First, I'd like to thank the lovely ElleMartin for making a beautiful aesthetic for this story. It's been posted on the Dramione Fanfiction Forum tumblr. I'm sorry I don't know how to work around the no-link policy here.
And now on to the usual...
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
Some of the dialogue here has been directly lifted (errrr, borrowed) from HBP.
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Bill's face was gruesomely marred, as though it had been deliberately deformed and distorted. His face was a Francis Bacon portrait.
Madam Pomfrey, along with a senior healer from St. Mungo's who'd flooed in not too ago, had tried every healing spell in their sizable combined arsenal. Nothing had worked.
("I'm sorry," Healer Masterson had mumbled regretfully before leaving, "There really isn't any known cure for werewolf bites.")
All that there was left to do then was to stop the bleeding and close the wounds. Pomfrey was slathering a pungent green salve onto Bill's face in that regard, and the rest of them (with the exception of Neville, who was fast asleep on the next cot, heavily doped up on various restorative potions,) gathered around his bed to watch sorrowfully.
"Poor lad," Tonks whispered. Ron made a low, gruff sound; he hadn't looked away from his brother for even a second. There was a distressed, beseeching semblance about his stare, like he might be imploring Bill to just please, please get miraculously healed.
Hermione tore her eyes away from Ron's vulnerable countenance, passed over Bill's mangled one, and let her gaze travel down his duvet covered body. She looked at his toes, at the grill at the foot of his bed, at the fingers that curled around the top bar, at the palm and arm attached to those fingers... the shoulder... the neck – Luna's neck – bent with exhaustion. She looked at Luna's face, and her eyes that were blinking long and slow in a struggle to stay awake. She looked at the chest Luna's head was laid upon, at the throat above, swaddled in the scarf she had painstakingly weaved so long ago...
She looked at Theo, and he was looking right back at her.
Their eyes stayed locked for an unquantifiable extent of time. He wore no expression, and gave no sign nor indication to betray what he may have been thinking or feeling. His eyes, blank but steadfast, met Hermione's stare... and did no more. She felt her breathing accelerate. Her mouth fell open, just a trifle, to provide a better outlet for her quickened breaths.
Just promise me you'll keep Theo safe, alright? The intense and impassioned plea echoed in her mind, over and over again, gradually losing its urgency the longer she stared into Theo's unreadable eyes. The pitch got deeper, richer, lilting, monophonic, haunting... And soon enough, it was a Gregorian chant: Just promise me you'll keep Theo safe, alright? Just promise me you'll keep Theo safe, alright? Just promise me you'll keep Theo safe, alright? Alleluia Amen. It was a perfect companion to the austere, church-like atmosphere of the hospital wing.
Without interrupting his scrutiny, Theo tilted his head until it was resting atop of Luna's. His nostrils flared unobtrusively. There were so many, many different ways the past year could have gone, and so many of those possibilities ended in a scenario where she didn't have the trust, support, and friendship of this astonishing, unwavering, wonderful boy; even the thought of those hypotheticals (though their probability now was zero) made Hermione's stomach turn. Oh, she would keep him safe alright – at any cost. She would make sure not a single overlong hair on his head would be touched.
As her resolve strengthened it must have become apparent on her face, because Theo's brow furrowed questioningly. She blinked at him once: a gentle gesture of reassurance.
The doors of the hospital wing were pushed open, and the low and lengthy creak that came with it broke the poignant connection between Hermione and Theo. She looked up and felt all the air leave her lungs. Harry.
She sprung off the stool she'd been sitting on and ran over to throw her arms around his neck. He smelt of smoke and sea salt and cold sweat; and though his arms came around to hug her back, they felt stiff and mechanical. They... he... felt wrong. She pulled away, falling back onto her heels to get a look at his face. It was covered in soot and dirt, upon which were clearly visible two narrow trails leading from his eyes to his jaw. Dried up tear tracks. She swallowed thickly.
Lupin came to her side to peer at him as well. "Are you all right, Harry?"
"I'm fine," he answered hoarsely, looking over her shoulder, "How's Bill?"
