A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading – I never imagined that this story would happen, nor that it would touch so many.
On behalf of the cast and crew of A Walking Shadow
Tayet, Hermione, Severus and I would like to thank you for your support in the Multifaceted Awards "Identity" (original character) and "Intelligence" (dramatic fic) categories... We are all touched... (Well, I'm not sure Tayet understands, really, but she seems happy...)
... touches heart... bows...
If
The shapes outside the garden wall blocked more and more of the light, the mist resolved into a new generation of darkness.
Tonks drew Remus aside as soon as they had Harry securely settled inside the wards. They were not seen for the rest of the afternoon.
Bill kissed his mother on the cheek and Disapparated with Fleur.
Molly set about preparing lunch, letting Arthur imagine that he was helping
Harry, Ginny and Ron played Exploding Snap. Harry and Ginny held hands under the table, and Ron pretended not to notice. They, likewise, pretended that he wasn't blushing, scowling, and grinning in equal amounts.
/x/
Minerva sent Hagrid to her office and sat in the deserted Gryffindor Common Room making Portkeys. After three-quarters of an hour, she returned to the corridor and waited by the gargoyle.
Hagrid emerged a bit later, eyes wide and glistening. He seemed taller.
Impossible, Minerva thought, as the spiraling stairs carried her upwards.
/x/
Moody spent the afternoon glaring into his foe glass.
/x/
Kingsley Shacklebolt completed eight hours' work in four for the Muggle Prime Minister, who was very sympathetic about that morning's emergency trip to the dentist.
/x/
Fred and George made the rent at noon, and arranged to meet Charlie at the Leaky Cauldron after closing.
/x/
Hermione quietly cast Reparo on the broken window, and embraced Severus from behind, wordlessly, with her good arm.
/x/
And a female phoenix sketched a purple blur over tropical skies, soaring back and forth over the house with no ceiling, circling down to land on Mr. Ollivander's worktable, eyes whirling with the dance of a thousand sunlit flashes on an eternity of waves.
Tayet loved the ocean, and Mr. Ollivander woke up from his nap.
/x/
Severus turned in his chair to raise his eyes to Hermione's. "Are you ready?" he asked her quietly.
"No," she smiled sadly, brushing his hair off of his forehead. "Not even close."
He sighed, losing himself in the feel of her hand as she stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hair. At his hairline, fingers into his hair, combing it away from his forehead, behind his ear. He leaned into her warmth, and her fingers continued, down his neck, to his collar, the blue-black glint almost lost in the obscured light from beyond the garden wall, blue-black against the empty night of the wool of his coat.
Resting her fingers at the end of his braid, Tayet's tear a gleam of red, a low glow, as of a coal, a last, radiant coal, refracting through a blood-red heartbeat, illuminating a crimson carpet, a dark, mahogany table.
"Why did it have to be red, Severus?" she asked quietly.
He exhaled slowly against the rough weave of her robes. "Blood, probably. That would be the obvious symbolism."
Her lips quirked. "As if anything about her is obvious." Her fingers did not stop moving.
"Did you ever see Fawkes' tears?" he murmured quietly, still lost, his mind departed to the timelessness of Hermione's touch, the single constant that had formed that morning releasing him, for an hour, a little more, from a lifetime of conscious stealth, a pacing ire encaged within a fence of interwoven flames, of lurking in the jagged shadows cast by his own fractured edges. Just smooth, now, for an hour, a little more, Hermione's hand smooth on his hair, on the small, resonant permanence at the end of a tiny black braid.
Tayet's tear touched his neck sometimes when he was sleeping. It wasn't cold.
When there was light, the tear reflected it straight into Hermione's eyes. Sometimes it was blinding.
There wasn't much light now - just a kind of backlit shadow – and she didn't even need to blink.
