December 1999
On Monday, Hermione was awoken to an owl tapping on her window. She jumped up, rubbed her eyes, and pushed up the cold window pane. The owl flew into the room with a graceful flick of its feathers, dropped a letter unceremoniously on her bed, collected some of the spare treats Crookshanks had left on the floor, and exited her room again in mere seconds.
Retrieving the letter from the bed, she saw that it bore the official Hogwarts seal. It contained a brief letter from Minerva, and while not exactly unexpected, Hermione still preened over how well her gift had been received. She was still smiling as she stretched and went to go get ready. The plans for the day were simple enough: make Grimmauld Place look more like the home of a highly respected Quidditch player and Auror-in-training than the home of a dark arts sympathizer.
Ron and Lavender would be dropping by shortly to assist in the makeover Grimmauld Place so desperately needed, but until then Hermione planned on reading with Crookshanks, who liked to curl up at her feet as she read. She had brought along the copy of Emma that Severus had given her, on the off chance that she would find a moment to read it.
The renovations later would inevitably involve some work, but overall it would just a quiet, relaxing day with her friends. Hermione could not think of a better way to spend a winter day.
There was screaming in the hall, followed by several loud thumps. Silence filled the house for a moment and then, "Bloody painting is the bane of my existence!"
Hermione, Lavender, Harry, Ron, and Ginny stood in the hallway, looking at the now covered portrait of Mrs. Black. The home improvements had been interrupted almost straightaway by Walburga who had very little patience for the strangers moving furniture around in her house. They, in turn, had very little patience for her vocal commentary on the subject.
Ron turned to Harry and Ginny. "I still think that you're both daft for living here. This place gives me the creeps."
Lavender voiced her agreement, glancing at the shrunken house-elf heads mounted on the wall. To Hermione's continued dismay, Harry had been unable to reach any sort of compromise with Kreacher regarding the heads of his ancestors tacked on the wall.
"It's home for now," Harry shrugged. "We want to live someplace private, and this is about as private as we can get without leaving the city."
"We don't have to face reporters every time we leave from here, and people can visit discreetly," Ginny said. "You know Mum isn't keen on reporters after everything that's been posted in the paper."
Ron nodded his head in acknowledgement, "S'pose you're right." He eyed the frame of the bigoted portrait, blessedly silent now that it was covered.
"Gin, do you think that you can hex it off?" Harry asked, carefully examining where the portrait frame met the wall.
"Not unless you want me to blow half the wall down with it," Ginny replied. "We tried to remove it a few years ago when the Order used this place for meetings. There's a permanent sticking charm on it. It's not going anywhere."
"Hermione, you got any ideas?"
"Nothing that hasn't already been tried," Hermione said, flipping through a book of curse reversals. Moving closer, she tried another one, moving her wand around in the figure eight pattern described in the text.
Harry apparently saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, because he turned his attention away from the portrait. Kreacher was hovering in the shadows of the hallway, looking agitated and muttering softly to himself.
"Kreacher, do you know if there is a way to get Mrs. Black off of my wall?" Harry asked.
Kreacher glowered at him. "Master doesn't know what he asks." His gaze moved to the portrait, adoration lighting up his scaly face. "My poor mistress has suffered enough."
Walburga Black chose that moment to remind them of her presence. With a loud shriek, Mrs. Black was visible once more, the curtain shooting back. "BLOOD TRAITORS! IMPOSTORS! YOU BRING SHAME THIS HOUSE!"
Hermione, who had still been experimentally casting spells on the portrait, winced at the screaming that felt like it nearly ruptured her eardrum.
"Kreacher," Harry said, trying to keep his patience, despite the screaming beside him. "I understand that you care very deeply for ..." he gestured to the portrait, who was still screaming obscenities at him. "...Mrs. Black. But Ginny and myself are going to live here now. This is going to be our home."
Kreacher shifted guiltily, his eyes back and forth between his old mistress and his new master.
"Kreacher," Ginny began carefully, seeming to think about what she wanted to say next. "I understand that this portrait means a lot to you."
Hermione and Harry shot a glance at each other, neither knowing where Ginny's mind was headed.
"Would you like it?"
"Miss?"
"If you can help us remove it from the wall, you can keep it in your room."
Kreacher let out a sound that, were it not for rough voice, almost sounded like a squeak.
"Yes, Miss!" He looked to Harry for confirmation that he could have the portrait.
"Of course, Kreacher," Harry said. "You have more than earned this. You have been a most outstanding house elf."
Kreacher puffed out his tiny chest in pride, showing off the scar he had received when he led the house elves into the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Well, will you do it?" Ginny prompted.
Kreacher grumbled a bit more, but then he nodded reluctantly. They stepped back to give him more room, not entirely sure of what he would have to do to get the portrait off the wall. Hermione wondered how long it would take for Kreacher to remove it. She had been working on it herself off and on over the years, to no avail.
Kreacher snapped his fingers, and the black curtain shot back once again.
"Mistress Black," he simpered.
"Kreacher, why are there so many people in my hallway?" Mrs. Black sniffed, looking agitated at the presence of both "blood traitors" and "mudbloods."
"Don't worry none about them, Mistress," Kreacher assured her. Mrs. Black frowned and opened her mouth again, but before she could get out another utterance, Kreacher snapped his fingers again.
With a loud pop, the portrait fell off of the wall and into Kreacher's waiting skinny arms. He staggered under the weight of the large portrait. Ron grabbed the top of the frame before Kreacher was crushed underneath his former mistress.
"She's all yours," Harry said, clearly stunned that with a snap of his fingers, Kreacher had managed in under a minute to do what half a dozen wizards had failed to do over the past three years.
"Thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said. Kreacher gave her a jerky nod, smoother than the last time he had tried to acknowledge her presence.