Hermione turned and walked back to her seat. Nobody seemed to be able to answer Harry's question. Ginny, who had come in with Harry, took hold of his hand and pulled him closer to Bill's cot, from where he frowned sombrely at Pomfrey and asked, "Can't you fix them with a charm or something?"
"No charm will work on these," the matron responded, "I've tried everything I know."
"But he wasn't bitten at the full moon," Ron counteracted, throwing an unsure glance at Lupin, "Greyback hadn't transformed, so surely Bill won't be a – a real –?"
"No, I don't think that Bill will be a true werewolf," said Lupin, "but that does not mean that there won't be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are unlikely ever to heal fully, and – and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on."
Ron dragged a hand down his face despondently. "Dumbledore might know something that'd work, though," he said, "Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can't leave him in this state –"
"Ron," Ginny interposed sharply, "Dumbledore's dead."
The sound of roaring wind erupted in Hermione's ears. She felt her entire body break into goose pimples; it was a horrible, horrible feeling, like a prolonged internal shudder. "No!" someone (Lupin?) cried. She saw Harry nod faintly at Ron, confirming Ginny's statement.
"How –" Seamus and Tonks began at the same time. They both stopped and exchanged a look, and Seamus lowered his head, signalling Tonks to continue.
"How did he die?" she asked softly, "How did it happen?"
Harry wet his lips, pulled his shoulders back, and gravely proclaimed, "Snape killed him. I was there, I saw it –" (...Hermione had to bite her lip to hold in a gasp; her focus was riveted on Harry...) "– We arrived back on the Astronomy Tower because that's where the Mark was... Dumbledore was ill, he was weak, but I think he realized it was a trap when we heard footsteps running up the stairs. He immobilized me, I couldn't do anything, I was under the Invisibility Cloak – and then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him –" (...This time, she had to clap her hands to her mouth to keep mute, and beside her, Ron groaned...) "– more Death Eaters arrived – and then Snape – and Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra."
Harry clenched his jaw after that, unable to speak any further. His fists were balled up tightly. Madam Pomfrey let out a distressed wail, and was immediately shushed by Ginny. "Listen!" she pressed, and pointed towards the window at the end of the ward.
Against the pearly pink hue of the early morning, a phoenix was streaking across the sky, its scintillating plume rippling and dazzling even from a great distance. It was singing a melodic requiem of such terrible beauty that they all sat quietly with their ears pinned back, letting the powerful, heart-rending song wash over them... pour into them... letting it convey the awful grief of a moment that no human articulation could adequately express.
Hermione's eyes swept across Ron... Harry... Ginny... Lupin... Tonks... Seamus... Dean... Luna... and landed once again on Theo. His head was bowed, weighed down by horror, disbelief, fear, sorrow, and who knows what else.
When Hermione was in her third year, and she'd had a falling-out with her friends over the appearance of a dodgy Firebolt, she would often go up to the astronomy tower in the evenings to watch the day end... and to wallow.
Zipping back and forth through time was more exhausting than she'd ever anticipated. She was lonely, miserable, and terribly jealous of Harry's special Patronus lessons with Lupin. She had tried the spell herself multiple times, but had had to contend with the shock of failure every time.
So she invented a consolation prize – a modification to the bluebell flames charm allowed her to conjure a silvery blue mist from her wand; not remotely as iridescent as a Patronus, but by then Hermione was getting used to things falling short of her expectations. She sat on the podium which held a giant ever-moving model of the solar system, and gazed at the tangerine sky while conjuring a myriad of radiant shapes: a wonky owl, a serpentine dragon, Bavarian gentians, a perfect Fibonacci spiral...
"That's very clever spellwork, Ms. Granger."
Hermione jumped and dropped her wand with a clatter. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Dumbledore watching her. With a small smile, he walked over and sat down next to her.
"What are you doing here, Professor?" she asked him as though he were an absconding miscreant, rather than the bleeding headmaster of the school. She flushed immediately, and attempted to stutter out an apology which Dumbledore waved away with a chuckle.
"I came here to contemplate... much like you, I imagine. Great minds really do think alike –" Hermione flushed even harder at his casual equating of their minds, "– Quite a view from up here, isn't it?"
The universe was drenched in contrasting hues of copper and ultramarine. "It's beautiful," Hermione agreed softly.
