Chapter 42
The circular room was the same as always – pristine and sumptuous and tacky – and Hermione marched straight to the desk. It was late now, and Severus's heartbreaking confession had drained her, but Hermione had business here tonight, and she would not put it off. Dumbledore was already in his large frame behind the desk; in fact, he seemed to be waiting for her.
"Hello, my dear," the silver-haired portrait said. Hermione checked the other paintings and found that, sure enough, they were alone in the office. She turned back to Dumbledore, who smiled benignly at her, opening his arms in invitation. "Shall we... what is the Muggle phrase? Duke it out?"
"No. We are not going to duke it out. I am." She flicked her wand, and a gag appeared over the wizened wizard's mouth. His blue eyes hardened, and he glared down at her. "I know that you're not the real Dumbledore, but you're the best I can get tonight, so you'll have to do." She took a deep breath, before continuing, "You have set up this entire situation so that Harry will die, not fighting, nor defending the innocent, but at your convenience. You've set this up so that, when the time comes, he won't have a choice. Just like Severus hasn't had a choice, just like none of us has had a choice. I can understand some of your reasons for doing it this way – less loss of life being the one I'm sure you'd cite first, as it echoes for the greater good so nicely – but any possible reason is spurious in the face of the reality you have conjured."
She forced herself to take in and release a deep breath. She felt her hair buzzing with electricity, and her entire self seemed to be on the point of blowing a fuse. Her Mind's Eye came up, and Hermione gratefully sorted through her emotions for a long moment.
"I will give you enough credit to say that you knew Harry Potter," she continued, her voice calm and steady. "You knew him. You made sure that you did. And so you knew the choices he would make. You should have allowed him to make those choices – truly – not under duress and pressure and God only knows what other kinds of coercion. You knew better, Dumbledore," the weight of the words coloured her voice, filling it with gravitas. "You should have done better."
Hermione flicked her wand, and the gag disappeared. Dumbledore faced her, but he wouldn't look her in the eye anymore; watching him closely, she saw tears trailing down his cheeks and into his silver beard, as they had done in Severus's memory.
"Miss Granger," he began at last, "you have aired your grievances against me, and I accept your rebukes without reservation. Just as you say, I have acted with unilateral ruthlessness in this war, and I deeply regret the pain that I have put you and yours through. And now, I…" he seemed to fight with himself for a moment, before straightening up to meet her eyes. "I wish you to know something."
His bright blue eyes stared into hers, and Hermione felt the weight of sadness lifting from her gently. Severus was right. There is one last piece to the puzzle, and this was the only way to find it. She nodded for Dumbledore to continue, her stomach knotted with dread and hope.
"I do not intend for Harry to go to his death," he said. "But he must believe that he will have to die. I cannot stress that to you enough, Miss Granger! It is essential that, when the time comes, Harry makes precisely the same sacrifice his mother made. But I promise you," his blue eyes blazed and then – to Hermione's astonishment – twinkled, "Tom Riddle will not succeed in killing Harry Potter when he attempts it." The old man smiled, despite the tears still sliding down his cheeks. "Tom himself created the means of destroying the Horcrux within Harry without killing the boy. He did so long ago, when he first came back and chose to use Harry's blood to form his new body."
Hermione stared up at the painting, allowing her Mind's Eye to sort through her emotions so that her logical side could take over and deconstruct what Dumbledore had revealed.
"So…" she said, grasping it slowly. "So, because You-Know-Who used Harry to resurrect…" it came together in her mind, a bright, sudden possibility that flooded her with relief, nearly shattering her Mind's Eye. "They're tethered together! As long as he's here, Harry will be!"
"Precisely," Dumbledore's portrait answered. "I would not send Harry Potter to his death, Miss Granger, not without the possibility that he could – yet again – survive."
The old wizard smiled down at her once more, and Hermione let her Mind's Eye dissolve, saturating herself with the relief and love and hope now coursing through her.
The weeks whittled down to days, and Hermione spent more and more time sequestered in her small bedroom in the Room of Requirement, going over the plan with Harry and Ron. The boys, now fully recovered from Malfoy Manor, were raring to get back into action, and Hermione found their excitable attitudes somewhat catching. Despite her eagerness, the idea of leaving seemed to settle over her life at Hogwarts like a shadow, one that loomed larger with each day that passed without Severus's return.