"No," she said, low, after long moments absorbed in the feel, the long, smooth lines of his hair, falling, to his shoulders, the contrast between it and the wool and the small, smooth teardrop. "No, I never saw Fawkes cry, only heard him, after…"
"They looked white. In the right light, though…" he swallowed hard, a memory welling unbidden to the surface – the hospital wing – after returning from His side, blood caked, swelling, an old wound reopened precisely with calculated malice, requiring… Fawkes at his side, leaning… kept from normal light until his sight recovered… only a small globe, its light black, illuminating his recovery behind hermetically Charmed leaded draperies… - "… they may have had a touch of purple." Fawkes' tears a glow so intense it had frightened him, luminous, in the darkness, a deeper darkness so far removed from normal naked eyesight it circled back on itself, unbearably intense, unbearable, blinding…
"Ultraviolet," her thought, feather-light, down-soft, in his mind.
A wall of rage at her, against her – not her – any intruder, his memories.
"Shhh," she breathed, a caress on the wall. "Shhh." As the wall dissolved, she was reminded, inanely, of The Monster Book of Monsters.
Severus nodded, forcing himself to relax. "It would stand to reason that hers be infrared."
Her brow furrowed. "I shouldn't be able to see it, then."
"In the right light. Or, perhaps, the right darkness."
Lowering her head to his, smiling into his hair. "I'd say that's you."
He turned abruptly in his chair to look up at her, and she straightened. "Hermione."
Her hand stilled on his shoulder. "What is it?"
Eyes intent, he raised a hand, a gesture of instinctive authority, his fingers reaching for – "I'm sorry – may I?" He indicated her blouse.
A puzzled nod. "Of course, but… ?"
Her arms fell to her side and she flinched as her shoulder popped again.
Severus felt her flinch and he frowned.
"Hagrid," she said. "He didn't mean it."
His face hardened, but he said nothing, slipping his hand under her robes to slide it off of her shoulder, his hand returning softly to her buttons. "And Lupin?" he asked finally, his fingers gently working the buttons open, carefully, so as not to jostle her.
"He meant to be reassuring. I think. I don't think he realized, about my shoulder…" Her voice trailed away as Severus eased the cloth away from her skin, and she closed her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck as he leaned closer.
Pointedly ignoring the swirling cloud of Hermione's mark after one involuntary glance, he held her shoulder lightly and reached for his wand.
"This may hurt," he said, distractedly, as he concentrated on isolating the nature of the injury.
A small, empty laugh.
He frowned, and focused more intently. When he moved his hand to her side to position her differently, she gasped, and he drew back.
"My ribs," she said.
"Hagrid, again?"
"He was rather… grateful."
Severus nodded and eased her blouse down further, moving his wand down toward her ribs.
He said nothing for several moments, and Hermione let herself sag slightly as, in his care, tension drained from places she hadn't known she'd been carrying it. "That feels good," she said.
"I'm not doing anything," he said, still deep in his examination.
"Yes, you are," she said.
He glanced up at that.
Her face – her brows relaxed; her eyes closed, shadowed; and her mouth serene. Unbidden, a memory of her regal posture as she'd maneuvered him with words and then with her disarming nearness to regain her wand. A small, sharp pain reflected in his eyes; a small, slow sigh – inaudible, more motion than breath – and a hand to her cheek, his thumb a soft motion under her eyelashes.
"You should return to Hogwarts, to Poppy," he said quietly.
Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed. "No."
He considered her gravely for a moment. "I am no mediwizard, Hermione, and have no store of potions."
"No," she said again, still quietly, opening her eyes to see the concern in his.
He looked at her, feeling time ebbing inexorably from his grasp, and finally nodded, drawing himself out of his chair and heading for the hearth.
"What are you doing?"
He reached for the Floo powder and tossed in much more than was necessary for simple communication.
A moment later Minerva's head appeared in the flames. "Hermio- Severus!" she gasped, recoiling slightly as she took in the unmistakable signs of his anger and the sight of Hermione, disheveled, behind him.
"Minerva." Severus nodded once, soberly, letting the silence hang between them.