"How have you been coping with the Time-Turner?" he asked inquisitively.
"Just fine, Professor. Thank you."
"I'm sure you are. I wouldn't usually have allowed something so potentially dangerous in the hands of any student, let alone a third-year. But it was easy to make an exception for you. A student of such unparalleled aptitude deserves to be aided in every possible way in her quest for learning."
Hermione didn't think she'd ever regain her usual colouring again. She nearly pressed her hands to her cheeks to help cool them down. "I... um..." she said oh so intelligently.
Dumbledore smiled down at her indulgently, that permanent twinkle in his eyes surpassing the faint flickering stars that had begun to dot the sky. "I don't claim to be a seer, but I am an old man. Age brings with it experience, refined perspective, and the ability to foresee the outcome of certain things. You will do wonderful things, Ms. Granger. You already have – and I am sure it will only get better. Harry is lucky to count you among his closest friends."
Her lip wobbled at Harry's name, and of course, as with everything, Dumbledore caught it. He continued, "He has a lifetime's worth of hardships ahead of him... and you... you, Hermione, are going to prove to be of inestimable value to him. As a friend, yes... but also as an extraordinarily gifted witch. You will do wonderful things; of that I am sure."
She breathed in, slowly, deeply, staring up at him in the hope of conveying her gratitude through her eyes. Her throat was too choked up with emotion to allow any sound to pass through.
As the darkness of night spread across the vista, he smiled at her kindly and said, "I believe supper will have been laid out by now. Do make sure you eat well – time travel can be most draining."
"Yes, professor," she whispered, and stood to leave.
"One more thing," he called.
Hermione paused at the door and turned around. "Sir?"
"If you would be so kind as to divulge the intonation for that delightful spell of yours? It will be a welcome addition to my daily contemplation regime."
Hermione glowed, and with a wide grin, she told him.
The phoenix's threnody rang on till the sun finally broke over the horizon – a subdued smudge of gold.
After Harry had left with Professor McGonagall, Hermione hadn't lingered for much longer in the hospital wing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting distraught by a son's bedside for the second time that year, and everybody who wasn't a Weasley (or a Delacour) left to give the family some privacy. They walked together solemnly up to an open courtyard, and there they stopped for a few strained moments, each looking from one face to the other, as though grappling to find the right words to disperse with.
Then suddenly Seamus exclaimed, "What is that?!"
He was gaping at the sky above, looking astounded. Every head present tilted upwards reflexively, and Luna provided the answer in a shaky murmur, "It's a Thestral, Seamus."
It was simple after that. Theo turned away first, half-carrying Luna up to the Ravenclaw tower (he squeezed Hermione's arm as he passed by her,) and then Seamus and Dean made to walk away... but stopped, looking askance at Hermione who hadn't moved.
"You two go on," she told them in a low voice, "I'll just be a moment..."
Once they'd left, Hermione looked up at Lupin to find that he was regarding her curiously. "What is it, Hermione?" he asked.
"Professor Lupin –"
"Call me Remus, please..."
She breathed a half-hearted laugh, "Okay. Remus. It's... It's about Theo. We need to find some place safe – some place perfectly safe – for him to be until... until..."
Until when? Hermione had no idea how to finish her sentence. Thankfully, Tonks came to her rescue.
"That boy's a hero," she asserted, "Saved me from a very vicious severing spell."
"I'm sure we can set something up for him. Somewhere unplottable and protected by the Fidelius Charm..." Lupin smiled gently at the appreciation on Hermione's face, "I was best friends with a boy who turned away from his family's dark predispositions, Hermione. I understand the danger Theo's in."
"He'll want to be with Luna," Hermione added, "I don't think he'll agree to anything otherwise."
He frowned thoughtfully. "I... I can speak to Xenophilius... Luna's father, that is... I don't think he'll object to having his home turned into a safehouse..."
"Thank you, Remus," Hermione said meaningfully. Tonks stepped forward and hugged her.
With a nod, Hermione turned and began her trek up to the Gryffindor tower. Just as she reached the foot of the staircase, she looked back over her shoulder. Lupin and Tonks were still rooted in the middle of the courtyard, hand in hand.