Ron rearranged his hold on the frame. "Come on, you nutter, I'll take this to your room."
Kreacher eyed Ron suspiciously but led the way to his closet.
"I can't believe he just did that," Harry said, staring after the elf.
Ginny shrugged, gesturing for everyone to follow her into the living room.
"Hermione might be onto something with the house elves. She's been saying for years that we undervalue their magic. It's starting to look like she might be right."
"Of course I'm right!" Hermione said. "But house elf rights should not be contingent on their usefulness to wizards."
"Of course," Harry agreed tiredly.
Ron emerged a minute later, his nose and fingers smudged with what looked like soot. "You should get him clean his own room occasionally," Ron grumped, brushing dust bunnies off his pants. "Also, we might want to order in, because I don't think we're going to see him for the rest of today."
Hermione reached for her wand to cast a cleaning charm on Ron as she so often did, but Lavender beat her to it. With a flick of her wand, the smudges were replaced with Ron's familiar freckles. The tips of Ron's ears turned red.
In the end, Harry decided to fix lunch himself rather than disturb Kreacher. It was surprisingly good, though he did have to banish his fiancee after she set the dinner rolls on fire. He appeared in the dining room wearing a floury apron and holding a large soup pot.
Ginny, eager to make up for her earlier mistake, stood to help Harry, taking the pot from him and ladling the soup into bowls.
Hermione tucked into hers gratefully. She had forgotten breakfast that morning.
"It's much more peaceful without the resident banshee," Ron said around a mouthful of soup.
"That was incredible, Gin! How did you even think of that?" Harry asked, resting his chin on her shoulder. As Ginny was several inches taller than Harry, this was quite a feat.
Ginny laughed and twisted around to give him a kiss.
Ron coughed into his soup, and reluctantly Harry and Ginny parted.
The rest of the day was dedicated the front hallway. No one objected to the removal of the suspicious artifacts and portraits that still littered the front part of the house, though if Harry and Ginny had not had any additional help, they probably would have stopped there. Neither was particularly adept at interior design, and Hermione and Ron were not much better. Fortunately, under Lavender's supervision, all they had to do was follow orders.
"Harry, you've lived in this coffin for over a year. I can't believe you haven't done this already," Lavender said, rubbing her temples as though she had already reached her wit's end.
Harry gave a good natured shrug, looking nonplussed by the criticism of his home decor.
The troll-leg umbrella stand was tossed, the peeling wallpaper was stripped, and the staircase polished. This last accomplishment was achieved by a grumbling Kreacher who gave a loud fuss when he was extracted from his room. A triumphant Ginny returned to the hall with Kreacher trailed just a few steps behind her, muttering something about how loud the ginger ones were. Crookshanks, who seemed determined to sleep through as much of the Christmas holiday as possible, gave Kreacher a dark stare when the house-elf interrupted his nap at the top of the stairs.
The worn carpet had been pried up with an unsticking charm, which in Hermione's experience never seemed to work as well as a sticking charm. Ultimately, though, the joint efforts of the group led its successful removal, revealing the dark wood flooring underneath.
"It'll have to be refinished," Lavender said, arms crossed as she surveyed the floor. "A lighter stain would be nice. Make the place look less drab."
It was nearly dark by the time that Hermione and Lavender had completed the delicate charmwork of repairing the chandelier. It was had been rather crooked, and even below the thick layer of dust, Hermione could see that several of the crystals had been damaged.
Afterwards, the five of them regarded their work carefully. It certainly looked much better than it had that morning.
Ron yawned. "It's beginning to get a bit late, don't you think? I think I'd better head back to the Burrow."
"Are you not staying for dinner?" Ginny asked.
Ron shrugged. "No, Mum probably needs help in the kitchen."
"I'll come with you," Lavender chimed in quickly. "I'm sure that I can be of help as well."
No one bothered to point out that Molly Weasley never needed help in the kitchen, and an unsolicited offer would only be taken as an insult.
"I actually won't be here this evening either," Hermione said, startling herself as much as everyone else. "I suppose the two of you will have Grimmauld Place to yourself."
Ron made a sick face at her comment, instigating a Weasley-sibling dispute that continued on his way out the door. Lavender went with him, but Hermione did not miss the quizzical look that Lavender threw her way.
After they left, Hermione slipped upstairs, wrapping herself in several layers in preparation for the weather. She wouldn't be spending long outside, just as long as it took to Apparate from one location to another, but the winter had been bitingly cold thus far and numb fingers and toes were a surefire way to wind up spliched.
Everything from the past few days seemed to be building up inside her. The first thing had been Severus' gift, a small spark of a reminder. Then not seeing her parents for the third Christmas in a row and the visit to St. Jerome's Graveyard in Godric's Hollow had only served to further ignite the feeling of longing. And finally, after the day of watching the abandoned, melancholic Grimmauld Place melt away into the new home of two of her best friends, she needed to be in a place of her own. In her home.
It was a need that she only recognized in herself as she had stood in the hallways with Lavender, Ron, Harry, and Ginny and realized that it had been over two years since she had packed up the house she had grown up in, Obliviated her parents, implanted the false memory charm, and warded the house. She hadn't been back since; it seemed odd to go before her parents returned there, if they did at all. The more time passed, the more ridiculous her choice to not return her parents' memories seemed. On the other hand, the more time passed, the harder it seemed to imagine returning them at all.
When she Apparated onto the street, under the cover of darkness and the bare branches of a birch tree, her breath caught at the sight of her childhood home just across the street. Unlike the houses flanking it on either side, it was dark, and although there was nothing barring the door or windows, it had the shuttered look of a place that had not been used in a long time.
Undoing the wards was child's play. She remembered everything ward she had cast and in what order she had done so. Hermione doubted that even small critters had managed to find their way into the house, despite its lack of human inhabitants. She cut through the last of the protective spells, feeling as though she were in a dream. Now that she was here, it didn't seem at all real.