Minerva's face sharpened, then, with obvious effort, she recovered herself. A little more brusquely than was her wont, she insisted, "Those flames, Severus - what is the emergency? Or have you made wastefulness a habit in your time away?"
His eyes glittered with intensity and something else that Minerva couldn't identify. "That bumbling colossus nearly dislocated her shoulder and may have cracked her ribs."
"Send her throu - "
"She cannot Floo in this condition; nor will I risk her leaving my side. Not today." He waited a moment for Minerva to appreciate the risks and possible complications were he to suddenly appear, striding through the halls of Hogwarts, in full view of portraits, ghosts, and house-elves. When she pursed her lips in realization, he continued, "Are the staff potions still in the office?"
Minerva disappeared instantly from the flames, returning a moment later to pass several flasks into his waiting hands.
He selected two for Hermione and secreted the rest in his robes. "A moment, Minerva?"
She nodded.
After he had settled Hermione in the parlor, with instructions to take the second potion lying down, as it would cause almost instant sleep, he returned to the kitchen hearth.
"How badly is she injured, Severus?"
"Not seriously, but more than those potions will heal in one afternoon. But perhaps it is for the best that she rest, considering…"
"Ollivander?"
"I'm expecting him at any time, and if by some infinitesimally small chance he offers a straight answer, it may be best that Hermione not hear."
Minerva frowned. "If he thinks it won't work, you mean."
Severus' eyes hardened and he nodded once, sharply, then abruptly changed the subject. "Is Tayet still at Hogwarts?"
"She wasn't with you?"
Severus frowned. Dratted bird. He shook his head. Later. While there is a later.
He sank to the hearth before Minerva's unreadable eyes. Leaning his elbow on one upright knee, he rubbed his eyes. "How much did Hermione tell you?"
"She lied most unconvincingly about a certain workaround. Hagrid and the younger Mr. Weasley believed her; perhaps a few of the others."
He continued rubbing his eyes. "The Aurors?"
"Doubtful. Nor Lupin, nor Bill. The rest may have been distracted enough…"
A pause. "Harry?"
Minerva's eyes widened slightly at his choice of address, and his lips twisted, an echo of his usual smirk.
"Mr. Potter chose to believe her, at least. Severus," the headmistress continued, "are you prepared for this?"
"Of course."
She tilted her head skeptically, and he bristled. "I have done as much before, Minerva."
"No, Severus. That… that daft scheme you and Albus hatched was nothing compared to this. If the wands don't - "
But he was on his feet, his eyes glinting a warning. "That night was far from 'nothing,' Minerva. You've seen the formulae. My soul is as fractured as the Dark Lord's."
"As is mine, Severus. Perhaps not metaphysically, but he…"
Severus saw her eyes flicker upward, and saw her features soften slightly.
"… he was my soul." She whispered these words, and his hand reached involuntarily into the flames.
Minerva's hand met his, and gripped it urgently.
"If the wands don't work the way you hope, and you have to…"
"They will."
"If they don't, Severus, and they very well may not, I - I will kill you myself."
Something flickered in his eyes, then he grew solemn, and nodded.
Minerva was still speaking. "I shan't let you live with that memory, if you do have to… of what you'll have had to do, for any longer than is absolutely necessary."
He looked at her seriously. "If Moody doesn't get me first."
Minerva's eyes narrowed. "I'll see to it."
He held her eye for a moment, then nodded. His voice strained, harsh, "Only if Harry succeeds. If he fails, I am bound - "
She interrupted him. "I'm aware of that. I'll see to it."
Nodding stiffly, as if she were dismissing a staff meeting, she squeezed his hand, once, and disappeared into the flames.
Thank you, he thought, gazing at the empty hearth.
He reached for the mantel and stood still for a moment before going to check on Hermione.
/x/
"Squerk!" A sooty Tayet zoomed out of the Floo before the slower Mr. Ollivander emerged, straightening stiffly.