He said he'd come back before I left, she found herself repeating inwardly throughout these last days. He promised he'd come back.
The week of the 30th, Hermione opted out of a full DA meeting for the first time, and Neville's takeover was reassuringly seamless. He now led the DA in all but name, and that would come soon enough. Meanwhile, Hermione threw herself into preparing for Gringotts during her final week, looking up any extra spells she and the boys might need, researching the bank's history in the library, and spending long stretches alone in her small bedroom, clearing her Chakras and focusing her Mind's Eye on the task and all of its possible outcomes.
One thing kept coming up again and again in the calculations she undertook with her Mind's Eye, and she couldn't forbear bringing it up yet again the very night before she was to leave Hogwarts.
"How are things with Griphook?" she wrote to Harry, bringing up the subject rather abruptly. "Do you think he's come round about the Sword?"
"No," came the short, emphatic response.
Hermione sighed, knowing that their choices regarding the goblin and the Sword of Gryffindor were almost equally ugly.
"Well," she penned back, determined to tell him the conclusion her calculations had determined, "we'll just have to keep our word, Harry."
"Hermione," Harry wrote quickly, "I don't know that we can. This isn't something I want to do, or that I'll feel good doing but… even you have to admit that it doesn't make sense to hand over the one thing we can use for destroying Horcruxes."
"There are alternatives. Did you look at Secrets of the Darkest Art like I mentioned? There's a chapter on getting rid of the things in there."
"I did, yeah. I don't know how you managed to read that whole thing. It's…"
"The worst book ever? Yes. I think reading it helps, though. It helps us to know exactly how far Riddle really did go, and how badly we really do need to –"
"That's not what I was going to say," Harry wrote, cutting her off. "I agree with you, mind, though I don't think I needed any more reasons for wanting to finish him. No, I just read the chapter on properties of the various types of Horcruxes and… Hermione, did you see what it says about using living things as Horcruxes?"
The air suddenly left Hermione's lungs in a rush.
He is starting to realize... but it's too soon, much too soon…
Her Mind's Eye took over her stream of consciousness to sort through her panic, but it couldn't dispel the revulsion and misery that came alongside that train of thought, and Hermione came to a decision. She would not be a part of Dumbledore's deceptive web of half-truths and secrets. It had nearly destroyed Severus, and now it was eating away at her whilst depriving Harry of the very thing the Light was supposed to preserve from the Dark: choice.
She sat up straight at her tiny desk. She would answer his questions honestly, but she wouldn't impose the information on him, not unless he specifically asked. As far as she could, she would offer him choice without compromising his chances of surviving.
"I did read about that, yes," she wrote carefully.
"Hermione, it just seems so – " his writing stopped abruptly, and Hermione could picture him running his hands through his messy hair in agitation. "A lot of it, the physical signs, the powers, the connection, it all seems really familiar to me."
"To me as well."
"Especially this part, here: 'The live host will display many aspects of the wizard, although it is difficult to predict or control which aspects will transfer, and to what degree. There is a guarantee, however, that a small portion of the wizard's magic will be contained within the host, alongside the portion of the wizard's soul.'" Harry's scrawl paused again. "Well?"
"I remember that part. The book makes it very clear that live hosts are unstable."
"It just sounds very familiar. But they're talking about animals. Right, Hermione? They're not talking about people."
Oh God, I can't lie to him. I can't-I can't-I –
Her Mind's Eye cut off the whinging voice, and Hermione felt the calculation come together swiftly. When she dipped her quill into her inkpot, she knew just what to write, just what to say to remain within the bounds of truth, whilst still giving less away than she might want. Harry could choose to push her further, and she would answer him. But until he did…
"I don't think the people who created Horcruxes ever intended for anyone to make a person into one, Harry. That's not to say it couldn't happen, but that's certainly not the intention."
"Right… right. Anyway, the book's not going anywhere. We can talk about it in person – after Gringotts." Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "I haven't mentioned anything to Ron about it just yet. I've been trying not to think about it too much."