Inside the house, it was pitch black except for the light from her wand. There was no electricity, as the services had been discontinued months ago but she managed to find some candles stowed away under the kitchen sink. She lit several, placing them in different rooms as she went. It would have seemed to strange to leave each room as dark and empty as she found it.
Hermione's footsteps left impressions in the thick coating of dust that covered floor. There was the living room, the downstairs bathroom, the dining room. She paused at the door of her parents' home office. Some of her earliest memories were in that room, plucking books from the Grangers' personal library while her parents worked. Now, all the books and paperwork was neatly packed away for safekeeping, just in case her parents ever returned.
Upstairs was not much different. Another bathroom. The guest room. Her parents' bedroom sat at the end of the hall, the door firmly shut. She wouldn't enter that room. Her room was near the stairs, and she entered it without much hesitation. The door still held the disillusionment charm that she had placed to prevent her parents from noticing there was a third bedroom. Like the rest of the house, the abandoned possessions were tucked away into boxes.
The top box contained bits from her early years at Hogwarts. There were robes that she must have outgrown by her third year. The Omnioculars from the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. Old letters and essays. These were all the items that she had decided were useless and insignificant, at least at the time she had left them. She didn't feel the same now.
She had left most of the heavy furniture untouched, including her bed. When she sat on it, a new cloud of dust poofed around her. For the first time since entering the house, she felt the familiar prick of tears in her eyes. This didn't feel like home. This was just a place that she had once lived, where she had once been happy. It wasn't anything without the people who had truly made it her home. Pulling her legs up to her chin, she cried in the privacy of the empty house.
She cried until she until she was exhausted, and the tears on her face had dried. Without even being aware of it, she slipped off to sleep. Perhaps it was sitting on the bed that she had since early adolescence, or perhaps it was simply the resulting fatigue that came from visiting a place that she had physically and mentally avoided for such a long time. Regardless, in one moment she was sitting on her bed, surrounded by boxes and dust, and in the next she was in a place that almost felt more familiar than her boxed up room.
Bellatrix's cackles had become such a common occurrence in Hermione's dreams that sometimes when she woke, the sound of the deranged witch's voice range in her head for hours afterwards. Sometimes, sometimes, her dreams were different. Bellatrix was always involved, but sometimes other people were there too. Sometimes the location changed. Most of the time, though, her dreams were just an agonizingly slow reliving of events exactly as they happened.
"Take the prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."*
"Wait. All except. . . . except for the Mudblood."*
Hermione was ripped away from Harry and Ron as Bellatrix yanked on her hair, pulling her further into the room. Her eyes smarted from the pain of being drug by her hair, and the look on Ron's face mimicked the terror that she knew was visible on her own.
It was difficult to focus on anything other than the sharp silver knife that Bellatrix gripped tightly. The blade managed to catch her eye regardless of where she looked. Preoccupied by the sharp point being dragged lightly across her skin, she was barely aware of Greyback dragging Harry and Ron out of the room, but she heard his voice echo down the corridor.
"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you, ginger?"*
Greyback's sing-songy tone struck Hermione as hard as her words did. If she survived the hands of the first maniac, it would only be to become fodder for a second one. She whimpered, and sound drew the attention of Bellatrix, and subsequently, her knife. Hermione tried not to scream, a determination that was broken within moments after Bella got bored of her small knife.
"CRUCIO!"
When she finally gasped awake, it was still dark. She stumbled to her feet, disoriented by her location and residual feelings from the dream. It was still dark, so she couldn't have been asleep for long, but Harry and Ginny might worry if she was not back soon.
Wandering back downstairs, she blew each flickering candle out one by one. With a wave of her wand, she could have easily extinguished them all and returned them to their cubby under the sink, but there was something about the act of doing it herself that made it feel more real.
Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Maybe she had opened a door that was meant to stay closed. She exited the way she came, locking the front door as she left. She turned to go before spinning back around and recasting a protection spell over the house. When she Disapparated, the street was as empty as it had been when she had arrived.
The day of the Millennium Ball was cold. Snow that had fallen over the past few days crusted over into ice, leaving everything from the ground to the air sharp and biting. It was in these conditions that Hermione stood out in, staring across the frozen field in front of the Burrow. She had Floo'd over along with Harry and Ginny to begin getting ready but had almost immediately found an excuse to slip outside.
Her sleep the night before had been insufficient at best, and she had woken up irritable, barely tolerating the presence of her closest friends. Since the visit to her home, she struggled to keep up with the holiday cheer that seemed to infuse everyone and everything. And now she would have to do that in front of several hundred people at a Ministry sponsored event.
As she stood in the cold, arms crossed and shivering, she forced herself to take deep breaths. The freezing air stung as it filled her lungs and with each exhalation, she felt tiny icicles form on the scarf partially covering her face. While it seemed rather silly to stand outside in such weather, it was beginning to help. After a few minutes, Hermione felt more calm, although that could have been the initial stages of hypothermia.
Walking back into the Burrow, she was greeted with the cheerful warmth that was a hallmark of the Weasleys at all points in the year.
She could hear the usual commotion coming from the kitchen, and she was about to enter when she heard Mrs. Weasley's voice.
"Is Hermione alright? She's seemed a little distant lately."
There was a pause and then Harry responded. "Perhaps she is a little quieter, but I assumed she's just tired from work."
"I'm sure teaching is very tiring. I've just been worried is all." There was the sound a plates scraped together. "Ah, I'm sure that it's nothing."
Maybe so," Arthur agreed. "But I must admit that I noticed it too."