The common room was chock-full. Students of all ages were sitting, standing, pacing around in their pajamas, and the monotonous buzzing of sotto voce conversation had filled the air. It came to a stop the moment Hermione was spotted standing by the portrait hole. A few of them came rushing towards her, questions poised on the tips of their tongues, but Hermione held up her hand warningly. She marched determinedly towards the stairs leading her dormitory, eyes stonily fixed on her destination. The sea of students parted for her.
Once in the dorm, she gathered some clean clothes and went straight into the bathroom. Turning the shower to its hottest temperature, she stood under an inundation of scalding water and just respired. The liquid swirling around the drain was red and brown... her blood and dirt... dirt and her blood... Mudblood... She brutally scrubbed her skin with a sponge saturated with body wash, until the smell of oranges was so prevalent, it was cloying. She breathed in the aroma desperately, seeking comfort... but all in vain.
Dumbledore was dead. Sagacious, brilliant, powerful, seemingly indestructible Dumbledore... was dead. And so Hermione cried. She dropped the sponge, wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over.
Dumbledore was dead. Murdered by Snape – whom she was supposed to be keeping a watch on, but instead had just let slip past her.
Dumbledore was dead. An assassination orchestrated by Draco Malfoy – whom she had had at her mercy just a few hours ago, but she had set free. She had just let him fucking go, with barely any hesitation. Hadn't she surmised, after the poisoned-mead incident, that this was exactly what Malfoy was planning? Hadn't she known full well that he was on the dark side? How could she have let him go? The only reason Malfoy wasn't paying for his crimes right now was because she had let him go.
She cried until her lunges ached. Then she reached out to turn the water off, and with that motion, commanded her tear ducts to shut off too.
In the world outside, the sun had risen fully, birds were chirping, and Parvati was packing up all her belongings while Lavenders sat on her bed and watched with red-rimmed eyes. Hermione looked between the two girls in confusion.
Parvati glanced at her edgily, and cleared her throat. "My parents are here to take Padma and me home," she mumbled as she continued to fling her clothes into her trunk. Lavender sniffed loudly.
"I see," Hermione said, "Well... goodbye."
Parvati stopped and faced her fully, fidgeting anxiously with a blouse in her hand, "Are you okay, Hermione?"
"I'm fine," she affirmed, "Take care, Parvati. ...Lavender."
Weariness was a strange intoxicant. Unfocused and dazed, she shuffled over to the boys' dormitory, coming to a standstill at the door. Seamus lay sprawled on his bed, evidently asleep. Dean, with a bandage around his head, was sitting on his, resting against the headboard.
"Ron's in the bathroom," he said.
"Ah," she replied, slowly strolling over to lean against his bedpost, "How's your head?"
"Sore," he shrugged, "Pomfrey's given me a sleeping draught to get through the pain but... I don't feel like sleeping."
Hermione sighed, and sagged just a little more.
"Are you still kicking yourself for letting," he said with accompanying air-quotes, "Snape go?"
"We could've... We should have stopped him, Dean –"
"Don't be mad. You heard Lupin, yeah? He would've killed us all if we had tried to stop him."
"There were four of us! We could've –"
"It's Snape, Hermione. Dark wizard extraordinaire."
She bit her lip, tormented and guilt-ridden... and that was when the bathroom door opened, and Ron emerged amid clouds of sweet smelling vapour.
"Hi," he said, and seated himself on Dean's bedside table.
"Bill woken up yet?" Hermione asked gingerly.
"Not yet. Mum and Fleur are in wedding planning mode though – making a right racket. Loud enough to wake the dea–" he changed track with an abrupt look of horror, "...Is Harry still with McGonagall?"
"I don't know. Maybe you could check on the Marauder's map?"
Ron went over to his bed upon which lay a pile of dirty clothes, and pulled the map out from somewhere within.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he avowed. "Hmm... Harry... Harry... Nope, not in Dum – er, the headmaster's office... not in the hospital wing... Oh. Oh fuck."
"What?!" Hermione and Dean demanded simultaneously.
Ron lowered the map grimly. "Astronomy tower," he said with an air of absolute bleakness.
