Pride of Time

by Anubis Ankh

Hermione quite literally crashes her way back through time by roughly twenty years. There is no going back; the only way is to go forward. And when one unwittingly interferes with time, what one expects may not be what time finds...

48. Chapter 51

A/N: I have been, over the past week or so, alternatively: sick, inundated with work, scrambling to put together a summer college program application, depressed, required to join the family in watching the superbowl and had my mind blown into smithereens by the half-time show, helping a friend with some issues, and trying to catch up on sleep.

As a result, there was no update last week. And for that, I apologize.

Enormous thanks goes to my wonderful and patient beta, SSB!

Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.

Please review!

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Hermione and Ron spun into the middle of the kitchen of Tine Cottage through the assistance of an illegal Portkey, Severus held up between the both of them, unconscious, as they came through. Hermione had made the choice to reveal the Secret of her home to Ron, but she had not been counting on the reaction of its occupants; immediately, Selenius leapt out of his seat and Malfoy, who had been pacing, had brandished his wand in surprise at their sudden arrival.

Selenius's face drained of color as he took in his father's bloodied clothes, half torn open at the neck, and in disturbing disarray.

"Is it over?" Malfoy demanded, looking warily at them both; he seemed torn between hanging back and coming forward to help them. "Where are my parents? What happened?"

"It's not over," Hermione said quickly, as Ron let out a grunt of effort before hefting Severus half-onto the kitchen table, "but he's been hurt, and we couldn't leave him with the other injured."

"What is he doing here?" Ron demanded, jerking his head in Malfoy's direction.

"He's here with Selenius," Hermione said, panting slightly as she relieved herself of her husband's dead weight. "I invited him in—this place is Secret-Kept. He wouldn't be here if I didn't want him to be."

"And—him?" Malfoy said, with a disbelieving sneer at Ron.

Ron glared at him. "Unlike you, Malfoy, I happen to be her friend."

Selenius tugged on Hermione's sleeve; she had very nearly forgotten he was there, so wrapped up as she was in Severus's survival and the brewing conflict between Malfoy and Ron. She looked down.

"Is—is he going to be all right?" Selenius looked scared. "What happened to him?"

Hermione forced her own fears back down as she fought to give her son a reassurance, squeezing his arm comfortingly. "He'll be fine. If you want to make yourself useful, go upstairs and grab a pillow and some towels from the hall closet." She turned her attention back to the two older boys, the enmity radiating between them like unchecked electricity, and added pointedly, "We can only stay here an hour before we have to go back, so we need to move—quickly."

Selenius took off, his feet pounding up the stairs as he left. Ron looked at Malfoy with an expression of intense dislike, which was only matched by the blond boy's glare, but reluctantly backed off. Malfoy did not. Hermione pursed her lips into a thin line, and then addressed them both.

"Draco, right now, I don't have the time to contend with house rivalry," she said, as she turned away to rummage through the cupboard for some pots. Finding one she liked, she set it under the tap and began filling it with water. "Either make yourself useful, or stay out of the way. There's already enough fighting going on at Hogwarts, and I won't have any of it in my house."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her, threw one last sneer at Ron, and then left the room. He had to quickly pull to the side to avoid being barreled over by Selenius as the younger boy came back, and Hermione brought the water to the table, setting it down on one of the chairs.

"Actually, it's probably best if you both go," she said, nodding at the stairs in other room. "You too, Ron. I'll call you down when I'm done."

"I want to stay," Selenius said, face set.

"Selenius, as soon as I'm gone, you can stay here all you like," Hermione said wearily, "but right now, please just go."

Selenius rather looked as though he would like to argue, but Malfoy graciously took her words to heart and made himself useful, grasping Selenius by the back of his robes and subtly yanking him back. The younger boy left, looking both sullen and worried, but without further protest. Ron made to follow, stopping at the doorway. He cast a wary, nervous look at Severus, and then turned to her.

"Call me if you need anything."

Hermione gave him a look that was completely depleted of energy, but managed to give him a faint smile. "Thank you, Ron."

He gave an awkward nod, and then left, closing the door behind him. Privacy at last, and with fifty minutes left, Hermione began stripping her husband down. She was all business, trying to get this done as quickly and efficiently as possible. His trousers were fine, so she left them on, but everything else above that had to go. Ribs stuck out in a way Hermione had never seen before, and tiny scars crisscrossed his body in places she had never recalled. New ones, fresh ones. She grabbed a washcloth, dipped it into the pot of warm water, and began wiping away the blood.

She could have magicked it away, to be sure, but she wanted to do it by hand. There was something about being gentle where a spell was harsh and indiscriminate, and it would take her mind off of the war, if only for a little while. She had taken him away from Hogwarts so that she could bring him to a safe place and get him properly tended to, as he would have been if she had been able to take him to the Great Hall with the other wounded.

Once she and Ron returned to Hogwarts, they would use the Time-Turner to regain the hour they had lost in bringing her husband here. Certainly, she was not looking forward to using it again; once had been enough. But she weighed Severus's welfare over her wariness of the object, and it was settled. The tiny hourglass necklace was still hot, hotter than could be borne to touch, but the chain was merely lukewarm to the touch, which meant that Hermione was able to dangle the pendant at length while it was in use. The dials, too, had cooled sufficiently to be fiddled with if she was careful. It was merely the hourglass itself that still burned as though it had been left in a blazing fire for too long.

Twenty years. Over twenty years, and it had not yet finished cooling. Hermione was amazed.

What Hermione found even more shocking, and this she mulled over as she scrubbed the caked blood from her husband's neck, was that the headmaster had been able to repair it.

And he hadn't even told her. Hermione felt a stirring of discontent at this notion. All year, she, Harry, and Ron had been stumbling about half-blind in their quest for Horcruxes, with only vague clues and a fairy-tale riddle to guide them. They had been operating on so little information, which Dumbledore had withheld, and Hermione was confused and angry as to why. What could possibly be gained from not giving them everything they needed? Why force them to follow the winding path of the Peverell brothers instead of giving them a solid foundation for guidance?

And why give her the Time-Turner now, after he was dead? Had she been meant to use it earlier, shortly after she first received the socks? She doubted he had bequeathed her the object, hidden as nothing more than the knitting pattern on a pair of socks, as a means of saving Severus. He could have not known something would happen to Severus—

The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner…

But that was not true. Wands switched from hand to hand by virtue of having been won. The fact that Draco's wand worked for Harry proved that, as well as Ollivander's testimony. Merely defeating the wielder and taking the wand against their will would prove sufficient to switch its allegiance.

Draco had been the one to disarm Dumbledore. He had defeated him, removed his wand.

But Dumbledore had been counting on Severus—

Hermione jerked to a halt suddenly, staring down at the blood-stained cloth in her hands. Dumbledore was no fool. Surely he knew that by killing him, in the course of things as he had planned, Severus would become the new master of the wand—and that Tom Riddle would surely seek out such a wand, knowing his own was useless against Harry— He would not care about winning a wand when merely killing its owner would do—

She clenched her fingers around the cloth, squeezing pinkish water from it.

She had been a fool. Severus had been a fool. They had all been played for ignorant fools. Of course Dumbledore alone would have known—and certainly, he would not have said a word about it to either of them. Or to Harry; to tell Harry he had to defeat Severus would have diverted him from his real goal of Horcrux-hunting. Now that it was all said and done, the pieces were starting to fall into place, and Hermione was not liking the picture one bit.

Dumbledore knew that one way or another—that was, if things had gone as he schemed— Severus would have to be defeated by the next person who intended to wield the Elder Wand. Whether it was at Harry's hands or Voldemort's, he would have faced off and then been at the mercy of someone who either hated him or considered him expendable. But Voldemort had gotten there first, and Harry—by pure luck, Harry had gained an opportunity, however unwittingly, to win the wand's allegiance from Draco…

Which meant several things. Firstly, Dumbledore had set her husband up to die. Secondly, he had given her the Time-Turner, though whether it was to mitigate the first item or for another purpose, she was not entirely certain. Thirdly, Harry was now the master of the Elder Wand, which he did not have, and which Voldemort currently possessed, but did not have the allegiance of. These three things whirled furiously through her mind, and it was all Hermione could do to force her hands—trembling now with fury—to set the stained cloth down and pick up her want to spell bandages around Severus's neck.

But what was the point of all of this? Why had Dumbledore set things up so that, ideally, Harry would have the wand? Power was not the answer—of all things Harry needed, spell strength was not one of them. Sheer firepower would not defeat Voldemort. What was so special about the wand, that Dumbledore had gone through great lengths to ensure that Harry would…

Hermione paused this train of thought for a moment, switching track as she recalled that the wand was one of three powerful magical objects. Of which they were positive Harry owned at least one of, if not two. But why would Dumbledore insist they gather those three? The three Hallows would supposedly make one the master of Death—Voldemort refused to die, had gone to great lengths to circumvent it—was this Dumbledore's answer to laying the monster to rest once and for all? Especially, perhaps, if Harry was unable to destroy all of Voldemort's Horcruxes?