A hot, prickling sensation crawled from Hermione's neck to her face as she listened to the conversation. It was a peculiar feeling to hear people voice their uncensored worries and opinions about her. Now that she thought about it, she had gotten a few worried looks over the Christmas holiday. They were probably just picking up on her tiredness from poor sleep. As she tiptoed away from the entrance, Hermione vowed to herself that she would do what she had to do to ensure that no one would waste their time worrying over her.
Upstairs, Hermione took her time getting ready, applying a copious amount of Sleekeazy to her hair before getting dressed. When Harry knocked on her door, looking for approval on his dress robes, she went ahead and added a few drops to his hair as well, much to his amusement.
He had done reasonably well dressing himself, wearing simple dress robes that were not too cheaply made nor the finest on the market. Especially after Hermione helped flatten his hair to some degree, he looked almost nondescript. Except, of course, for the scar that was situated over his green eyes.
"This is a joke," he muttered to Hermione as she smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes. "A ball. As if that's the way to show the world that everything is ok now. With an outdated party."
"The Ministry is doing what it does best," Hermione said, turning her attention back to her own appearance.
"Nothing?" Harry supplied.
"Exactly," she said. She frowned in the mirror, blotting off some of the makeup that Lavender applied. "Though don't let Kingsley hear you say that. He's been hard at work trying to restructure the Ministry from the inside out."
"They'll make me dance," Harry complained.
Hermione cracked a smile at that. "Harry, you're an adult, not a boy at the Yule Ball. If you don't want to dance, then don't."
He sighed, but looked resigned. "You look nice," he said finally.
She smoothed down the front of her gown. "You think so?"
"Well, you're no veela," Ron said from the doorway. "But you don't look half bad."
In an attempt to put as much distance between himself and the tragic Yule Ball outfit as possible, Ron had put considerable effort into his appearance for the evening. He looked dashing in his dark blue dress robes, far outclassing any of the others, especially after Lavender smoothed down his errant collar as she also entered the room.
She gave a critical look to each of them. "Harry, fix your glasses. You look like you just got hit by levicorpus. Ron, no more Sleekeazy for you. You don't need it in the first place. Hermione- what did you do to your makeup?"
Lavender hurried over to her in a bustle of skirts, grabbing the nearest tubes that littered the dresser. "There! That's better. Now don't touch it."
"Don't I work wonders?" Lavender said, eyeing Hermione's face like a prized painting. Ron and Harry mumbled an agreement, which did not meet Lavender's standards at all. "Ron, Harry, tell Hermione she looks wonderful."
"You look wonderful," Harry and Ron chorused dutifully.
Lavender shifted so that her dark blue dress shone in the light. "Now tell me I look wonderful."
"You look wonderful," Hermione, Ron, and Harry said together.
"That's better," Lavender said. If Hermione had not seen Lavender's anxiety while dress shopping or her breakdown just that month, she never would have guessed that Lavender had any insecurities at all.
Ginny, who was notorious for waiting until the last possible moment to get ready for anything, finally stepped into the room. Harry's jaw dropped.
"We should head down stairs," she said. "I think they're ready to leave."
Downstairs, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Penelope, Charlie, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were already gathered. Andromeda and Teddy were also there, though neither would be attending. Bill and Fleur had arranged for Victoire to with Andromeda, but the toddler was throwing a tantrum, holding onto her mother's skirt.
Once the tantrum had been averted and everyone was assembled, they each grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. While the ball was a Ministry event, in the typical fashion of a government rooted in questionable ethics, it was hosted at the home of a member of Wizengamot. Arthur quietly informed everyone that there had been some whispers regarding the man's true allegiance during the war, though officially no accusations had been made.
"Fantastic," Ron said. "Ever since our tour through the Malfoy Manor, I've always wanted to see the inside of another Death Eater's house."
"Hush," Mrs. Weasley said. "The first sign of dark magic, we'll leave. Until then, we need to be there to show our support for Kingsley, especially you three," she gestured to Hermione, Ron, and Harry. "Poor man has had it tough enough as it is."
Since Kingsley Shacklebolt's appointment as Minister of Magic, the Wizengamot had been less than cooperative regarding any changes made to the ministry. Hermione knew that the only thing that had kept another coup from happening was the public support that he had received from the more powerful members of the Order, including Harry.
One by one, they entered the fireplace, shouting their destination. The fireplace of the Burrow had been specially cleaned for the occasion to ensure that no one's dress robes would collect ash during the travel, but even so Hermione was careful with her the hem of her pale dress when it was her turn. In the split second before she threw down the Floo Powder, she sternly told herself to keep her ill mood to herself. It wouldn't do Kingsley, Harry, or anyone else any good if she went off on someone from the Daily Prophet.
When she stepped into the large foyer behind Ron and Lavender, she was immediately greeted to a flash of cameras. They had all known ahead of time that there would be journalists floating around, though Hermione was relieved to see that the most vile of the bunch seemed to be absent. Rita Skeeter had been uncharacteristically silent since the Battle of Hogwarts, and it appeared that she was not planning on breaking that silence tonight, although Hermione would keep an eye out for any beetle that might make a sly appearance.
Harry had followed her through the Floo and threw up his hand instinctively to protect his eyes. As the rest of their entourage spilled into the entryway, they gave brief, tight smiles to the flashes before they were thankfully ushered into the ballroom.
The room was cavernous in size, the ceilings extending several floors above them. It was packed with people already, all dressed in the best finery. Hermione could easily spot several members of the Wizengamot. There were others, too- people from different departments in the Ministry and members of the faculty from Hogwarts. Anyone who assisted in the war effort seemed to be there. Her heart beat slightly faster as she realized that it was unlikely that they had all been contributing to the same side of the effort.
Classical music swelled through the room, and a score of couples were already dancing.
"Try to enjoy yourself," Hermione whispered to Harry, knowing they would soon be separated by the wave of people that would approach him.