"Come on," Hermione urged, and they left Dean looking gobsmacked on his bed.
The moment they burst in, Hermione and Ron encountered Harry's back at the far end of the tower, where he stood with his elbows on the railing. His black-robed form stuck out sharply against the powder blue sky.
They approached him cautiously, but Harry's heightened instincts must have alerted him to their presence, for he turned around. Hermione stopped; Ron stopped... and they both looked at Harry. For the next few moments, they did simply that – they considered him across the expanse of a dozen or so feet that lay between them.
"He was right here," Harry said suddenly, "Standing right where I am when it happened. And Hermione... you're standing exactly where Malfoy was."
With a startled whimper, she took a few hurried steps back.
Harry went on, "Then Snape..." he walked towards them, stopping about midway and spinning around to face the railing, "Snape stood here. And from here... while Dumbledore begged and pleaded with him... he... he..." Harry raised his wand.
Hermione went over to his side and saw that his hand was trembling dreadfully. She took hold of it in both of hers, pulled it down, and divested him of his wand. She then led him to the central podium and gestured for him to sit. Parking herself beside him, she kept his hand in hers. Ron joined them, dropping down on Harry's other side.
"I'm not having a meltdown, you know," he informed them, "I just came here to get the Invisibility Cloak."
Of course, Hermione didn't bring up the fact that he could've summoned it from anywhere in the castle. It was obvious that coming here had nothing to do with the cloak. The three of them silently contemplated the bright and balmy summer morning...
...summer mourning... some are mourning...
She tightened her fingers around his hand and said heavily, "Harry... I'm so, so sorry... about the whole Malfoy... thing."
She knew he'd assume that she was apologising for apparently not believing his 'Malfoy is a Death Eater' theory... and she wasn't going to correct him on that. She wouldn't ever be able to tell about what happened in that shady alcove – but she just had to voice her regret.
Harry squeezed her hand back, "I..." he swallowed, "I feel sorry for him."
"What?!" Ron exploded.
"He lowered his wand."
"What d'you mean?"
"After he disarmed Dumbledore, they talked... for a long time. I think they both were stalling. Anyway... apparently, Malfoy had tried to come clean to Dumbledore twice."
Hermione gasped, and Ron spluttered.
"Yeah," Harry muttered, agreeing with their reactions, "Once after the Christmas hols and once after... after the, um, bathroom incident. But Dumbledore turned him away – wouldn't even look at him – said it was to keep him safe, in case Voldemort used legilimency against him. You know... the way he was with me during fifth year. I thought he'd admitted that that tactic didn't bloody work..." He finished with a sigh.
"Then what happened?" Hermione implored.
"Then Dumbledore offered him an out; said he'd give him and his family a place to hide. Malfoy lowered his wand... and that's when the rest of the Death Eaters broke in, and... and it was too late."
"Oh god," Hermione whispered.
"This whole thing's still his bloody fault," Ron countered mulishly, "He still –"
"I know what it's like," Harry cut in, "Not having a choice."
A gust of pleasantly cool breeze swept across, and the sound of leaves rustling carried up to the tower.
"So?" said Ron eventually, breaking the fresh bout of silence, "Did you find one? Did you get it? A – a Horcrux?"
Hermione started. The Horcrux! She had actually – honestly and seriously – forgotten all about it. Harry shook his head.
"You didn't get it?" said Ron, deflated, "It wasn't there?"
"No. Someone had already taken it and left a fake in its place."
"Already taken –?"
Harry dug into his pocket, pulled out a lacklustre gold locket, and held it out to Hermione. She finally let go of his hand, and examined its plain, inornate surface.
"Open it," Harry said dully.
Inside she found a crumpled scrap of parchment, and after smoothening it out, she read aloud: "'To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.' Signed, R.A.B.."
"R.A.B.," Ron repeated, "but who was that?"
"Dunno," Harry replied.
"Hermione...?" Ron asked, shooting her a perplexed look.
"I... I can't think of anybody with those initials..."
"It was all for fucking nothing," Harry rasped heatedly, "Dumbledore weakened himself for nothing."
"What happened out there, Harry?" Hermione questioned tentatively.
"Later," he said firmly, "Just... not now. Please."