked away from it all and Hogwarts died because of her choice?

A cough behind her had her wand whipped out without even noticing as she twisted in the chair to face the source of the noise. Professor Dumbledore smiled benignly at her from his frame.

"Ah, Miss Granger. I see the battle went according to plan. Tom is dead?"

Hermione nodded, her wand still pointing towards his frame. "As is Harry."

"Ah, yes, of course. There was no other way, my dear." He nodded slowly and popped a painted lemon drop into his mouth. "I apologise, I cannot very well offer you a lemon drop these days."

She shook her head, impatient for answers, for some truth. "Was it your plan all along? A battle, here, Harry dead, Professor Snape dead?"

"It was the only way," Professor Dumbledore repeated and smiled again. "Most unfortunate, yes, but he had made his choice a long time ago."

"What about Hogwarts?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Ah, yes, most unfortunate. I am sure Beauxbatons will be able to assist, they could just send a few of their Professors over. Hogwarts is strong, dear, I'm sure she will be fine."

Hermione sank down into the chair again. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out Professor Dumbledore. Another groan coursed through the Castle, as if the very stones were hurting. What if he was wrong? And how could he simply nod and smile at the mention of Harry, and even Professor Snape? Didn't both of them deserve more than that? And everyone else too, all the students and teachers, everyone giving their lives and blood and tears for this Castle, this world?

Headmaster Black coughed again from his portrait. "Miss Granger. I fear in this instance Albus is not as knowledgeable as he would like to give the impression of being. Together with Headmaster Snape we have tried to do what we could to prepare you for this eventuality. Would you open the topmost left drawer of the desk?"

She hadn't noticed the desk drawers before but when he mentioned it the drawer seemed to open almost by itself. It contained a worn Muggle-style notebook, an old hand-written book, a rolled-up scroll and a small drawstring leather bag which turned out to contain Galleons mixed with old Muggle money.

The scroll was from him, the former occupant of the chair she was sitting in. Professor Snape. She'd recognise his spiky scrawl anywhere, and yet now the sight of it made her heart constrict with grief.

Miss Granger.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and if you read this letter those times have come to pass. Know that what Dilys, Heliotrope and Phineas have told you is true, as far as I have been able to discern. Yet I must stress the fact that this is your choice, and that if you choose to step away from this, no one will hold it against you.

We have devised a nexus point for your Turning which will bring you into close proximity of myself at that point in time. I presume you know my history and my background. I must warn you, at that time I was an angry young man with poor social skills, distrustful of everyone and everything.

I am sure you will wonder why the Castle has chosen you for this. Oddly enough there is no one better suited, although the choices are likely rather limited at this point. I would also like you to know that despite what I had to say in the classroom, you were the bright light of my teaching career, despite your tendencies to take everything written in a book as fact rather than thinking for yourself.

The rest of this note will become visible once you have Turned. If you instead choose to step away, the Castle will destroy all evidence of this conversation and you may go on with your life from here on without the burden of remembering this choice.

Severus Snape, Master of Potions

Headmaster

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, April 1998

Hermione tried to think things through. She'd leave everything she knew, everyone she had a relationship with. But there weren't many left. Her parents were gone, somewhere in Australia, and there was no way to reverse the memory charm without giving them severe brain damage. Harry was gone, as was many of the teachers she cared about. And Ron… She wasn't sure what to think when it came to him. Somehow, though, the thought of leaving him behind forever didn't hurt as much as it had to lose Harry, even if they had shared a kiss earlier. He hadn't looked back once when he went to join his family and she clearly hadn't been invited to join them. What if she stayed? Would Mrs Weasley expect her to fill in for both Harry and Ginny by becoming the new Mrs Ronald Weasley? Ron had shown during their camping trip exactly how he would treat a girlfriend, after all. He'd not even once helped with cooking or cleaning unless Harry badgered him, and he had left them alone in the woods to fend for themselves, even if he had tried to return. Hermione shuddered. No, becoming a house-witch was not exactly her dream career.

"I accept." She looked up at Headmaster Black. "I'll do it."

He nodded at her, looking a little less tense than previously. "You are brave, Miss Granger. Not very many would accept this kind of task. Between your actions during this past year and Headmaster Snape, my old preconceived notions of those of your… status have been completely obliterated."

She didn't know if she was supposed to be pleased or insulted by his odd compliment, but settled for a weak smile.

"You have your bag?" Dilys said.

Hermione nodded, trying to think. Everything was happening so quickly. "What can I bring? Harry had a cloak… it should be somewhere in the Great Hall."

"We shall send for it. Look through the drawers and see if there's anything else you may need."

An elf popped in with a huge hamper full of food. Harry's invisibility cloak rested on top of it. Hermione shrank the hamper and put everything in her beaded bag. She found a stash of potions in another drawer, all with labels in the Headmaster's own spiky script, and took all of them. A quick look around the room didn't yield anything else of interest, before she recalled the memories in the Pensieve. Another quick search turned up an empty Potions vial, and she gently coaxed the wispy strands into it with her wand.

She nodded at Dilys. "Okay, I'm ready. I think."

The older witch smiled at her. "You need some momentum for this, dear. Do you trust us? Go to the window, and Godspeed."

She walked up to the window. What did they mean, momentum?

Suddenly the castle… sneezed. The window opened and she was flung from the tower, falling, a shriek torn from her throat. Before she hit the ground something shifted abruptly, and she was sucked through the fabric of the universe, being torn apart and compressed in different dimensions. There was no air, no time to scream, pain ripped through her as her mind seemed to invert itself, not able to comprehend the journey.

Finally the movement stopped. She fell down hard on the ground, dazed and disoriented. Two men approached, it was dark and she seemed to be in a forest clearing. They were clad in Death Eater robes but unmasked, one blond burly man and one dark-haired, dark-eyed, oddly familiar.

"Professor Snape? You're alive…" She smiled up at him, Professor Snape, it must be him. He looked well, younger, not as worn out as he had the past few years. Had it worked, then? Was she…

The world went black before she finished the thought.