"I very much doubt that's possible," he returned, gripping Ginny's hand like a lifeline as they moved forward. Despite his cynicism, Hermione believed that if he was left alone for even a second, Ginny would find a way to make him enjoy it.
The Weasleys were already dispersing. Bill and Fleur were dancing, and it looked like Ron was working up the nerve to ask Lavender. The others had already been engulfed by the crowd of people. Hermione glanced around the room, looking for someone to talk with before she was hounded by men with condescending smirks and two left feet.
As luck would have it, Elias stood near the entrance, looking uncomfortable in his high necked robes.
"Elias!" She greeted him. "I didn't know that you would be here."
"I-I didn't know either," he stuttered. His nervous tick rarely showed itself at Hogwarts, but at a formal Ministry event, he seemed as nervous as he had been on his first day at Hogwarts. "I didn't intend on coming, but my date obviously managed to convince me otherwise."
Before Hermione could ask who his date was and why the poor man had been left to fend for himself in the corner of the room, George walked over, throwing an arm around the both of them.
"Look at you, wallflowers," George said, kissing Hermione's cheek in greeting. "Why don't you actually join the soirée instead of depriving people of your wonderful selves?"
"I'm avoiding anyone who looks like they want to be in tomorrow's edition of the Daily Prophet, and Elias is waiting on his date."
"Waiting on his date? You don't mean to tell me that your date has stood you up?" George cried theatrically. "Well, we can't have that, my man." So saying, George led him towards the center of the room. "Good luck with your front page fame-seekers, Hermione," he called back at her. Elias gave Hermione a terrified glance over his shoulder as he was pulled along.
Hermione laughed and watched the unfolding of George's shenanigans. George, to the younger generation's amusement and the older generation's palpable disapproval, was leading a flustered looking Elias in a dramatic tango completely off tempo.
Her enjoyment was interrupted only moments later when Zacharias Smith tapped her on the shoulder.
"Wow, Hermione. It's been a long time. You look great!" He said, eyeing her appreciatively. Instantly, she felt her dark mood from earlier return. The last time she had seen Zacharias Smith, he had abandoned Dumbledore's Army and refused to fight at the Battle of Hogwarts. It had not even been two years since then, but time had not been kind to him. At nineteen, he had the paunchy look of a man twenty years his senior.
"Zacharias," Hermione said stiffly.
"You look great," he repeated. "Hermione Granger. What have you been up to lately?"
Hermione scanned the room, looking for a good excuse, or even any excuse, to step away. "I'm sorry, I have to speak with my colleague."
She began to walk away, but Zacharias put out an arm to stop her. "It's New Year's Eve! Surely you can spare a minute," he protested.
"Not for you," she snapped, reaching for her wand. "Now move before I move you myself."
"Alright, alright," he said, putting his hands up in a "what did I do?" gesture. "I forgot how bossy you were."
"I forgot how much of a spineless coward you were," she retorted. "Thanks for the reminder."
So saying, she stomped off to the familiar figure that had caught her eye, keeping to the perimeter of the room to discourage others looking to "catch up."
Severus was a man of many talents, but there was one area that he excelled above all others. The ability to conceal one's true thoughts, feelings, and allegiances was an uncommon one, and therefore all the more useful, particularly during wars. He was unmatched in his ability; it had not only made his career possible, but had saved his life on numerous occasions.
It was a skill Severus was currently employing. He was as collected as anyone might expect, considering he was dressed in formal wear and surrounded by people. Outwardly, he sipped his drink and watched from his place against the edge of the room as dancers swirled around. The Ministry had certainly not saved a single knut on this whole affair. The ballroom was enormous and decorated with banners, tassels, and all means of embellishment. Against one wall hung an enormous clock, counting down the time until midnight. Platters of food floated around the room, and most people were either dancing or posing for a picture. The entire place was crawling with news reporters, politicians, and other contemptible people.
Inwardly, he cursed his luck. It seemed like the entirety of Wizarding Britain was in attendance, but he still had not spotted the one person he needed to find. His dark eyes casually swept across the room, as though he were taking in the celebratory sight, though his focus was on the entrance.
His current apprehension was almost entirely his own making. Severus would not go so far as to say that he had made a mistake. Afterall, his intuition had paid off, even if his actions had not had been ... entirely advisable. Or easily explained to anyone else, especially Granger. This struck him as particularly ironic, because if anyone deserved to share in the blame with him, it would be Hermione Granger.
It had begun after he had escorted an exhausted Granger to her rooms for the first time. He had watched in horror as she had unlocked the door to her room with a single wave of her wand. In fairness, it was not like she cast something as elementary as Alohomora, but it was certainly not the level of protection that he would expect someone of Granger's academic and social stature to employ.
He felt this way about many of his colleagues' wards, including Minerva's. Within the first week of classes, he had added a spell that would alert the caster when anyone besides designated people tried to unlock the door. Minerva had declared him paranoid, but she had allowed him to place it for his "own peace of mind," as she put it.
One night, upon walking Granger back to her rooms after a late night brewing, he added the ward to her door. After she had bid him goodnight and presumably retreated to the comfort of her bed, he had cast it without much of a thought. At the time it had not seemed odd. It was almost like a less personal way of wishing someone a restful night.
The problem came the next morning. In the clear reality of daylight, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. His reasoning from the night prior seemed more paranoid and overprotective than a kind gesture, so he said nothing. The more time passed, the better it seemed not to mention it at all.
None of this would not have come up or mattered at all if the alarm on Granger's door had not been tripped on the morning New Year's Eve when Severus knew her to be away from Hogwarts. When he investigated, he saw no tampering with the door, no obvious signs of entry. Nothing to indicate that anyone had even attempted to enter.
Even so, he needed to tell her. He had stopped short of breaking into her rooms himself to see if anything was amiss. That would have been much harder to explain. He had resolved to wait until that evening when he could tell her in person. It grated on him that he had found no sign of an intruder, but his spellwork was faultless. There was no way that the ward was triggered on accident. Some had tried, perhaps even successfully, to break into Granger's rooms. He was sure of it.