"That might be best right now, Harry. I…" she stopped herself for a moment, consulting her Mind's Eye, the last of the guilt lifting as she wrote, "I've found out a lot since I solidified my alliance with Snape, and I think it would be best if I told you everything in person, after we handle the next couple of Horcruxes."
There was a long pause, and Hermione sighed. It was the first time she had brought up Severus in well over a month, and she doubted Harry's regard for the dark man had improved in that time. Harry's answer was hesitant.
"He… he's shared some of what he knows with you, then?"
Hermione hurried to answer.
"Everything he knows, I think. It has been very enlightening, and helpful."
"Hermione, you are sure? About him, I mean?"
"Absolutely. More than ever."
Harry signed off soon afterwards, and Hermione sat before the twinned parchment, staring at the blank white page, her Mind's Eye making its calculations, until she cast it aside completely and allowed her complex emotions to take over instead.
She had slept badly over the course of these last days, always fitfully, the sheets wrapping around her as she tossed and turned in her bed. And so Hermione donned her nightgown and then let herself into Severus's rooms.
If I can't have him before I leave tomorrow… at least I can have this.
She conjured one of her blue-flamed fires in the grate, and the spartan bedroom filled with warmth as she settled in between the sheets, the dark man's scent enfolding her comfortingly.
She went over her discussion with Harry as she lay down, and of her confrontation with Dumbledore several days prior. She had to concentrate on her Mind's Eye for a long moment before the fraught conversation with Dumbledore would dissipate into the correct drawers and filing cabinets in her mindscape. Hermione knew that her reprimands to him couldn't truly make a difference, that it had been fanciful at best and foolish at worst to confront the dead man through his portrait. But it was the best she could do for her friend… and for Severus… and for herself as well. And her tirade had prompted the painted man to confess what he'd kept from everyone for so long. As she went over their conversation yet again, Hermione couldn't resist the depth of comfort she felt at the idea that Harry– Horcrux or not – might survive. The comfort did little to disperse her frustration at now being complicit in keeping secrets from Harry.
Hermione sighed, commanding Dumbledore and everything he represented to leave her mind. Instead, she let Severus's bed, his room and scent, embrace her. Warm and comfortable, she fell into a deep sleep.
A loud voice, close but not in the same room…
"Granger! Oh for the sake of Merlin's pure-blooded ancestry, WAKE UP!"
Hermione sat up, bleary-eyed, and confused to find herself in Severus's bed.
"Are you awake yet, or has your ridiculous hair finally succeeded in strangling you to death?"
"I'm awake, Phineas," she answered, rubbing her eyes and checking the time. She frowned. "It's one in the morning!"
"Get out here! You won't want to miss this, believe me!"
Grumbling to herself, Hermione climbed out of the warm, comfortable bed and joined the portrait in the sitting room. Phineas regarded her impatiently.
"You sleep like you're dead!"
"And you're a disruptive pain!" The snide man opened his mouth in outrage, and Hermione hurried to add, "I'm sorry, Phineas. It's the middle of the night and I have a big day tomorrow and you scared me half to death. What is it you needed?"
"First off, Severus arrived approximately three minutes ago. He and the portrait of Dumbledore have begun a very interesting conversation which I think it would behove you to hear."
He's here! He's here, he's –
Hermione cast aside the fervent voice and calmed herself. She regarded the portrait shrewdly.
"You want me to go and eavesdrop on Severus and Dumbledore?"
Phineas regarded her with a sneer.
"Ugh, you are such a predictable Gryffindor bore. Forget it, girl, go back to your rock-like slumber."
"All right, I'll go. But I might be moved to interfere if Severus needs –"
"You had to gag Dumbledore to deal with him; believe me when I say that our redoubtable Headmaster will not require such brazen methods to handle Dumbledore."
Hermione rolled her eyes at the portrait and hurried through the corridor and up the tall, winding staircase to the office above. Voices, low and furious, drifted through the closed door. Hermione opened it a crack.
" – and it is imperative for the boy to learn the true cost of his mission only just before he completes it, and he must never know that there is a possibility of survival." Dumbledore was saying emphatically. "Severus, I have told you everything now! You cannot possibly continue berating me for –"
"Certainly, you have made your machinations entirely clear to me and – it would seem – to Miss Granger as well." Snape's deep voice sounded bored. "Far be it from me to have forestalled her haranguing you with her views on your person."
"And do you share those views, Severus? Has the girl succeeded in completely clouding your judgement?"
Hermione opened the door a touch wider to peer into the half-lit office. Severus leaned back casually against his desk, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the portrait above him. Dumbledore glared down at the dark man, his blue eyes flashing coolly, his beard twitching in anger.
"Actually, Dumbledore," a snide voice asserted suddenly from further along the circular wall, "I believe the Granger girl might have offered our superlatively-discerning Headmaster a great deal of perspective these last few weeks. I would posit that perhaps it is you who needs to update your understanding of the situation so that you can keep up with the two of them. They're quite the pair, you know."
Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to keep a laugh from escaping her.
"That will do, Phineas," Severus said sharply, but Hermione thought she could detect a hint of humour in his voice. The dark man continued, "Dumbledore, I understand your discontent that your chess pieces have behaved not just outside of your gambit, but outside of your assessment of their abilities. Nevertheless, we remain the people to whom you have bequeathed this mission. We will complete it – as we see fit."
"My boy…" Dumbledore's voice sounded defeated. "I… very well."
"Now, if you two wouldn't mind," Severus's voice brooked no further argument, "I would like to use whatever short time the Dark Lord gives me to recuperate some strength rather than expending it by arguing with obstinate dead men."
"Quite so! Quite so, indeed!" Hermione grinned; she had never heard Phineas sound genuinely hearty before. "Come, Albus, let's go down to the Charms corridor. I have it on good authority that certain monks have left a certain quantity of a certain excellent wine unguarded tonight."
Dumbledore's portrait acquiesced unhappily, and a moment later Hermione heard Severus mutter what sounded like, "good riddance to bad rubbish." His footsteps approached the door, an paused, before he swung it wide, wand raised.
"Granger," he said, voice cool, eyes piercing. "What are you doing here?"
"Eavesdropping." Hermione offered him a one-shouldered shrug. "What are you doing here?"
Close to, she could see that the previous days had worn on Severus as much as they had on her: his face looked drawn and, despite how he'd begun to smile, his eyes were tired.
"I promised a certain insufferable witch that I would return."
He stepped forward, and – surprise so sudden and delicious that it curled her toes – kissed her full on the mouth. It was over as swiftly as it had begun; the dark man was stepping back, regarding her acutely, his eyes sweeping her from head to toes.
"So, this is the slip of a girl who gagged and then proceeded to bully the portrait of the great wizard Dumbledore into giving up the final piece of intelligence we needed." He grinned, eyes alight, the fatigue disappearing from his face. "He's furious, you know."
Hermione shrugged.
"It was easy, really. Just as you said – knowing both sides of the situation gave me the tools to get the rest. I'm glad he told you as well."
"I believe he realised the futility in keeping it from me at this point."
"I figured as much from what I heard."
"Whilst you were eavesdropping? Tsk-tsk, Miss Granger, what a wicked witch you have turned out to be."
He stepped forward once more, his hands coming up to ghost along her upper arms. Hermione smiled and leaned into his touch.
"Tsk-tsk right back at you, Professor Snape. What a good man you have turned out to be."
She moved forward, closing the space between them, a pleased thrill racing through her when Severus closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly to receive her kiss. His lips were warm, and she kept the kiss soft and gentle, their mouths fitting together just so while their bodies swayed towards one another at the top of the spiral staircase. His arms enfolded her, and Hermione twined her fingers in his hair. The kiss deepened slowly as their bodies pressed together, as the castle around them seemed to fall away.
A/N 1: Don't start howling at me in rage; the next chapter picks up precisely where this one leaves off. It will be up as soon as I summon the courage to publish it. *blushes furiously*
A/N 2: I obvs have a lot of feelings about Dumbledore, positive and negative. Feel free to hit me back with your own thoughts regarding his behaviour and choices. One thing I think is unalterably true: Rowling did an incredible job of portraying a problematic sage - Dumbledore encapsulates the archetypes of both the benign father and the tyrannical king, and he makes for very interesting, challenging analysis (... and fanfiction).
A/N 3: I hope you're all doing okay. So many of you have been thanking me for providing some light in a dark time; right back at you, my dears. Your reviews and messages help me more than I can say.