Which meant… that they were still short a Hallow, and still short a Horcrux. It was like a card game, where they had two sets of cards that, if either was played, would be a winning hand—but both sets were short a final item. Two ways to win, which Dumbledore had provided them with, and which they were unable to fulfill.

Hermione slammed her hand down on the table with an audible cry of frustration. They were so close—so close— they had been given so many clues, Dumbledore had given her the book that led to the Hallows, and had mentored Harry in understanding the Horcruxes—

Hermione's eyes widened. He had given her the book… had given Ron the Deluminator… they had figured out the purpose of both. But he had bequeathed Harry the Snitch, which they had yet to figure out, and which had read I open at the close.

I open at the close.

"The close…" Hermione muttered, bracing herself against the table and bowing her head, deep in thought. "I open at the close… the close… but surely not…"

Surely it did not refer to death?

Hermione recalled the ugly, cracked stone set in the old ring that Dumbledore had worn the night he had come back delirious and with his hand blackened. Harry had recalled the scratch marks on it—the Peverell crest, which Voldemort had likely turned into a horcrux because of its significance to his heritage, ignorant of its true power. Harry had already voiced suspicions that Dumbledore had put the stone in the snitch. All that was left to clear the way was to figure out how to get it to open.

I open at the close.

The third Hallow. The third part of the Deathly Hallows. Objects that, as legend had it, had been made by Death himself.

Hermione's blood ran cold.

At this moment, the close was now interchangeable with death. The Snitch surely opened when Harry was close to dying—but why?

I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me…

Dumbledore would surely have foreseen this moment. Harry had the Cloak. Whether or not he had the wand in his hand, it owed its allegiance to him as surely as if he were carrying it. And concealed in that tiny, fluttering golden ball… undoubtedly… was the Stone.

But why? Hermione let out a strangled sound of rage and frustration, turning around to chuck the washcloth at the window, where it splattered against the pane and then sank slowly onto the counter. Why would Dumbledore set Harry up to die? He had loved that boy, she knew; however manipulative Dumbledore was, he had been extremely fond of Harry, and unconventional and occasionally, waywardly wrong though he was, had always kept Harry's best interests at heart. Why, then, would he send him to slaughter? Why?

She paused, forcing herself to breathe in deeply, to calm herself and think rationally. What if, when Harry had all three Hallows, he really was the so-called master of death? However one interpreted the term, that either meant he could control someone else's death… or his own. But how? The logistics did not make sense to her. What was the point of giving Harry the tools he needed to avert death, and then expect him to walk into it willingly into its embrace? What was to be gained?

There was something here she was missing, but she could feel she was getting closer to it. She was circling the answer now, like a lioness assessing its prey, trying to identify just what it was, despite knowing it was there. There was something there.

Harry had a unique link to Voldemort. Perhaps his temporary death would result in Voldemort's? It had to have something to do with the link between the two that Dumbledore had remarked upon so often—the scar on Harry's head that acted as a veritable alarm bell and scrying tool into Tom Riddle's conscious. Killing Harry would not kill Voldemort—however connected they were, despite the Prophecy's words, the death of one would not result in the other's simultaneously. But the Hallows would prevent Harry from dying. So what was it that Dumbledore was seeking to have killed with Harry in the process, without Harry actually dying…?

The link… his scar… the fact that Harry had spent most of fifth year complaining that it prickled, having funny dreams that fed off of Voldemort's obsession, even going along for the ride as he witnessed Voldemort possess Nagini—

Nagini! Hermione shot up straight. Nagini was a horcrux, and the only being Voldemort was known to have possessed after returning to his body—other than Harry— was his snake. And according to Dumbledore he had tried to possess Harry, back in the Department of Mysteries—the snake was a Horcrux, and though Dumbledore had never said it outright, Harry was inexplicably linked to Voldemort—

Harry was able to read Voldemort's moods. His thoughts.

He had a piece of Voldemort inside him.

She gasped, as the final piece fell into place. How she had gone so long without realizing it, she did not know; perhaps she had realized it all along and had merely been in denial, did not want to believe it, had willfully ignored it because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate—but now she had finally gone hunting for these answers, and they had smacked her in the face without mercy. Because as horrible as it was, the truth would still stand when she sought it.

Harry was a horcrux.

~o~O~o~

Ron sat on the floor, absently thumbing his deluminator, watching the orbs of light fly to and fro as he played with it. Selenius lay back on the bed and staring at the ceiling as though it held the answers to the universe. Malfoy was sitting against the opposite wall, looking increasingly irate, until he finally lost his temper.

"Weasley, will you stop it?" he snapped.

Ron clicked the deluminator once more, plunging them into darkness again. "Sorry," he said, not sounding at all apologetic.

"Oh for the love of—turn the lights back on, you idiot!"

Click. The orbs of light returned to the lamp on the bedside table and brought life back to the candles on the desk near the window, bathing the room in gentle orange light.

"…better." Malfoy was curled up now, hugging his arms around his knees, and glaring out into the room. Gone was the confident, aristocratic snob; in his place was a boy thrust into manhood far too early, and had found himself in over his head, and now cared for nothing more than the fate of his family. He was under the hospitality of a Muggle-born he had despised all his life, and who held his fate in her hands in more way than one. Suffice to say, he was not in any mood to be pleasant.

Ron angled his head to look over at Selenius, and cleared his throat. The boy turned his head to look at him, raising an eyebrow in inquiry; Ron looked at him awkwardly for a moment.

"So… er," he said uncertainly. "We've never properly met each other, have we?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of sardonic clapping from the blond in the corner.

"Very good, Weasley. We've been sitting in here for twenty minutes while you play with that lighter, and you finally get around to the introductions," Malfoy drawled. "Your social skills are as impeccable as ever."

Ron flushed, but resisted the urge to retort, instead very deliberately turning away from Malfoy so that all the Slytherin saw of him was his profile; he wasn't about to turn his back on Malfoy, but he was giving him the cold shoulder. "Well, I mean, I've seen pictures of you at Grimmauld Place… we saw your room." Almost off-handedly, he asked, "Where'd you get that autographed poster of Krum?"

Selenius slowly sat up. "Mum took me to the Quidditch World Cup for my birthday a few years back," he said. His head swiveled in the direction of the door, as though hoping his mother would come in at any moment to tell him how his father was. "You saw my room?"

"Stumbled upon it by accident, really," Ron admitted, scratching the back of his head. "We saw all those pictures of you and… some other members of the Order. Sirius, mostly."

"Yeah," Selenius said quietly. "We were close."

"So Sirius knew about you?" Ron asked curiously.

Selenius shrugged half-heartedly. The subject seemed to depress him, somewhat. "He knew me since I was a baby. He was like an uncle to me. He'd look after me, sometimes, when Mum and Dad couldn't."

Ron winced in sympathy. "Harry was really torn up when Sirius died, too. He was…" Ron cast about for the right word for a moment. "He was a good bloke."

"I know."

"Who took care of you after… you know…"

Selenius looked away again, this time to gaze out the window; it was so dark now, however, that all he could see was his starry reflection in the glass. "I stayed at the Burrow with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

Ron, whose fingers had been fiddling precariously on the deluminator, froze. There was a click, and the lights in the room went out. He hastily clicked them back on, looking at Selenius with his jaw dropped in open astonishment.

"Wait—my parents—?"

"Mum was pretending to be a student, wasn't she?" Selenius snapped, almost irritably. "Dad was teaching full-time, Remus is busy, and Sirius... Sirius wasn't there." This last part was said bitterly. "So Mum had Mrs. Weasley homeschool me."

"My mum knew? About all of this?" Ron gaped at him. "About you?"

"Clearly, Weasley—"

"Malfoy, shut up. Selenius—"

"Yes, she knew!" Selenius snarled, sitting up straighter and turning to give Ron a dirty look. "Yes, everyone in the Order knew about Mum! A few of them knew about me. Now can you please leave me alone?"

"Look—" Ron began.

Without another word, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet. The next moment, he had slammed the door shut behind him, and the sounds of footsteps could be heard stomping down the stairs. Malfoy waited until they grew silent, before he finally spoke.

"That was predictably tactless of you." Surprisingly, his tone carried only traces of icy venom, rather than the usual level of carefully crafted vitriol and snobbery.

Ron groaned in frustration, and buried his face in his hands. "I'm still trying to take this all in, Malfoy! Forgive me if I'm a little annoyed at being kept out of the loop!"

"You're not the only one," Malfoy snapped, leaning forward. "Selenius has lied and evaded me since the day I met him, but you don't see me harassing him for answers while his father looks two sparks away from death!"

"You should have seen what he really looked like when we first saw him," Ron sniped back. "Compared to that, he looks healthy as a hippogriff!"

Malfoy's pale face tightened for a moment and creases appeared under his eyes, making him look uncharacteristically old for his eighteen years. "How did you find him, anyway?"