And so Severus would swallow his pride and tell Granger what he had done as soon as she showed up. Which, should have been nearly an hour ago, according to the enormous clock. It taunted him from across the room, counting down to the time that she was supposed to arrive, and then ticking louder every moment afterwards.
The idea that something could have happened to her flitted through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no evidence that indicated that anything had happened. And surely Minerva would know if something had. From his vantage point, he could see her dancing with her date for the evening, a woman with black hair and a square jaw.
Well, someone certainly had a type. The date looked like Rolanda Hooch, twenty years younger. He tucked the information away to be used during one of their more amiable disputes. Before Severus' short and disastrous term as headmaster, he had mocked Minerva incessantly over her checkered dating history, something she had weathered with much exasperation and little enthusiasm.
Bright copper hair caught his eye. The Weasleys had arrived, and they were entering in droves. He caught sight of Lavender Brown clutching the arm of one of them. Granger would not be far behind. Placing his empty glass on one of the floating trays, he began to make his way towards the entryway, intending to speak to Granger right when she arrived.
His path was hindered when Tonks, clumsy on the best of days and certainly worse in heels, tripped over a server refilling one of the floating trays, sending hors d'oeuvres flying in every direction.
Severus shot her a scalding look, shaking off the bit of oyster that was stuck to his shoe. "Do mind where you're going, Nymphadora."
Her hair, previously a dark brown nearly the shade of his own, mutated into a fiery red. She helped the server up, brushing him off as a mother might do to her child after a day at the beach. "Sorry, sorry," she muttered to him, handing him the silver tray that had clattered on the floor. Other guests had made a wide circle around them to avoid the spectacle, tutting over the scene.
The server ran off as soon as he could, and Tonks cringed as she turned towards Severus. She gingerly plucked another bit of oyster from his robes. "Sorry, Severus."
His scathing response was aborted when a figure in white caught his eye from across the room. At some point while he was preoccupied with molluscs and a graceless Tonks, Granger had entered and was currently talking with the history of magic professor. Finally.
Just then, the clock struck ten. Each deafening gong drowned out the music and conversation in the room, though no one seemed to mind that the sound was loud enough to shake the chandeliers and drinks littered about the room.
"Damn it," he muttered, watching George Weasley swagger over to Granger and Biswas. It would be harder to pry a Weasley from her side than an unusual colleague.
Tonks frowned. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing that comes to mind except for your lack of coordination," Severus replied absently, mentally calculating the time it would take to get her alone. The crowd in front of him shifted, and for a second, Granger disappeared. A moment later, the crowd shifted again, and he caught a glimpse of her white dress. Granger was still at the front of the room, laughing as Elias was swung through the dancing couples, cheek to cheek with an utterly sincere George Weasley. Not wanting to lose track of her again, he headed over, plucking two glasses of champagne from the next server he passed.
He was halfway across the room when someone else swooped in beside her, clearly aware that his time with Potter's girl friend would be limited. Severus would not be surprised if a queue formed soon. Granger was visibly startled, though her discomfort didn't seem to register with the meaty man in front of her. Whatever they said, the conversation was short one, because Granger caught his eye over Smith's shoulder. Her face lit up in something akin to relief, and after a brief dispute with Smith, headed in his direction.
"Severus!" She said, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
The irony of anyone finding Severus Snape to be a sight for sore eyes struck him hard enough that the potential urgency of situation was suspended for a moment.
"You might need to get your eyes checked, then, Granger. Early dip in the champagne tonight?" He replied.
"No, but that might change," she said darkly, throwing a glance in Smith's direction. "If I have to spend the last hours of 1999 avoiding nearly everyone here, I'm not going going to do it sober." She took one of the glasses from him with such force that it threatened to spill.
As amusing and pathetic as a drunk Granger promised to be, they had more pressing matters to discuss. While his expression stayed carefully neutral, she must have caught onto something, because she eyed him speculatively as she downed her drink. Unlike with most people, he didn't have to wait for an opening to quietly slip in something important. She expected to be immediately informed of his thoughts and opinions, which was a level of entitlement that bordered between obnoxious and fascinating.
"I need to speak with you," he said. "Alone."
Grange's gaze focused sharply. She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together, eyes searching his face. "Okay," she said.
Granger's almost immediate response, no questions asked, was indicative of how familiar she was with serious, last-minute conversations, or at least of how much scheming had taken place with Potter and Weasley over the years. She motioned for him to lead the way out, a gesture that he was convinced was entirely motivated by her inability to walk without wobbling slightly. Severus had a sneaking suspicion that she was a terrible lightweight.
While the layout of the Estes Estate was not entirely familiar to him, he had visited on two separate occasions, both times under the Dark Lord's instruction. The decor had not changed much since then, and he doubted that the true allegiance of the estate's owner had changed much either.
In the foyer, he paused to examine his options. The place would be crawling with house elves right now, not to mention human servers and other staff that would be attending to the many facets of the event. Aside from their current location and the ballroom they had just exited, there was a formal dining room, sitting room, library, bathroom, and conservatory on the first floor. To their left was a side door that led to the gardens and hedge maze. Upstairs were more personal rooms, bedrooms mostly. It was empty in the entryway now, but he doubted that their luck would hold out long enough for him to explain what had happened.
He beckoned for her to follow him to the library, glass still in hand. As expected, none one else was present, though he knew better than anyone that that did not mean that their escape to the library went unnoticed. Typically he would prefer to be less conspicuous when speaking with someone about an urgent matter, but there wasn't time and no one would find it odd to see two Hogwarts professors speaking in a library anyway.