He stood blinking in the dark, deserted kitchen.
There was no fire.
Tayet screeched through the empty house.
Even Mrs. Black was silent as Tayet's cries echoed from room to empty room. As the phoenix flew through the hallway, Mrs. Black raised a half-hearted hand, then dropped it into her lap.
Mr. Ollivander waited in the kitchen, chuckling.
When Tayet finally reappeared, frantically battering at him with her wings, he held out his arm for her. She landed, eyeing him furiously, adjusting her footing as he drew a gold chain out of his robes and included her in its circle.
"Tea for two, lovey. Two for tea. Just in time."
Tayet let out a "Squeep!" of alarm as the shiny thing in his hands turned and the silent kitchen began to move backwards.
/x/
Tayet zoomed, trilling, into the parlor.
Severus looked up in warning, and Tayet instantly quieted, landing on Hermione's stomach.
A low note.
Breathing?
Breathing.
A brighter note.
Sleeping?
She turned her head to look at Severus, who reached out to touch her blackened feathers.
"Not so purple now, are you?" he said, laughing softly. "Silly thing. A phoenix, using the Floo…"
Tayet stepped back and forth lightly on Hermione's chest, quietly singing, her notes soft flashes of sound, almost silence.
At the creak of the kitchen door, Severus' hand flew to his wand.
"Relax, lad," came Mr. Ollivander's rasping voice, even as Mrs. Black announced, "Ooooh, if it isn't the sodding nutter, come to call!"
"Hush, child," Mr. Ollivander said absently, then, a gleam growing in his eye, turned to face the portrait. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how dark your garden grows… how very dark, with visitors a-waiting on the wall, coming to keep the feast…"
Mrs. Black stared at him blankly, but, coming into the hall, Severus looked up, startled, and moved swiftly to open the kitchen the door to glance through the window.
The shadows were deeper, but no closer than before.
He turned back toward Mr. Ollivander, who chuckled and handed him two silk-wrapped parcels.
Severus made no move to unwrap them, but he thought, fleetingly, that the illusion of tomorrow should somehow be heavier.
"You'll know," Mr. Ollivander confirmed, darkly. "Yes, you'll know."
Tayet glided into the hall and perched on Severus' shoulder, bracing a talon on his chest as she leaned down to examine the parcels, then twisted her head around to look up at him, crooning hesitantly.
Severus smiled gently and touched her head.
Mr. Ollivander chuckled again. "Quoth the raven - "
"Squirp," she informed him, pertly.
Mr. Ollivander's eyes burned, sudden, intense, into Severus' own. "Don't touch them, not until it's time."
Severus looked at him guardedly. "But if the wand chooses the - "
"In this matter, does it matter? Choose, or be chosen; no matter. The ebony would go well with your robes, though."
Severus' eyes narrowed.
"Easier to hide." A cackle. Serious. "Don't touch them."
"You know, do you not, what we plan for these?" Severus asked quietly
"Of course. Why else would she be here?" Mr. Ollivander reached a finger toward Tayet, and she pecked it.
Severus stared at the parcels in his hands, and exhaled slowly.
"Ah. He thinks he might want the answer to 'if.'" A slow grin cracked Mr. Ollivander's wizened face. "If it can work. If it can't." His voice gentling, kinder. "Do you? Do you really?"
Severus closed his eyes and nodded.
"Of course it can't work, lad. It's impossible. As it's impossible, no one's ever tried it. Naturally. Perhaps no one's ever thought of it. Or perhaps some have tried and just - " He held his hands open, empty. Eyes calm, sane. Then, very softly, "So which comes last, Severus? Which? The ashes? Or the phoenix?"
Mr. Ollivander regarded him sadly for a moment, then turned on his heel and strode toward the kitchen. "And now, I want my tea."
The sound of the Floo, and he was gone.
/x/
Severus stood in the hall, trying to ignore the fine trembling that had started in his hands.