"We just happened to be there when You-Know-Who decided to off him with that great bloody snake of his," Ron said bad-temperedly. "Trust me, after tonight, I'm adding snakes to my list of things I never want to keep for a pet, right underneath spiders and rats and blast-ended skrewts."

"At the rate you're going, perhaps you ought to settle for a pet rock, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "Something nice and easy that won't ruffle your delicate Gryffindor sensibilities."

"So what are you doing here?" Ron challenged. "What happened, Malfoy? Slithering out of having to fight like the rest of us?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "I wanted to stay, Weasley. Unfortunately for that plan, Granger's mothering instinct kicked in."

Ron sat back, looking sullen. "I don't even get why you're helping us," he said angrily, clicking his deluminator. The lights in the room went out. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. You were in a right hurry to join up with You-Know-Who back in school—"

"I'm not helping you," Malfoy sneered, as the lights were summarily clicked back on again. "I wanted to stay to find my parents, Weasley. After this mess, they're all I've got."

This gave Ron pause; he looked down at his hands for a moment, and then gazed up at his schoolboy enemy seriously. "The price of not making friends who will stand with you, I suppose?"

Malfoy pursed his lips together, as though to retort, but then thought better of it. "Tell me about it," he said coldly, though his eyes glinted with something Ron couldn't quite interpret. "Selenius is the first real friend I've ever had."

~o~O~o~

Hermione had finished cleaning up the kitchen, and was leaning against the table, mentally bracing herself for what was to come once she and Ron left, when the door handle turned and Selenius quietly peered inside.

"Come in," Hermione said tiredly, bending down to press a last kiss to her husband's forehead, and then straightened, ready to make preparations to leave. Selenius slipped in, and shut the door behind him. "I'm almost done here. I'm about to bring your father upstairs, and then we'll leave."

"You're going back to Hogwarts?" Selenius asked quietly.

Hermione nodded, running her fingers through Severus's lanky hair, more for her comfort than his.

Selenius swallowed. "Dad—Dad was almost killed, wasn't he?"

"He's fine now," Hermione said, dodging the question entirely.

"But if you go back to Hogwarts, who will look after you?" Selenius asked, just a bit desperately.

"I can take care of myself," she responded evasively, straightening.

"So could Dad," Selenius said quietly.

Hermione's face set stonily as she looked down at her son. "He had a job to do, and he's fine," she reiterated. "I have a job to do, and it still needs to be done. If I get hurt, I have people who will help me, too."

"But—"

"Selenius, if we were all so afraid of sacrificing that we could not bring ourselves to lay our lives on the line, this war would never end," Hermione said with forced calm. She grasped his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Evenly, she added, "I'll be fine. Look after your father, and don't leave Tine Cottage until I tell you the coast is clear—all right?"

Selenius gazed at her for a long moment, and then muttered, "Fine." He paused, and then as though he were being prodded into doing so by an invisible force, reached into his pocket. He drew out the cracked phial of Felix Felicis, and pressed it into her palm.

Hermione realized in alarm that some of it was missing, even as she tapped it with her wand to repair the line running down the middle.

"Selenius, what—"

"We ran into a little trouble on the way home, but it was nothing," Selenius said reassuringly. "I took a little bit of that, and got us out of there. But if I'm going to be stuck here for the rest of the night…" he paused, taking in a deep breath, glancing over at his father's unconscious form, and then muttered, "Just take it, mum."

~o~O~o~

Hermione and Ron spun back into the Headmaster's Office, the latter letting go of her watch and looking slightly ill at the Portkey's dizzying manner of travel, before righting himself at once. Hermione cautiously picked up the chain of the hourglass, putting it around Ron's neck as well as hers, while holding the timepiece as far away from her as possible as she carefully set the dial using just the tips of her fingers.

"You're sure this is going to work?" Ron asked, eyeing her warily. "I mean, you did get send back in time twenty years the last time you did this—"

"Don't remind me," Hermione said. "I'm half-tempted not to even try it. But we have to."

"So how far back are we going?" Ron asked bracingly.

"Well," Hermione said, chancing a look at her watch, "we used up an hour, which means that if we go back an hour, we'll return where we left off—with twenty minutes before our grace period is over."

"So where do you think Harry is?"

"I don't know," Hermione lied. "Now hold on—"

"Wait," Ron said, holding up a hand to stop her. "What if you took us back an hour and ten minutes? That'd give us more time to find him and get together to figure out what to do next."

Hermione hesitated, and then shook her head. "I don't want to mess with time more than we already have tonight. We're just returning to where we were the moment we left this office an hour ago to bring Severus to Tine Cottage."

"Alright."

"Right—hold on—"

There was an audible click, and then the world spun around them like a kaleidoscope; they stood there, motionlessly in place, as time rewound itself—and then came to a sudden, breathless halt. Ron blinked for a moment, as though unsure it had actually worked, as Hermione pulled the chain off from around their necks and quickly placed it in a small empty phial with an Imperturbable Charm on it; the Time-Turner glowed warmly as it rested within the confines of the magicked bottle. She quickly stashed it back in her beaded bag, and then looked up at Ron.

"So…" Ron said slowly, now circling around the room, as though trying to find something—anything—that would prove to him that they had really gone back sixty minutes. "Harry. Where d'you reckon…?"

He stopped in front of the Pensieve on the desk. "We know he took a look at these, 'cause he poured them out," Ron said, wheeling around to look at her. "What do you think Snape gave him?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, to tell Ron that she had no idea and that it wasn't any of their business, but found herself pausing for a moment. Harry had gone from the boathouse to the memories, and then somewhere else—the Forbidden Forest, most likely. But what had been so important that her husband had willingly given them up to him? In a way, what she was about to do almost felt like an invasion of his privacy, except for the fact that he had willingly given them up—under duress, yes, but offered nonetheless…

She slowly stepped forward until she could see her reflection gazing out at her from the rune-marked bowl. Ron hovered next to her, curious, and she finally spoke.

"I don't know for sure," she said, honest for the first time, "but this will probably tell us."

And she placed her finger in the pensieve.

The memories swirled around her brightly, as though she had dived into a sunlit lake. It cleared almost instantly, as Hermione registered the warmly-shining afternoon, and the vivacious colors of the world around her. Hermione blinked for a moment as she found herself in a nearly-deserted playground that she neither recognized nor understood the significance of. A moment later, though, the laughter of one of the girls on the swing-set drew her attention to the scene before her—and the stringy-haired boy hiding behind a clump of bushes.

Hermione stared for a moment as she recognized her husband's unmistakable younger self. His clothes, however, were a far cry from the tidy and reserved ones he preferred present-day; his were so mismatched that it almost seemed deliberate. His hair was longer, too; greasier than she had ever seen it and uncut. He couldn't be more than nine or ten. He was watching the two girls on the swing-set with undisguised interest.

"Lily, don't do it!"

Hermione's head snapped up at this, and at once, she recognized the younger of the two girls playing on the swing set. The fine red hair, the lovely face, and as the girl ignored her sister and launched herself out of the swing—the familiar laughter. Hermione watched in astonishment as she seemed to float gracefully out of the swing, lowering gently to the ground, landing with as much softness and gracefulness as a butterfly.

Lily. This was Severus's memory, and in it was—Lily. She blinked again, rather thrown off a bit by this.

"Mummy told you not to!" Hermione watched as Petunia—good gods, had the horrible woman ever been so young?—came to a screeching halt on her swing, scraping her feet against the sand to drag herself to a stop, before jumping off. She placed her hands on her hip in a very bossy way, looking down at her younger sister. "Mummy said you weren't allowed, Lily!"

Why had Severus given Harry this memory? Hermione watched as Lily picked a flower off the ground, just beyond the bush Severus was hiding behind, and held it out to her sister. It's petals began to unfurl and then fold themselves again, opening and closing in a way that was so very obviously not natural, yet all the more magical for the perfectly smooth, innocent way in which it was done. What was significant about this? What had he wanted Harry to see?

Petunia protested this display with an outraged, perhaps even frightened shriek of, "Stop it!"

"It's not hurting you," Lily said, but she closed the blossom once more and then let it drop to the ground.

"It's not right," Petunia said, but Hermione could tell she was eyeing the fallen flower with a look of disguised wanting. Jealousy. "How do you do it?"

Severus seemed to no longer be able to contain himself and stood up, revealing his presence as he did so, and evidently shocking the two girls.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

Petunia let out a shriek and ran back to the swings, as though they would somehow afford her protection, but Lily stood her ground, looking at him calmly. Yet, when Hermione gazed at Severus's face, it seemed to her that he very much regretted his appearance, for a dull flush had filled his sallow cheeks.

Yet, somehow, Lily seemed to either not notice or not care. "What's obvious?"

Severus fidgeted for a moment, with an air of nervous excitement; he glanced at Petunia, who was grabbing onto one of the swings as though for dear life, and then lowered his voice so that only Lily could hear.

"I know what you are."