Granger cast Muffliato, and turned towards him. "Severus, what's going on?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes… and no," he said. "You should know that-"
"Excuse me?" a reedy voice quivered from the doorway. Both Severus and Granger whirled around.
"I'm with the Daily Prophet. Can I get a picture?"
"No," they said at once.
"It'll only take a moment?" the reporter half asked, half insisted. "Please, just a moment of your time?"
Granger sighed. "Fine." She leaned into Severus, gave a weak smile for the picture, and then turned her back on the reporter, making a face at Severus.
"Could I get just a few words about how your evening is going?" A timid voice came from behind her.
"NO," they said. The reporter looked ready to protest, but blanched upon seeing Severus' face. Severus watched the reporter scamper off before he closed the door with a nonverbal spell. It was unfortunate that that camera would mysteriously break before any photos found their way into the paper.
Granger seemed to have already forgotten about the nuisance all together. All of her focus rested on him. She crossed her arms and leaned on the nearest bookcase, totally at ease in even a stranger's library.
"You were saying."
"While at Hogwarts, I noticed-"
An Auror, posted on security detail for the evening, entered the library.
"If you don't mind, professors," she said cheerfully, "I'mma have to ask you to head back towards the ballroom. We're just trying to make sure we're keeping track of everyone tonight."
They complied with the Auror's request, returning to the foyer with minimal conversation. Granger's irritation was showing. Her hair was beginning to expand ever so slightly, usually the first sign that she was upset.
The second they were left alone again, she stepped forward, minimizing the space between them as though whatever he wanted to say could be transmitted via osmosis.
Severus, for his part, made no move to speak, as another Auror appeared, this one having just returned from a patrol on the grounds.
"Whew, it's cold out there," he said to no one in particular.
There was no way that Severus would be able to tell her about the alarm to her rooms being tripped with an Auror standing right there. He leaned away from her slightly, both to avoid the air of secrecy and also to reset the image to two people having a casual chat. He glanced her over surreptitiously as he took a sip from his glass, mentally switching over into small talk. Or, his version of small talk.
"You clean up well," he said. The top half of her hair was pinned up, away from her face, but the bottom half had been left to be free. It curled over her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was classic and simple and so utterly her.
She also did not skip a beat when he switched to something obviously completely unrelated to what he wanted to discuss. "Really? No 'left at the altar, Granger?' No 'how creative, you transfigured your bed sheet into a dress'?"
He hid his smirk behind another sip. It would seem that she had been spending too much time in his company. His corrosive comments were beginning to wear off on her.
Belatedly, as though realizing the harshness of her words, she added, "Thank you. You look quite nice as well."
Severus scoffed. "Platitudes will not endear you to me, Granger."
"Nor would I expect them to," she said. In that, he believed her.
Apparently it was time for a shift change, because two Aurors filtered out of the ballroom, and another Auror came in from outside. They swapped places, and Severus tracked each of their retreats to their new positions. When he was sure that they were out of earshot, he said, "With any luck, I can get out more than a sentence of utter drivel now."
"We should have just found somewhere more private," Granger said with a nod, and Severus wondered if she did that intentionally, making comments that were just shy of suggestive.
"As I was saying-"
"Hermione!" Came a frantic hiss from across the room, followed by the frenzied clip clip of heels across a marble floor.
Severus gritted his teeth. "Not now, Lavender."
"Yes, now," Lavender said. "I haven't got the time to watch the two of you moon over each other. I need help."
Coming from anyone else, either he or Granger would have addressed the ridiculous notion that either of them was "mooning" over the other. As it was the ever dramatic Lavender Brown, neither bothered to correct her. Granger turned to her friend. "Can't it wait just a moment, Lavender?"
"It cannot," Lavender said firmly, marching over and grabbing Granger by the hand. "We'll be back," she informed Severus.
Hermione shot him a worried look, but scurried after Lavender without more of a fight.
Severus scowled. Knowing Lavender, it would be ages before they would be done. He tapped his fingers lightly over his glass. Perhaps he was overreacting. Surely anyone trying to get to her would know that she would never spend the holidays at Hogwarts, away from her beloved Dolts One and Two. All the same, invading someone else's rooms was unlikely to be instigated by innocent motives.
A muffled sound, barely audible over the music and chatter coming from the ballroom reached his ears. The sound by itself meant nothing, but there was an uncomfortable stir in the air around him and a slight sick feeling in his stomach that he had no reasonable explanation for, sensations that were muted enough that most people would not have noticed them at all. Severus, on the other hand, was hyper attuned to them. It was the feeling of the Dark Arts.
Severus carefully placed his glass on the fireplace mantle, retrieved his wand, and walked a lap around the foyer. Near the side door leading to the hedge maze, the sickly, searing feeling grew stronger. He gave a brief glance in the direction Granger and Lavender had gone before heading outside into the labyrinth.
Hermione allowed herself to be dragged along Lavender up the stairs and into an empty bedroom on the second floor.
"Are we allowed to be up here?"
Lavender snorted. "You're allowed to be wherever you please, as long as you've got a good enough reason for it, which I do."
The room was dim, lit only a lamp hoving about the fireplace mantle. Hermione could barely make out the opulent colors and patterns on the drapes, carpet, and bed linens, but she had no doubts of quality. "How rich are the Estes?" She breathed.
"Rich enough," Lavender said, twisting around to see the back of her dress. "Come over here and help me."
Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Oh, Lavender. I thought it was important."
"It is important. Honestly, Hermione, do I really need to explain to you why having a giant rip in my dress is an issue? Now hold this."
Hermione, still weakly protesting, complied. The sooner she finished with Lavender, the sooner she could return to Severus. Whatever he needed to tell her, it seemed urgent, however Lavender's issue had seemed urgent too, the way that she had fussed. And yet, here Hermione stood, clumsily casting stitching charms to fix her skirt.