This must be it. It was as plain as the nose on her husband's face—this was the memory of the first time he had ever met Lily.

"What do you mean?"

"You're… you're a witch," Severus whispered. It was as though the word were a taboo for him, yet he pressed forward and dared to say it, in the hopes of making a connection with this other girl whom he knew shared his talent.

Lily, on the other hand, looked clearly offended. "That's not a very nice thing to say to somebody!"

She turned to march back to her sister, nose in the air, and Hermione saw alarm cross Severus's sallow face. He looked ridiculous in his overlarge coat as he came out from around the bush, looking more bat-like than she had ever seen him before as it flapped after him.

"No!" Ignoring Lily's look of affronted disapproval, and the deep red suffusing his face in embarrassment, he insisted, "You are. You are a witch. I've been watching you for a while. But there's nothing wrong with that. My mum's one, and I'm a wizard."

Hermione saw Lily's eyes widen in consideration at this—it was a spark of hope, as though part of her wanted to believe the explanation of this sallow, stringy-haired boy was the key to her insecurities about her talent. But Petunia's laugh cut across them both like a dash of cold water.

"Wizard!" she shrieked, in a manner rather reminiscent of Pansy Parkinson. "I know who you are. You're that Snape boy! They live down Spinner's End by the river," she added, turning to her younger sister. It was clear from her tone that she considered the address to be a rather undesirable one. Turning back to Severus, disdain providing her with courage, she demanded, "Why have you been spying on us?"

"I haven't been spying," Severus said, looking rather hot and uncomfortable in the bright sunlight. His coat had to be too warm, yet Hermione suspected he perhaps did not want to reveal the smock-like shirt underneath. "Wouldn't spy on you anyway," he added spitefully to Petunia. "You're a Muggle."

Hermione closed her eyes as the insult got the desired reaction, though as the two girls left, leaving Severus alone in the playground, it was clear from the expression of bitter disappointment on his face that this had not gone as planned…

The scene dissolved once more, and this time, Hermione found herself standing in a small thicket of trees bordering the bank of a glittering river. Severus and Lily were sitting cross-legged from each other; they had obviously come to some kind of understanding, and perhaps had even become friends at this point, because Severus seemed to have become comfortable enough to take off the unbearably hot coat.

Hermione found herself listening to their conversation, feeling an odd sort of turmoil as she finally saw what Lily and Severus had had as children—before she had come along—and registering an odd sense of loss and longing as she found herself wishing that she had been in Lily's place. Had been there to appreciate seeing this boy so open, so confident despite the fact that he was painfully shy—wished that she had been able to have more of these sort of moments with him, where the future seemed open and bright, and not so clouded by the weighty worries of the world.

"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?"

Severus hesitated. He gazed at her, his black eyes filled with the same kind of greedy, undisguised interest that Hermione had seen in the first memory, when he had watched Lily on the swing.

"No," he said. "It doesn't make any difference."

"Good," Lily said, relaxing. She had been tense a moment ago, fearful for his answer, but now she lay sprawled out on the ground, gazing through the greenish gloom at the faint sunlight that peeked through the leaves overhead.

"You've got loads of magic," Severus said eagerly. "I saw that. All the time I was watching you…"

He trailed off when it became clear that Lily was not listening; her mind was elsewhere. Almost immediately, though, it came back and she looked up at him with curiosity in those green eyes. And—concern.

"How are things at your house?"

Severus's face seemed to tighten at this. Hermione had always known it was a sensitive topic, but even here, bringing it up seemed to make him withdraw.

"Fine," he said shortly.

"They're not arguing anymore?"

"Oh yes, they're arguing," Severus said bitterly, reaching over to pick up a fistful of leaves. He began tearing them apart, watching their destruction as though he would rather look at them than answer her. But answer he did. "But it won't be that long and I'll be gone."

"Doesn't your dad like magic?"

"He doesn't like anything, much," Severus said.

"Severus?" His head snapped up to look at her, a slight smile crossing his face when she said his name. "Tell me about the dementors again."

Hermione slowly sat down in the grass, sensing that this might be a long story.

"What d'you want to know about them for?" Severus asked, looking mystified.

"If I use magic outside school—"

Hermione very nearly buried her face in her hands. Good grief.

"They wouldn't give you to the dementors for that!" he said at once. "Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You're not going to end up in Azkaban, you're too—"

He broke off, his face turning a most damning shade of red again. He refocused his attention back on the leaves, shredding them. A sudden rustling noise caught their attention, however, and Hermione turned around in time to see Petunia scramble to regain her footing on the roots of the tree she had been hiding behind. It instantly became clear to Hermione that Petunia had been just as nosy as an adult as she had been as a child.

"Who's spying now?" Severus demanded, getting to his feet. He looked angry at having been interrupted; even more so at the realization that Petunia had heard every word they said. "What d'you want?"

Petunia seemed rather alarmed at being caught, and seemed to struggle for a moment to find something to say, and then her eyes narrowed as they fell upon the boy's shirt.

"What is that you're wearing anyway?" she asked spitefully, pointing at the misfitting shirt. "Your mum's blouse?"

Hermione saw a tic appear on Severus's temple, a slight twitch, just before there was a warning crack above them; and then a large branch suddenly fell when it should not, snagging Petunia on the shoulder, causing her to stagger back in pain and surprise—and then she burst into tears and turned to run.

"Tuney!"

But Petunia was gone; Lily rounded on Severus.

"Did you make that happen?"

"No." He looked both defiant and scared, more regretful of the fact that Lily was angry with him, rather than Petunia's obvious distress.

"You did!" Lily was backing away from him, growing angrier by the minute. "You did! You hurt her!"

"No—no, I didn't!"

But Lily was unconvinced; she threw him a last glare over her shoulder, and then ran off to find her sister, leaving Severus alone, looking both miserable and confused.

The scene changed again. Hermione was unprepared for the crowdedness of Platform 9 ¾, and she almost pulled out of the way to avoid being run over when she realized that the people around her seemed to pass through her as though she were no more than a ghost. Disconcerted, Hermione turned around in time to see Severus pull away from a thin, sallow-faced woman who greatly resembled him, and whose expression seemed contorted in deep-seated bitterness—only to have the scene dissolve around her again, before she could fully glimpse the end of Lily and Petunia arguing several feet away, and to reform once more into the corridor of the Hogwarts Express.

Severus was hurrying down the aisle, already wearing his school robes—Hermione did not doubt that he had taken off his awful Muggle clothes at the earliest opportunity— and quickly slid into one of the compartments, where the sound of rowdy boys could be heard as they laughed and chortled with each other over something they no doubt found particularly amusing. Lily had distanced herself from them, hunched over her seat with her cheek pressed against the windowpane. As Hermione darted through in time to avoid having the door shut in her face, she saw that Lily had been crying.

She glanced around the compartment even as Severus took his seat, and was startled again as several familiar faces popped out at her. James and Sirius were sitting on the other side of the compartment, paying the other two no mind, until a single word caught James's attention, causing him to look up.

"—Slytherin?"

Hermione stared at this younger version of James, who seemed almost identical to her memory of Harry, the first time she had boarded the Hogwarts Express at the tender age of eleven. He was slight, with black hair like Severus just as she remembered, yet there was something about him that seemed to set him distinctly apart from the other boy—perhaps it was the unmistakable air of a child who had been well-cared for and well-loved, perhaps even adored. In fact, if anything, more than anyone else in the room, James seemed to resemble Selenius the most—until his next words threw her off.

"Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Hermione watched the scene unfold with something akin to numbness and forced passivity, her eyes lingering longingly on Sirius for a moment, before she took a moment to gaze down at Lily. This was all very interesting, but this was what Harry had seen, and it was because Severus had thought it was vital that he do so. But why? Surely she wasn't here just to see how Severus's and the Marauders' rivalry had gotten started. There had to be more to this.

But no, Lily had stood up, and she and Severus left—James attempting to trip the latter as he did so—and the scene dissolved once more, swirling into existence again as the candle-lit Great Hall on the night of the Welcoming Feast. As Hermione watched first Lily, then Severus be sorted—Gryffindor and Slytherin respectively—she began to wonder if she was perhaps wasting her time. This was all very interesting, but none of it possibly told her where Harry had gone after this—except, perhaps, he might venture back down to the boathouse to find them before going to the Forbidden Forest, if that was where he was indeed planning to go—

When the next scene came, Hermione found herself resolving that if nothing fruitful came up after this, she would leave to go find Harry on foot—

And found herself promptly rescinding that vow. For in this scene, she was following Severus out of the Great Hall, he having just finished his OWLs—and with the Marauders nearby, her instincts told her there would be trouble. He was beginning to look very much as Hermione had remembered him, tall and dark, with a bitter and lone-wolf air about him as he stalked toward the lake, his movements somewhat jumpy and skittish.

She was shocked, five minutes later, when she realized only a little too late just precisely what she was witnessing.

How many times had she heard this tale? How many times had she wondered?

"Alright, Snivellus?" James called loudly.

Severus's reaction was as though he had been expecting an attack; his bag dropped and he had his wand out in a flash, but James had the drop on him.

"Expelliarmus!"

Severus's wand flew out of his hands, cartwheeled several times through the air, and then landed in the grass twelve feet away. He made to dive for it, panic written openly on his pale face—panic and anger. But Sirius let out a bark of laughter, and then shouted, "Impedimenta!"

Severus was knocked half-way to the ground in his desperate bid to retrieve his wand. All around them, students were starting to appear, milling around as the commotion caught their attention. Some looked apprehensive; others entertained. Severus lay panting on the ground, arms pinned to his sides, as James and Sirius advanced on him, wands raised.

That was when James glanced over his shoulder at one of the girls at the other side of the water's edge, and with a jolt, Hermione recognized Lily. But her head snapped back around to James when he said, "How'd the exam go, Snivelly?"

"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," Sirius said, and there was an edge of vicious glee to his words. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."

The laughter of the audience around them rang through Hermione's ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut; a moment later, something wet trailed down her cheek. So these were her friends. These were the people she had constantly defended to Severus—and defended Severus from. In all her years of knowing them, they had never done anything quite at this level, although Sirius had surpassed it that one time in the end of her fifth year. At times, she had thought he had perhaps exaggerated his tale, but now her illusions had been clearly broken away: he had not.

"You—wait," Severus panted, struggling to get to his feet. He looked as though he had been bound by invisible ropes, and was staring up at James with a look of purest loathing. "You—wait!"

"Wait for what?" Sirius asked coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"

In the midst of Severus's stream of swearwords mixed with impotent curses, Hermione felt herself turning numb, despite the tears trickling down her cheek. If she had gone back in time further, if she had arrived before this had happened, what would she have done if she was not only witnessing this scene, but being a part of it? She surely would not have become James and Sirius's friend—and perhaps not even Remus's, by extension, for though the other boy was watching with a look of concern creasing his eyes, his body hiding the eager face of Pettigrew as he watched Severus's humiliating from a safe vantage point, he was standing there and doing nothing.

But would she have come to Severus's defense?

"Wash your mouth," James said coldly, interrupting her thoughts. "Scourgify!"

Severus suddenly began to choke as pink soap bubbles appeared, causing him to gag as it frothed at his mouth. He struggled all the more uselessly at this, trying to cough out the soap streaming from his mouth—

"Leave him alone!"

Hermione's eyes snapped to the side, locking onto the familiar red-haired girl she had grown up with. Lily! She had come to his defense—but—

James jumped at her sudden appearance, and his hand immediately flew to his hair, ruffling it almost casually as he took on a lighter, more pleasant tone. "All right, Evans?" he called.

"Leave him alone," Lily repeated furiously. "What's he done to you?"

James seemed to take a moment to think, deliberating on it as though it were some great question. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean."

Hermione felt as though someone had just gutted her. She stood there, thunderstruck, watching as the other students around them began to laugh in wholehearted agreement.

"You think you're funny," Lily said coldly, "but you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," James said quickly. It was as though he had been waiting for this opportunity. "Go on—go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

Behind him, Hermione could see Severus inching toward his fallen wand as the Impediment Jinx began to wear off, spitting out soapsuds as he wriggled his way forward.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it were a choice between you and the giant squid!"

"Bad luck, Prongs," Sirius said briskly, seeing the disappointed look on James's face before turning back to his victim—only to realize that he had been remiss in keeping track of the spell's longevity, for Severus made a final lunge for his wand. "Oi!"

But it was too late. A slash of his wand at James, a flash of light, and a gash appeared on James's face. James whirled around, enraged, and there was another flash followed by a loud bang—and moments later, Severus was being dangled upside down by his ankle. His robes had fallen over his head, revealing skinny, pale legs and a pair of greying underpants. The crowd around them cheered yet again, greatly entertained by this.

Hermione was disgusted.

Lily's face twitched for a moment, as though she were about to smile, but her resolve held firm. "Let him down!"

"Certainly," James said, almost cordially, as he wiped the blood off the side of his face with one sleeve. A flick of his wand, and Severus fell to the ground in a crumpled heap; he was on his feet almost immediately, wand raised, but almost before he had even gained his footing, Sirius had his wand pointed at him.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

They were playing with him, like a pair of cats torturing a mouse. No that Severus was like a mouse, by any means, but the game they played was just as cruel. They were letting him up long enough to knock him down again, and Hermione felt her cheeks start to burn heatedly as she began to wish that this scene was real, if only so that she could step in.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily shouted. She had pulled out her wand, finally, and had it pointed threateningly at James. She was done with warnings.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," James said earnestly.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

James sighed exaggeratedly at this, but turned to face Severus nonetheless. He was frozen on the ground, rigid as a board, though his eyes burned with unrestrained, seething hate. The kind that had always been reserved for the Marauders, which Hermione was all too familiar with. The kind that Hermione had worked so hard to convince him to let go of. James muttered the counter-curse, and at once, Severus struggled to get to his feet again quickly.

"There you go," James said, glancing down at Severus with great dislike. "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

Severus's normally pale, sallow face was flushed several shades of red, in a mixture of pain, humiliation, and emasculated shame. Hermione knew what he was about to say before he even opened his mouth.

"I don't need help from filthy little mudbloods like her!"

To Lily's credit, she merely blinked at him, as though in surprise. Yet it was impossible to not see that she was hurt and humiliated by his words, and Hermione saw her face harden. And still, Hermione watched dumbly as the scene unfolded—as the moment that forever shaped her husband's life literally came to life right before her eyes. A mystery that he had never revealed fully to her, but here… she finally saw and understood it.

"Fine," Lily said coolly. "I won't bother in the future." She turned, as though to leave. "And I'd wash my pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to Evans!" James roared, jerking his arm toward Severus, wand pointed at his throat.

"I don't want you to make him apologize!" Lily shouted, rounding on James, temper finally lost. "You're as bad as he is!"

"What?" James yelped. "I'd never call you a—a you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can— I'm surprised that broomstick got off the ground with your fat head on it." She turned on her heel. "You make me sick."

"Evans!" James called, but Lily stalked off as though she hadn't heard him. "Hey, Evans!"

He watched her leave, and then turned away, looking disgusted. Severus watched Lily leave, still wearing the same look of horror and regret on his face that he had worn the moment he had let the words slip out.

"What is it with her?" James asked, turning to Sirius, trying and failing to ask the question as though it were casual and of no importance to him.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate."

"Right," James said, looking furious with himself. "Right—"

There was another flash of light, and Severus was once again hoisted into the air. He had dropped his wand, and it lay three feet away from him, firmly on the ground while he himself was hung up by his ankle.

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

But whether James really did take off Severus's pants, Hermione did not know, for the scene dissolved once more. Hermione stood there disbelievingly for a moment, and then quickly rubbed at her eyes, forcefully reminding herself where she was and what she was here for, as the next scene—Severus's attempted apology—began to unfold.

"I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."

"I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you a Mudblood, it just—"

"Slipped out?" Lily suggested coldly.

Hermione was starting to understand. Everything before now had been an introduction leading up to the last scene and now, context for Harry so that he would at last understand why Severus had said what he said—

And why, years later, he had done what he had done.

The scene dissolved very quickly, and this time, Hermione found herself once again in the tunnel of the shrieking shack. She knelt down, peering through the gloom, as she watched the memory unfold. This time, however, unlike the memory that Harry had seen in his fifth year, the memory continued until they crawled out of the tunnel. In the moonlight, they both looked suitably shell-shocked.

"Come on," she heard herself say weakly, getting to her feet and helping Severus do the same. "We need to get out of here."

As they stood, staggering out of reach of the Whomping Willow, the light hit Hermione's face enough that Harry would undoubtedly recognize her. It was dark, but her features were unmistakable. And Hermione realized with a jolt that Severus had finally revealed who she was, just as the scene swirled away once more.

Hermione now found herself standing in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room. She blinked as she watched Severus hoisting himself over the railing, and followed by taking the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of the doorway in time to see him trying to shake her awake.

"…Hermione, please, wake up—don't make me… Hermione!"

This was how it all began. Hermione's eyes widened. Harry now knew that it was she who had gone back in time—now undoubtedly knew that she was his godmother… and now Severus was showing him how everything else had unfolded. How much he had shown, Hermione did not yet know. But she was about to find out, as her younger self sat up and began interrogating him—and with almost depressing predictability, the scene dissipated again…

This time, however, the scene took longer to appear. Hermione frowned, as she found herself in an unfamiliar place. A deserted moor, with Severus standing there, looking scared; his hair flipped wildly about his face as the wind blew through the dark and stormy night. He looked forlorn and cold, yet on high alert, wildly turning on the spot, his eyes searching for something in the darkness—

A flash of white light zig-zagged across Hermione's vision, and for a moment, she thought it had been lightning— until she saw a familiar ebony wand skitter to the ground several feet away, and she heard Severus cry, "Don't kill me!"

"That was not my intention."

And there stood Albus Dumbledore. The wind whipped and tore at his robes, and his face was illuminated rather hauntingly by the light of his own lit wand.

"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

Hermione quickly came to the realization that this was the meeting she had missed. The one she had arranged, and spent nearly a full day locked in the Headmaster's Office to await the details of the outcome from.

"No—no message! I'm here on my own account!"

Hermione watched the negotiations between them with rapt attention. Severus was completely at the Headmaster's mercy in every sense of the word, and he almost seemed broken toward the end.

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

Hermione stared at the headmaster, uncomprehending.

"In—In return?" Severus gaped at him, and then choked on his answer: "Anything."

Dumbledore gazed down at him for a long moment, and then reached to pull Severus to his feet.

"Let us return to Hogwarts," he said, "where Miss Granger is waiting for us."

Hermione hugged her arms around her middle, wondering how much longer she would have to watch this. Was there a way to speed up memories? For as riveting as these revelations were, she could not help but get the sense that she was fast running out of time, and she had the idea that the most important things were near the end, after everything that had been shown was finally allowed to be made sense of—

A sudden sound like a wounded animal caught her attention, and she whirled around in time to see Severus slumped forward in a chair. Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. Severus finally lifted his head, and Hermione was struck by the misery she saw in them; it was different from the man whom she recalled had returned to their quarters and slumped down with her to grieve. This was a man who did not even have the heart left in him do to anything but grieve.

Hermione already felt wretched and wrenched after the last few memories she had seen, but this sight made her want to sink to the floor and curl up. She had not forgotten the devastation that had followed James and Lily's deaths—though she was now angry at James and Sirius for the memory she had seen down by the lake, not even that could erase her memories of them as her friends, by which time they had matured a great deal, and the few years they had together since their graduation. It could not change her recollection of James, as the upstanding young man he had been before he died—and it could not erase twenty years of faithful friendship with Sirius. And it could certainly not ease her guilt over their deaths.

"I thought… you were going… to keep her… safe…"

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," Dumbledore said. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

Severus said nothing.

"Her boy survives," Dumbledore said gently.

Severus's head jerked slightly at this, and his breathing grew shallower, but he still remained seemingly incapable of speaking.

"Her son lives," Dumbledore repeated. "He has her eyes, precisely her eyes, if you'll recall." He paused, as though for maximum impact, and then said, "You remember the shape and color of Lily's eyes, I am sure?"

"DON'T!" Severus bellowed, with such suddenness that Hermione jumped back. He sank back in his chair, defeated. "Gone… dead…"

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"I wish… I wish I were dead…"

For the third time that night, Hermione felt as though someone had struck her across the face with something very heavy.

There was a pause, and then Dumbledore said, "Surely you do not mean that."

Severus seemed to force himself to look through a haze of pain as he gaze senselessly up at the Headmaster. "Hermione," he croaked. "She knows—all my fault—once the shock's worn off, she'll—she'll never forgive me…"

"How would you know?" Dumbledore asked him coldly. "Have you asked her?" Severus did not respond. "Have you spoken to her?"

"No," Severus said raggedly. "I—I haven't spoken to her since—since—" he broke off, unable to finish. He struggled for a moment, and then with great effort, "Hermione is—is my life… but even she could not—could not be so forgiving… when it is my fault that they were targeted in the first place."

"You do Hermione a disservice to make up her mind for her," Dumbledore said, his tone without compassion. "Certainly, she has lost just as much as you have this night—but do you truly believe that she holds you responsible for it?"

"She must… surely…"

"Blaming yourself does little good, Severus," Dumbledore said. "What would you do, to make things right again?"

"A-anything… I already promised you anything…"

"Would you give Hermione up?"

Severus's entire body suddenly gave violent twitch at this and he jerked his head up. "No!"

Dumbledore seemed satisfied with this answer. "Then let us settle this matter to rest. Your way forward, Severus, is clear." Severus gazed at him uncomprehendingly, and Dumbledore said, "Do you not see it?"

"What… what do you mean…?"

"You know how and why Lily died," Dumbledore said. "Make sure her death was not in vain."

Severus looked at him, not quite understanding.

"Help me protect Lily's son."

Hermione closed her eyes, as though doing so would protect her from the anguish roiling through her body as the cumulative memories bore down on her, coalescing powerfully into this one moment where she finally understood the conversation she herself had with Severus upon his return. After Lily's death. After paying the Headmaster a visit.

And why he had forgiven her for her foreknowledge of their deaths.

"…very well. Very well. But never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear… especially Potter's son… I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed, looking down at Severus's ferocious, pained face. "If you insist…"

At once, the memories seemed to come faster now, as though more was trying to be crammed in all at once, just the pertinent bits. The first day of Harry's arrival and Severus's assessment of him… the end of the Yule Ball, where Hermione once again saw the events playing out…

"…Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns."

"Does he?" Dumbledore's words sounded soft, musing. "And do you intend to join him?"

"No," she heard Severus say, as the memory once more began to dissolve, slowly this time. "I am not such a coward…"

"No," Dumbledore agreed, his voice fading. "You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, sometimes I think we sort too soon…"

Severus's stricken face, Hermione's discolored appearance at his side laughing as she pulled the butterbeer from his hands, was the last of that memory before it swirled away…

And then at last, they were once again in the Headmaster's Office. A familiar time. A familiar place. A familiar figure slumped over a chair, his hand blackened, and Hermione and Severus both attending to him, trying to make sense of the curse… where she and Severus both swore they would carry on with Dumbledore's plan for his death…

And then a conversation between Severus and Dumbledore that she herself had not been present for, but recognized at once as one that Hagrid had let slip to Harry—and that she had spoken to Severus about. The conversation was fairly mundane in comparison to the last few she had seen, yet Hermione had the sensation that this was leading up to something extremely important…

"Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…"

And quite suddenly, they were back in the Headmaser's office yet again. Severus was sitting in one of the armchairs, holding himself so still, he might very well have been petrified in place; Dumbledore was pacing around him as he talked.

"Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?"

"But what must he do?"

"That is between Harry and me. Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt!" Dumbledore said, as Severus opened his mouth to speak. "There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake. At that time, you must brew the anti-venom and give it to Hermione, though you must not tell her whom it is for."

Hermione gazed at the headmaster, dumbstruck. The anti-venom she had used on Severus—it had been in her bag, it had been a part of her stash of potions…

But Severus had never given it to her.

And she had not put it there. At least, she had no recollection of doing so. It had simply appeared there one day, labeled, and she had merely assumed…

When had he snuck it in?

"He will fear for Nagini's life?" Severus asked blankly.

"Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."

"Tell him what?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

"Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the killing curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsed building."

Severus stared at Dumbledore in astonishment, and the Headmaster continued: "Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort's mind that he has never understood."

Hermione inhaled sharply. This was it. Everything that Severus had given Harry before now… led up to this moment. This revelation.

"And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die."

There was a long moment of silence. Hermione stared down at her hands, as another conversation replayed itself in her head. A conversation following the one just before this scene, where she had finally found a private word with her husband while undercover as a student.

"We were discussing Potter. I asked him what he was doing, those evenings they spend closeted in his office. The headmaster was aggravatingly vague, and then could not have put it any more plainly that he does not trust me."

"Dumbledore trusts you!"

"It's not an issue of trust in regards to loyalty, Hermione. It's an issue of trust regarding my capabilities as a spy—most particularly, in keeping certain things from the Dark Lord."

"Rubbish! He tells Harry far more important things, and they have a direct connection!"

"The difference, however, is that Dumbledore does not fear the Dark Lord trying to invade Potter's mind again. He seems to think that the Dark Lord did not enjoy the experience enough to try it again in the near future."

"That's not all that's bothering you."

"That's all I can tell you."

Hermione had seen something her husband's eyes that night, had merely thought him weary and stressed, but now she knew it was something more. He had known. Just as she had known before he did that James and Lily had been slated to die, he had found out before her that Harry was to be the proverbial sacrifice.

He had known.

And not said a word to her.

The Severus in the memory spoke, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. With a strange sort of calm, he said, "So the boy… the boy must die?"

"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."

Another long silence followed this, and then Severus said, "I thought… all those years… that we were protecting him for her. For Lily. Because of a grave mistake I made that ended the life of a friend."

"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength," said Dumbledore, his eyes still tightly shut. "Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort. "

Dumbledore opened his eyes. Severus looked as horrified as Hermione felt.

"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?"

"Don't be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched
die?"

"Lately, only those whom I could not save," Severus said, getting to his feet. "You
have used me."

"Meaning?"

"I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you, and put my family on hold for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter's son safe," Severus bit out. "Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter!"

"But this is touching, Severus," Dumbledore said seriously, moving to stand behind his desk, peering down at Severus through his half-moon spectacles. "Have you grown to care for the boy after all?"

Something flickered across Severus's face as he pulled out his wand, but he merely uttered, "Expecto Patronum!"

At once, a large, silvery lion burst forth from the tip of his wand, landing gracefully upon the floor of the office. Hermione watched in astonishment as the lioness padded forward a few steps toward Severus, rubbing her head affectionately against his leg, and then leapt away. It slipped off, disappearing into the wall and vanishing without a trace. Dumbledore stood there for a moment, watching the patronus vanish, and then turned to look at Severus again.

To Hermione's shock, there were tears in his eyes.

"I see," Dumbledore said quietly. "She really has changed you, after all…"

"My wife, the lioness," Severus said, and there was an edge of bitter reflection to his voice. "She loves him like a son. How could I not feel something, when she loved James Potter like a brother, and all I can see are Lily's eyes staring back at me?"

Hermione gazed into her husband's face, astonished beyond comprehension, beyond words— but before she could fully register it all, take everything in, the scene changed again, and she realized that he was not done. But as she watched Severus Confund Mundungus Fletcher, planting the idea of seven Potters, it finally clicked in her mind, the last piece of the puzzle.

She had been right.

Harry was undoubtedly on his way to the Forbidden Forest now.

Yet, something else seemed to finally make sense. Dumbledore cared deeply for Harry. So deeply that it was not an issue of him giving Harry two different tools with which to defeat the Dark Lord…

It was giving him the answer he needed to do it. Horcruxes.

And giving him the tools he needed to survive. Hallows.

The scene continued to change—the battle over Surrey, where George had lost his ear… Severus in Grimmauld Place, taking Lily's letter to Sirius, and then descending the stairs to where she herself was waiting for him…

"Even after all these years, I still can't believe they're gone," she heard herself say. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, unchecked. "Here one day, gone the next… with nothing but an imprint of them behind, in all they've said and done…"

And at last, they returned to the Headmaster's office seemingly for the last time—for Hermione could not think of anything more that Severus could possibly show. At last, every secret had been laid bare.

"Headmaster! They are camping in the Forest of Dean! Your wife—"

"Hermione?" Severus stood up abruptly, almost knocking over his chair. "What about her?"

"—mentioned the place while the Weasley boy was unpacking their things, and I heard her!"

"Good. Very good!" Dumbledore's portrait cried, standing up at once. "Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under the conditions of need and valor, and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry's mind and see you acting for him—"

"I know," Severus said curtly, reaching for the portrait of Dumbledore and pulling at its side, whereupon it swung outward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it. He pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out from it, and shut the portrait closed. "And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Potter the sword?"

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore said. "And I'd rather you didn't ask your wife about it, either. Harry will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful, they might not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley's mishap—though Hermione did a splendid job of healing him… but as they say, it is the thought that counts."

Severus turned away. There was a slight smirk on his face, which he quickly schooled away.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore," he said coolly. "I have a plan…"

Hermione watched her husband leave the room. She seemed to rise up out of the pensieve as the door clicked shut behind him, finding herself in the Headmaster's office once again—this time, in reality. She let out a gasp, as though for air, as she backed away from the pensieve, rubbing her face as though to wash the shock away.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice penetrated her ears as though from the end of a long tunnel, very distantly. "Are you alright? What did you see…?"

Hermione opened her eyes. The office looked the same as ever, though the portraits were now empty again, no doubt running through the castle to see what was happening. She looked down at her watch.

It was three minutes until their hour was up.

She did not realize tears were trickling down her cheeks until a drop landed on the crystal face of her timepiece.

"I have to go!" she gasped. Without another word, she pushed past a startled Ron and tore out the door, past the stone gargoyle lying on its side at the foot of the stairs, sprinting down the corridor.

She had to find Harry.

~o~O~o~

Ron stood there for a moment, feeling rather dumb. It was not a new feeling; oftentimes, he felt as though Hermione left him out of the loop of her thinking, regardless of whether she explained or not. She had spent nearly twenty minutes with her face in the bowl, and despite the fact that Ron was deathly curious to know what Harry had seen—and now Hermione—he had refrained from joining her. It was odd, to think of taking a look at Snape's memories, and he was sorely tempted. Instead, he chose to stand guard so that if anyone came in the room, he would be there to defend them both— with his wand, if necessary.

And now that Hermione had run out of the room as though Fluffy himself were on her heels, he was not quite sure what to do. With each revelation, he was starting to understand more and more about why Hermione made him feel like she was his mother rather than his childhood friend—and this time, she was chasing after Harry the same was his own mother had always chased after any number of his other siblings or himself. He was feeling slightly disconcerted by this—it was odd, seeing someone whom he had once held romantic attraction to in that kind of light. The light that he still held all older adults in, despite the fact that he was now of age. Nevertheless, he collected himself a moment later, and flew down the stairs. He was just descending the marble steps to the Great Hall when he came to a screeching halt to avoid knocking into one of the goblins—who he recognized a moment later as Griphook.

He was covered in blood, though it did not appear to be his own, which only soaked through what his armor did not protect. He still wielded his battle axe, and when he saw who had nearly run into him, he looked up at Ron.

"Ah, Weasley," he said, drawing out the name. "Waiting for the fighting to start, are you?"

Ron hesitated, something seeming to click in his mind. "The fighting… it hasn't started yet?"

Griphook slowly shook his head.

"The Dark Lord gave us one hour," he said. "One hour has gone. His army has not returned."

"Look," Ron said, panting and out of breath. He leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees. "I dunno why he hasn't attacked yet, but Hermione's gone haring off after Harry, so…"

"Mr. Potter left the Great Hall ten minutes ago," Griphook said evenly. "Miss Granger disappeared through those doors just now."

Ron stared out the door in the wreckage-strewn courtyard. His first instinct was to chase after Hermione, but he had no idea where she had gone. And a part of his brain reminded him that she had not asked him to come along. He was not sure what he should do, but he figured that perhaps he should wait there for the two of them to come back—there was no sense in going blindly through the night and further split the three of them up to try and find them again.

He heard footsteps approach behind them, crunching loudly against the debris on the ground, and he turned around in time to see Neville approaching. He had a cut above his brow, and a torn lip, and had not escaped without more than a few scratches—but he appeared to be fine.

"You alright, mate?" he asked, coming to stop beside him. "You look a mess."

"So do you," Ron said, cracking a smile. He jerked his head toward the door. "Did you see Harry come through here, Neville?"

"He said he had something to do," Neville said, scratching at some of the blood caking on his temple. He paused. "He hasn't come back yet, has he?"

Ron shook his head.

"You don't… you don't think he's gone off to find You-Know-Who, do you?"

~o~O~o~

Hermione tore across the grounds, which were eerily silent save for the groans of the fallen and the squelch of wet grass, mud, and blood between her paws. She did not want to be seen running across the lawn, and even if someone failed to recognize her, her tangle of bushy hair flying behind her would be an immediate giveaway that there was something human crossing the lawn. Thus, she had taken the risk and bowed to the wellspring of deep-seated instincts she had uncovered, allowing her to transition into her newly-discovered Animagus form with something like a jolt followed by a smooth change.

She slowed as she neared the woods, ears pricked for signs of life on the other side of the gloom, and then she leapt into the clustered trees. Her golden eyes could see in the darkness, and she leapt over every fallen log and the tree roots that rose from the ground. She did not have to stop and think about what direction to go, for she knew exactly where Harry was headed: straight in to the depths. He would do it no other way.

The woods were eerily silent, save for the cracking of twigs beneath her paws, the unaccustomed way leaves crunched under her. And then she came to a halt, crouching low to the ground and peering into the darkness as an odd sort of shimmer flickered before her, not several feet away. And then a hand appeared, attached to an invisible body, and holding a glittering, gold ball whose wings fluttered faintly—

The Snitch was pulled back underneath Harry's invisibility cloak, and then a sound like metal sliding against metal could be heard; Hermione padded forward, climbing over a large, knotted tree root in time to see a faint glow emanating from the shimmer—and then the Cloak was ripped off, and Harry whirled around to face her, his wand lit, face washed out from the bright light.

Hermione blinked against the wandlight for a moment, and then in a smooth movement, was upright again, on two feet instead of four. Harry's wand quickly lowered as he recognized who it was, and his mouth gaped half-open for a moment, as though there were something he was dying to say.

"Harry?" Hermione said softly, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm afraid to ask what you're doing out here."

Harry wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly for a moment, as though to convince himself that she was truly there—solid, real—and then turned away. In answer, he held out his sweaty palm, in which a familiar black stone with a jagged crack rested.

Hermione's breath caught. "The stone that was in Marvolo Gaunt's ring?"

"The Resurrection Stone," Harry responded quietly. His eyes flickered over her for a moment, and then he asked quietly, "Those memories Snape gave me… are you really…"

Hermione nodded. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the tears that continue to prickle threateningly—and then something snapped inside her, and she broke again, the tears winning the battle. They rolled down her cheeks, and soaked into Harry's neck as she threw her arms around him again.

"I'm so sorry," she choked. "I'm sorry I had to keep it such a secret all these years. I really wanted to tell you—to let you know that there was someone else out there who cared for you, that you didn't—that you weren't alone…"

"How—" Harry's voice didn't seem to be working properly for him. "How did you know I'd—that I'd be here?"

Hermione inhaled deeply. "I—I knew you too well, Harry. I knew you wouldn't ignore the Dark Lord's words—and then when I saw the memories for myself…"

"You—you saw the memories?"

"Yes, Harry, I looked, because I wasn't sure where you were… I knew that wherever you went, you would have gone tearing off based on whatever memories Severus had given you…" Hermione tried to compose herself, pulling on all of her considerable self-discipline that had been acquired over the last twenty years, but it didn't stop her next words from coming out choked. "I—after I realized not only where you had to be, but what Severus had shown you, I… I had to follow."

Harry swallowed. "You… I didn't realize it for the longest time, but just like now—you call—you always called Vol… you always called You-Know-Who the same thing all his Death Eaters called him."

Hermione startled at this, but she did not look away. "I suppose… well, you know everything now, don't you?" She gave him a faint smile. "I guess I picked that habit up from my husband, after so many years."

"Yeah…" Harry looked faintly ill at this. He swallowed again, harder this time. "I… you… Snape… all this time…"

Hermione placed her hand over his upturned palm, the tiny black stone poking into her. "Nothing's changed, Harry," she whispered. A pause, and then she grasped the underside of his hand in her free on, and turned it over once. Twice. And then a third time. "I may be Hermione Snape, but I'm not just your godmother—I'm still your best friend from since we were silly first-years taking down a mountain troll, and you're still like a brother and a son to me all at once…"

And then with a whisper, she said, "Close your eyes, Harry."

She watched those green eyes disappear behind his glasses, and then shut her own. The world stayed dark for them both, until the sound of shuffling made their ears prick, like frail bodies finding their footing on the leafy, debris-strewn earth. Her eyes open—and so had Harry's—and they both turned to look.

At once, Hermione could see that they were neither quite living nor dead—they looked rather exactly as Hermione would have imagined the boundary between the living and the dead, that narrow strip of existence where they were more than ghosts and less than flesh. As they approached, Hermione realized that they were all exactly as she had remembered them—and as they came a halt, each wearing a comfortingly familiar and warm smile, an inkling began to grow within her that suggested that this was perhaps all they were with the Stone's help—memories given life.

Sirius no longer wore that haggard, haunted look that had followed him in his years since Azkaban. There was James, who looked almost exactly like Harry—at the same height they shared, they could have been brothers rather than father and son. Lily still had that envious mane of silky red hair, like burnished flame, and that motherly look about her face that Hermione had come to admire in the year they had grown closer before her untimely death. She felt a small measure of relief that there was no judgment in their expressions, no indication upon their faces that they bore grudges against her.

It was just the three of them. For a moment, Hermione wondered why there were not more— and then a final figure stumped out of nowhere on nothing but a peg-leg, though he was no longer missing an eye or a chunk out of his nose. Mad-Eye Moody appeared, wearing that familiar, wry smile—though he no longer had the gash on his mouth that made it twisted. She opened her mouth in astonishment, about to say something, anything—but then Sirius raised a hand to cup her face, and she turned her gaze on him. His fingers went through her, and though she felt something against her skin where his hand should have been, it was not solid, and it was not flesh. It had no temperature of its own.

"Nicely does it, Potter," Mad-Eye said, tilting his head at Harry—and then her. "Always good work, Snape."

Harry looked at him with almost startled bewilderment. Moody merely laughed.

"I never got to finish my last chess game with Selenius," Sirius said, snapping her attention back to him. He was smiling, but there was an edge of sadness to his words, a trace of recovered human emotion that the truly departed did not have. That the Stone reforged for him. "I'm sorry for that."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, unable to stop the tears from flowing freely. "Do you—do you want me to give him a message?" she choked.

Sirius shook his head. "It's a heady thing, sending messages between the living and the dead," he said. "It makes people hang onto them, hoping that there might be a way to cross the gap… Selenius has his whole life ahead of him, Hermione," he said, pulling his hand away. "I'm glad I got to know him, got to be there with him to watch him grow…"

And now he turned to Harry, who was looking at him as though he too were trying to assess exactly what Sirius had become: "…The way I never got to see Harry. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there, that I only got to see a fraction of the man you've become—but I'm proud to call you my godson," he said, grinning at Harry. His eyes were full something, which if it was not life, Hermione thought must be laughter. "We're all proud of you."

"You've been so brave," Lily said, coming to stand beside Sirius. James followed, placing a hand on her shoulder, looking at his son with fatherly pride. Harry looked at her, as though he would very much like to try, to believe he might be able to reach out and finally touch his mother's face.

Moody interjected with a chuckle. "You've gotten this far, too. There was never any turning back with you."

"I…" Harry's voice caught in his throat. "I never wanted any of you to die…"

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. She gazed into the face of two people who had been her best friends in another time—two men who had been like brothers. And then she forced herself to look at Lily, half-afraid that she would see resentment in the other woman's eyes. And lastly, a man who had been her mentor and a respected friend for as long as she could remember. They all turned to look at her, and she confessed softly, "I'm sorry I didn't stop you from being killed even though I knew… even though I knew it would happen…"

To her surprise, James merely smiled at her. "We're not mad," he said, placing his arm around Lily. "We forgave you a long time ago, Hermione."

"We haven't once regretted asking you to be Harry's godmother," Lily added gently.

"Never once regretted having you in the Order, either," Moody added gruffly. "Always did your homework for the rest of us, eh?"

"It's not your fault, what had to happen," James said breezily. "Dying wasn't as bad as we thought it'd be."

Harry swallowed. "Does it—does it hurt?"

"Dying?" Sirius said, with surprising brevity. "Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep."

Hermione sniffled and looked at Harry, who seemed to be taking a moment to absorb this. A chilly breeze blew through the clearing, lifting his bangs up just enough that in the wandlight, she could see his lightning-bolt scar, as fresh as the day it had been made. And then quietly, he asked, "Will you stay with me?"

"Harry…" Hermione began.

"No," Harry said. "I've got to do this, Hermione. Don't you see?" he asked, turning to face her, expression dead-set. "Part of You-Know-Who lives on in me—until I die, he can't either." He took a deep breath. "I already put the Sword of Gryffindor back in the Sorting Hat—I figure that if there's anyone else who can kill the snake, it'll be whoever pulls it out."

Hermione opened her mouth, and then shut it. She stood there considering him for a moment, and then said, very quietly, "Do you want me to wait here for you?"

"I won't be coming back," Harry said.

"You've got all three Deathly Hallows, haven't you?" Hermione pressed. "Even if you don't possess the wand, you're still the master of it—just in case," she continued, "I'll wait here."

Harry peered at her through his glasses. "You'll wait here for me?" he repeated, as though making sure he had heard right.

Hermione nodded, blinking away the wetness in her eyes.

Harry turned to look at his parents and godfather, who all stood there, waiting—and then he turned back to her.

"Yeah," he said. His voice cracked. "I'd like that. I'll… I'll try to come back."

Hermione placed one hand around his back, and one behind his head, holding him tightly to her. Praying this would not be the last time she saw her scar-headed friend. And then, with great reluctance, she released him.

"Come back," she begged. "Please."

Harry nodded, and with a final look at her, he turned to go. She watched James, Lily, and Sirius follow him deeper into the woods, until the faint, unearthly glow that outlined them faded away. Moody stumped beside them, though he paused just at the edge of her vision to look back. He gave her a final salute, and then disappeared with the rest of them. She watched her best friend leave, wondering if she would ever see him again—wondering if Dumbledore's plan would work—wondering if she had been right.

Or terribly, terribly wrong all along.

She wondered if she would ever be normal after all of this. Even now, she could not cry properly, felt she could not fully express the depth of her emotions. They had been locked away for so long, restrained and beaten down and suppressed and forced to be ignored and pushed aside… all so that she could keep a cool head, so that she could do her job, so that she could continue to do her part unfalteringly in bringing down the Dark Lord.

What kind of godmother struggled to find emotion to fully express to her godson how she felt about him calmly walking to his death? What kind of woman met the sight of her dying husband with minimal hysteria, and coolly managed to arrange a little fiddling with time so that she could fix him up good and proper?

What kind of friend looked into the eyes of people whose deaths she had been responsible for—

What kind of friend accepted their forgiveness, knowing that they were the recreations of wistful hopes and distant memories?

What kind of mother barely expressed anything of depth to her son after she brought his father home unconscious and covered in his own blood—

At this, Hermione forced herself to mentally shut down on this question, pushing it away. She had a job to do. Once it was over—once it was all over—she could release the coiled spring that was her life, let the pent-up years go, release the dam in the same way she had done before when she was younger, less controlled, less able to handle the burden of her job and war—

She might finally be able to begin healing again.

She might be able… to have the life that she had dreamed of with Severus.

---

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~Anubis Ankh