"What happened to it anyway?" Hermione asked as she worked.
Lavender sighed. "What do you think? You know Ron. He's got two left feet."
Hermione snorted and, thinking that the rip was now small enough, cast reparo on the rest. "He certainly has room for improvement. There, you're good as new." Lavender craned her neck to get a better look at Hermione's handiwork.
"Speaking of room for improvement, can you tell me why my skirt is lopsided?"
Hermione took a deep breath and started over on the left side, praying for the patience to finish before she went off on Lavender.
"Honestly, Hermione, do you even have eyes? How could you not see that?"
Hermione gritted her teeth and worked faster.
When she finally got free from Lavender's skirt crisis, Hermione returned to the foyer just as the clock in the ballroom struck eleven. Severus was gone, but Tonks and Harry were there, both of whom looked concerned.
"Wotcher, Hermione," Tonks said.
"There you are!" Harry said. "I was worried that you'd gone missing too."
"Missing?" Hermione said. "I'm not missing- I've just been helping Lavender with her dress. What's the matter?"
"I was looking for Remus, but I can't find him," Tonks whispered. "And he's not the only one. The Aurors on duty said that several people seem to have disappeared. They're looking for them now."
"Maybe they're in another room," Hermione suggested. "Or perhaps they went outside."
"It's freezing outside, but we're checking the rooms right now," Harry said.
"All of them?" Hermione asked.
"All of them," Ron confirmed, coming up behind her. "Twice. I just checked in the basement again. There's plenty of questionable things down there, but no people."
The Auror that walked into the library scurried over to Tonks. "Still no sign of Estes. His wife is getting worried."
The host of the party was missing?
"That is a bit odd," Hermione said.
"It's more than odd," Tonks said. She planted her hands on her hips as though she were back in the field, and not currently wearing dress robes and heels. "Something about this is fishy."
As if on cue, there was scream from upstairs, loud enough to reach the group in the foyer, but not loud enough to extend to the ballroom.
"Lavender!"
All of them raced up the stairs. When Tonks wrenched open the bedroom door, she stopped abruptly, sending Ron, Harry, and the Auror crashing into her. Hermione, who did not have the benefit of Auror fitness training, or of an easily manoeuvrable skirt, reached the room several moments later.
Lavender was perched on the bed, trembling. "There's a man," she said, "A man just fell through the fireplace!"
Pushing into the room, Hermione saw that Lavender was right. A misshapen body with limbs turned at odd angles was balled up like an old newspaper in the fireplace.
The Auror cast a quick spell to check for a heartbeat. "He's dead. Merlin. It looked like he would be, but…Merlin," she repeated.
Tonks sent her patronus out to the alert the other Aurors of the situation. Technically she was not an active Auror, but no one seemed to object to her taking charge of the situation. "We need to get out of here, and we need a headcount."
"What about him?" Lavender said, gesturing to the man in the fireplace.
"We'll send someone for him," Tonks said.
"Should we let the guests know?" The Auror asked, looking to Tonks.
"Not yet. We need to find out what happened. If we tell people now, they'll panic and try to leave. If there's others missing it'll take us hours to find out, and if there's a killer out there… well, they'd have plenty of time to escape."
"What do we need to do?" Harry asked.
"Gather the Order," Tonks said. "The Aurors will be doing a thorough patrol, but we're going to need some help. Now, we need to move." They hurried into action.
"Do you think we'll ever have a normal life?" Ron said as they ran down the stairs.
"No," Hermione said immediately.
"Not a chance," Harry agreed grimly.
In the labyrinth, Severus could hear the sounds of shuffling and of quiet footsteps. The feel of Dark magic caused the mark on his arm to ache. It was nothing compared to the pain of being Summoned, but it was more than enough to be noticable. The search soon proved fruitless. Every time he thought that he had caught up to someone, he reached a dead end in the maze and had to retrace his steps.
It was dark and shadowy, and after an hour of squinting into the foliage, his eyes began to play tricks on him. It was cold enough that it hurt to breathe, and after nearly an hour of moving, his chest felt tight and hot. Despite his lack of success in finding the source of the Dark magic, he remained convinced that someone had been casting something very nasty.
Enough time had passed that he decided to return to the entryway. Unsurprisingly, Granger was nowhere to be seen. He needed to find a member of the Order, someone who might have better resources for figuring out what was happening than himself. He returned to the ballroom where it was like the past hour and a half had not happened.
In fact, people seemed even more festive that they had been when he left. Most people were at least tipsy and some were bordering on completely sloshed. Most of the dancing had stopped, though the chatter seemed louder than ever. Severus looked at the clock and swore. He needed to find someone soon, because after midnight it would be impossible to wrangle together even a small group of people. With a minute left of 1999, the crowd turned their attention to the giant clock. In the last seconds, the countdown began.
"Ten!" They shouted. "Nine!"
A few people scurried around, still looking for their potential New Year's kiss.
"Eight!"
Severus spun around, looking for someone, anyone useful.
"Seven!"
There was no one. Not Minerva.
Six!"
Nor Kingsley.
"FIVE!"
None of the Weasleys were visible.
"FOUR!"
Potter was gone too. Severus swore again. This wasn't right.
"THREE!"
Not even Lupin was anywhere to be seen. Something had to be going on. It looked like every member of the Order was missing.
"TWO!"
A hand reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. He turned quickly. It was Granger, looking positively frazzled.
"ONE!"
She said something to him, speaking urgently, but whatever she said was carried away by the crowd before he could make it out.
"HAPPY NEW Y-"
There was a loud explosion that shook the entire room. For the second afterwards, everything was deathly quiet. And then the ceiling began to crumble, and people started screaming.
Thanks for reading! Bit of a longer chapter, but I'm pleased with how it turned out. Thanks to CMDRHill (JaneGlen) for beta reading
*Quotes from Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows
