A/N: There is no way to describe my life right now. If I wanted to accurately depict what has become of it, there would be lots of high-pitched squee-ing with delight interspersed with groans and complaints about various workloads that seem to behave like sentient rabbit slippers left under the bed for too long. And yet, despite it all, I am so incredibly happy that I cannot quite express myself.
What makes a seventeen-year-old girl so happy, you ask?
Here's a hint- he has a name. :)
On another note, I don't know when the final update will be. I have it written out, yet am now convince it is inadequate and am re-writing and editing it, possibly splitting it into two more chapters for continuity and closure purposes. I would normally have the weekend to fix everything up and then send it off to my brilliant beta, but I actually don't have this weekend to do that, which means it's being backlogged just a bit...
Someday, I might actually organize and then publish all the notes and research I did to write this story, because it's just that crazily drawn out. It's almost a work of art. o_o
Enormous thanks goes out to my amazing, incredible, wonderful beta... the great SSB!
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own!
Please review!
The forest was surprisingly silent as Hermione waited. The leaves of nearby, aged oaken giants rustled in the cool night breeze, whistling a hoarse song, but that was all. Hermione stood on one of the roots that rose out of the ground, leaning against the tree with one shoulder and her arms wrapped around her chest—and her wand was drawn and lit, dangling with uncharacteristic haphazardness from loose fingers.
She could not help but whittle the time away thinking of her friends, dear and gone. She had the opportunity to see them again, had the opportunity to at least gain some semblance of forgiveness from them—which would only do any good if she could ever forgive herself—but soon enough, she wondered if she might not be adding one more burden of guilt to her shoulders. If Harry did not return… if she were wrong… if her godson really died trying to destroy that last bit of Voldemort's fetid soul clinging to him…
If Harry didn't come back…
A sudden disturbance in the air, a prickle of magical force that rippled out from the depths of the forest, blew past her and made Hermione suddenly jerk up, alert. It faded quickly, and she could not discern what it was—but her suspicions began to run high as the sounds of vague yells brushing through the trees told her that very far up ahead, something had happened to cause a commotion. A magical disturbance. But what was going on there? What had Harry done?
But almost as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, scattered to the wind, leaving Hermione with nothing but a sense of growing unease. And then the ground shook with audible footsteps, and Hermione stumbled back, almost falling off the tree roots as it began advancing toward her. It was certainly not Harry—could not be—and it was marching toward her in a steady thrum of heavy footfalls. She quickly scrambled for cover, at once wanting to stay, yet unsure if she shouldn't run. Her self-preservation kicked in a moment later, and she quickly made use of her new Animagus form to scamper up the nearest tree.
Birds shrieked and flew from their night roosts as the noise grew louder, more raucous, and Hermione stayed tightly where she was, not daring to move a muscle.
She perched on the branches, hiding amongst the thickness of the leaves and the darkness, and settled into a crouch just in time for her golden eyes to locate the source of the sound as it passed below her. A great, shaggy head passed just inches underneath her, whom she recognized instantly as being Hagrid's—manacled and forced to walk. Around him were the cloaked, masked figures of the Death Eaters—all of whom were jeering and crowing in triumph, though their voices were intermingled with the heavy, shuddering sobs of the half-giant as…
As he carried Harry in his arms.
Hermione did not wait. She lifted to her feet and slinked along the branch onto the next tree, following the victorious procession silently, trying to look, trying to see, to make sense of it all.
Harry's glasses hung askew on his face, as though someone had shoved them on without care; his eyes were shut, and his mouth was open and lolling, a tiny bit of drool dripping down the side of his chin. This made Hermione pause. She had seen too many dead bodies in her lifetime to know that a person did not look like this in death—this was comical, almost too comical, and for a moment, her heart jumped in hope that perhaps Harry was faking. Harry was trying too hard to look dead—and Voldemort, whose scaly figure led the march, appeared too triumphant to notice.
She continued to slink among the tree branches, which were so thick and intertwined from years of untouched and undomesticated existence that it was little effort for Hermione to pad across them as she followed the procession. Movement from the forest floor around them made her look, and she saw hoofed legs and unclothed human torsos appear, bearing bows and swishing their tails, though they watched silently and noncommittally. The centaurs observed, like sprites of the forest, as Harry was borne away.
One centaur came prominently into view, but it was Hagrid who first named him.
"Bane!" he suddenly bellowed, in anger and anguish. The centaurs all silently turned their heads toward him. Heavily, but with rage still strong beneath his words, "Happy now, are yeh, that you didn' fight, yeh cowardly bunch o' nags?" Hermione waited for one of the centaurs to react to this, to knock an arrow, but none of them moved a muscle. "Are yeh happy Harry Potter's—d-dead…?"
He broke down in fresh tears at this, and could not continue.
Some of the Death Eaters, emboldened by Hagrid's insults, jeered at them as they left them behind. And then her ears picked up the sound of hoofbeats galloping away in unison, and they were gone. The branches began to thin out now, as they reached the outskirts of the forest, and Hermione was forced to stop and allow herself to fall behind. As soon as they were out of her line of sight, she bolted down the tree, and without bothering to resume her human form, began a kind of half-gallop in the direction of Hogwarts, circling around the Death Eaters as she went.
Hagrid had Harry. She was not certain if Harry was alive and faking death, or if he was well and truly gone. But she knew Voldemort would want to show off his prize. Leaping and sprinting across the uneven earth, Hermione reached the edge and then leapt out, landing on soft, muddy grass before tearing off in the direction of the school. And if she got there quickly enough, which was likely because Voldemort appeared to be in no rush, they could perhaps mount a rescue attempt to get Hagrid and Harry out of there.
As soon as she was within sight of the double doors, she smoothly resumed her human form and slipped inside. She skidded across the entrance hall, dipping and stepping over the wreckage strewn across it, and then threw open the doors to the Great Hall.
She must have looked a fright. She was panting hard, clearly out of breath; her hair was probably wild beyond belief, and she was caked in mud and dirt. Perhaps, even, she had shed her illusion of being nothing more than a school girl caught up in the midst of a war; her demeanor certainly did not lend itself to that impression. Whatever it was, everyone very quickly stopped what they were doing to look at her.
Before she could open her mouth to speak, the magnified voice of Voldemort broke through the startled silence.
"Harry Potter is dead."
The entire room let out a sharp inhale of breath, a gasp of shock, as this news washed over them, sucking the air from the room.
"He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that you hero is gone."
"No!" Hermione saw Neville sway to his feet, from where he had been kneeling to help Madam Pomfrey patch someone up. Ron stood next to him, his blue eyes looking at her in a pale expression of fright and desperate need for her reassurance.
"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family…"
"He's lying," Ron suddenly shouted, momentarily capturing the attention of the people around him. "Harry would never run away, and he isn't dead! He can't be!"
"…kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents, children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."
Eerie, terrified quiet fell upon them; everyone waited, as though not daring to breathe in case Voldemort was not finished—but it appeared that he was, and Hermione immediately stepped forward.
"I'm not sure whether Harry is dead or not," she said coolly, her calm composure somehow keeping the room from falling into complete chaos at the news, "but he was not trying to run away. He went to do something important, something that he'd been trying to do since the start of the battle that's absolutely necessary to defeat the Dark Lord, and he did it now because he didn't want to wait for more people to die first."
She looked around, at the wide, watchful eyes locked on her, desperate for the information she had for them.
"He was trying to protect you," she said quietly.
For a moment, no one spoke; and then Neville nodded.
"I knew that," he said, his face set with determination. "We all knew Harry, didn't we?" he asked, addressing the people around him. "I mean, not all of us knew him personally, but we do know who he is, as a person—he was brave enough to fight You-Know-Who over the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, he was brave enough to battle a Basilisk in second, and he went through the Tri-Wizard Tournament in fourth… he stood up for what he knew was right in fifth, and fought in the Department of Mysteries… and he was there, helping us fight, the night Dumbledore died," he finished, glancing around at them. "To top it off, didn't he just escape on a dragon to come here, to Hogwarts—to help us? To fight? If that doesn't tell you what kind of man he is, I don't know what does. But that's not the type of person who would just run off and abandon his friends."
All around him, people were slowly nodding; those who had known Harry had been nodding and agreeing vigorously throughout Neville's speech, but now those who had not were slowly coming to agreement. None of them believed Voldemort's assertion that Harry had been trying to sneak away to save his own skin. They were united in their faith and belief of Harry once more.
Ron was looking enormously relieved.
"Now," Hermione said, taking charge, "the Dark Lord will be knocking on our door soon—he's got Harry with him, and if Harry's still alive, we'll need to help him get away—if he is alive," she stressed, "he's pretending to be dead, so I'll need some volunteers to help me create a diversion."
At once, a hall full of hands rose up. But a tingling sensation of warning snaked up her spine, and a cold and lifeless hand coming to rest on her shoulder, made Hermione look up.
Violet eyes smiled down at her, two rows of perfectly white and sharpened teeth in full view for her to see. There were several startled cries and gasps from the crowd as they realized who—what—he was.
"How may I help you?"
Hermione looked up at the vampire's fanged visage, unafraid, and returned his gesture with a wry quirk of her own lips.
"Long time no see, Sanguini."
~o~O~o~
Hermione had not cared where the vampire had come from, nor why. All she was concerned about was the fact that he was here, that he was her ally, and most importantly, that he was already very dead.
She needed a diversion.
And Voldemort would most certainly attempt to exterminate it.
Fortunately in this case, while one could certainly imprison and torture a vampire, it took a great deal more effort to kill one than a carelessly thrown Avada Kedavra. Thus, the both of them left the Great Hall shortly and moved out into the courtyard where Voldemort was sure to arrive with his procession.
"You know," Hermione said, as they surveyed the wreckage around them, "I was expecting there to be more vampires on his side—but we haven't encountered any, yet."
Sanguini slowly shook his head, the pale and sickly skin stretching out over his bones as he did so, like it was more of a detached wrap than actual skin. "I managed to dissuade them."
"You?" Hermione's eyes widened in wonder at this. "How?"
Sanguini remained silent for a moment, and then he said, "Vampires have long been persecuted by the living. Wizards in particular fear the dead, hence their ingrained reaction to sightings of zombies or inferi. But we are neither mindless nor the tools of a dark wizard… and I reminded our coven leaders of this one pride we still retain."
Hermione nodded. "Pride is all we have left at this point," she murmured. "And hope."
"I also relayed the tale of how you helped me," Sanguini said, his tone almost bored. "I told them how your unexpected kindness allowed me to evade capture. Some of them even remembered you coming in while they were asleep, and they were duly impressed that you did not leave them in a smoking ruin."
"So the vampires are on our side?" Hermione asked, hope rising.
Sanguini shook his head. "No."
Hermione's expression fell sharply at this, but then she saw his lips quirk up in an approximation of a tooth-lipped smiled.
"But given that your assistance allowed the community to remain neutral in the last war, they granted me a favor," he rasped. "They rejected the Dark Lord's advances. And so I am here of my own accord."
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Dumbledore had been worried that the Vampire community would accept—and yet—and yet—
How had one tiny act so many years ago changed this crucial moment?
Sanguini's violet eyes flickered, and Hermione had the impression that he was laughing inwardly. "The undead prefer to lie in the luxury of a lazy eternity. It was not a difficult decision for them to make."
Hermione smiled at him. "For someone who's supposed to be dead, you're a lot more lively than expected."
Sanguini bared his teeth at her in a fanged smile, and then slowly pointed a finger at the entrance to the courtyard.
"They will enter here," he said hoarsely, suddenly very business-like. "They will put your half-giant friend in the front, bearing Harry Potter for all to see. I will distract them from behind the pillars of one of the surviving awnings— you will use that opportunity to set your friends free."
Hermione nodded. Carefully, she reached into her pocket, withdrawing the remains of the Felix Felicis. She saw Sanguini's eyes pass over it with interest, and then held it up to her lips, draining a little more than half of it before handing it out to him.
"It's liquid luck," she said. "We'll both need all the luck we can get."
She saw Sanguni's eyes widen, making him look even more tired and emaciated than before. "No," he said. "You would not—you should not give up something so valuable…"
Hermione pressed it into his hand, and his cold fingers wrapped around it, almost of their own accord. "We're in this together. Right now, this isn't you helping me because of some debt you owe—it's us working together as friends, if not allies. Please, take it."
Cautiously, Sanguini held it up to his nose, and inhaled deeply. His eyes closed slowly for a moment, and then snapped back open. "It smells of you… and of someone who smells like you, yet is not you."
Hermione blinked, but before she could formulate an answer, the vampire had lifted the phial to his mouth and tilted the remainder of the golden potion past his lips. A blue-tinged tongue flickered past his teeth to trace his lips, as though savoring the taste, and then he handed the phial to Hermione. His pupils were dilating rapidly, and an odd, dangerous light seemed to have enveloped his eyes.
"Such brilliance… the amazing things that wizards come up with…"
He gazed down at Hermione who, feeling the effects of her own liquid luck, offered him a smile.
Which Sanguini returned.
"Thank you," he said hoarsely.
~o~O~o~
Voldemort's forces assembled in the courtyard less than fifteen minutes later. As predicted, and to Hermione's relief, Hagrid was indeed staged upfront, holding Harry in his arms in compliance with Voldemort's wishes that all of Hogwarts should see his dead body. Hagrid was still sobbing quietly, though his sniffles were still loud enough to be heard by all.
Everyone else was assembled at the foot of the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall, their expressions stony, faces set. They were an exhausted, tear-stricken lot, but they were prepared for what they knew would come, and their hearts were still lit with hope that Harry was alive. Hermione stood among them, with Ron at her left and Neville at her right, all three of them prepared to rush in to save Harry and Hagrid.
But still, when they saw Harry's still form cradled in Hagrid's arms, a cry rose among them.
"No," she heard Ginny whimper, and Hermione's neck twitched a she stopped herself from turning around to look at the girl. "No—Harry! Harry…"
"No, Potter," she heard Minerva say softly, from behind her. Hermione knew it was taking all of the woman's self-control not to break out in shock at the sigh before them. But she had been warned, and Hermione had said that they all needed to keep a level head. With Albus gone, and Moody gone, even Kingsley obeyed her. "No…"
She saw Ron gulp audibly, his face pale; she saw Neville trembling beside her, though she suspected it was more with rage than fear—and then quite suddenly, he shouted, "No!"
He took a step forward.
"Harry!"
Voldemort raised his wand, and there was a loud bang as a chunk of debris exploded in front of them, causing them all to cringe. "Silence!"
There was a sudden scream from behind, and all of the Death Eaters—Voldemort included—whipped around in time to see Dolohov sink to the ground, gushing blood from his neck. They barely had time to register the bloodied lips of the vampire as he moved with unexpected swiftness, his body creaking audibly as he grabbed another masked Death Eater by the face, yellowed fingernails digging in his victim's skull, and yanked him toward his mouth. There was another terrible scream that was broken only by the sound of all hell breaking loose, as the Death Eaters rushed to subdue their attacker.
Hermione did not give a command. She gave no warning, no alert, that this was a set-up as she sprinted forward, wand raised. Neville and Ron charged after her, and she slashed her wand at Hagrid's bindings. The chains and ropes fell away with an audible clink, littering in pieces around his feet, and Hagrid did not waste a moment in pounding forward, his enormous feet making the ground quake slightly as he ran.
"No—forget the vampire, I say! Forget him—stop that oaf!"
The jets of light flying did not stop, however, and with Hagrid safely on their side, no one else was inclined to hold back. And enormous cheer broke free as they saw Harry leap out of Hagrid's arms and land on the ground on his feet, quite alive, and looking rather shocked by his reception. He was immediately pulled out of Hermione's and the Death Eaters' line of sight as Ginny pulled him into a hug, and several other people let out exclamations and declarations of relief that he was alive. Hexes and curses flew out from their side, striking the Death Eaters who had their backs turned as they tried to drive away the vampire feasting on them.
But Sanguini was already leaving. He ducked and dodged every spell that flew his way, wearing a bloody grin as he sprinted toward her, his corpse-like expression victorious. Her vision of him blurred for a moment, and then he was beside her, one hand on her shoulder in acknowledgement of their success.
There was sudden scream, another loud bang, and this time, before Hermione could get any words out, she realized that she had been silenced. They all whipped around to look. Those who had their wands out were looking dumbstruck that their incantations had been halted, and then quickly scrambled back as the giants accompanying Voldemort lumbered forward, clubs raised threateningly. There were chunked remains of fresh bodies smeared on them, and Hermione realized that they had tried to smash Sanguini, and missed spectacularly.
"So this is what I get, after the generous offers I made to the nosferatu of Britain…" Voldemort said, his words accompanied by a low, angry hiss. His wand was pointed at someone lying directly at his feet, although their form was partially obscured by dust. Hermione couldn't identify who it was. "And as for Harry Potter… I don't know how you survived, but I ensure you that after tonight, you will still be most thoroughly dead."
In response, Sanguini stuck out his bluish tongue at the despot. Hermione saw Voldemort's red eyes widen in rage, a vein throbbing visibly in his temple, and fought to absurd urge to laugh.
"No he won't!"
Hermione realized in horror that the person on the ground was Neville—and he was slowly sitting up.
"The only one here who's going to lose tonight is you!"
"And who is this?" Voldemort asked, his tone suddenly controlled, perhaps even conversational. It was clear to Hermione that he was trying to regain his façade of perfect calm and manipulation over the events of tonight, both to his Death Eaters and to the side he intended to crush. "Who has volunteered tonight to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is already lost?"
Bellatrix let out a cackle.
"Neville Longbottom, my lord! The son of the Aurors—the one who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble!"
Hermione clenched her fist, and struggled against the Silencing Spell holding her. "Let him go!" she bit out.
At once, shouting rose around her, as others broke past their enchantment—but another loud bang from Voldemort's wand lay a blanket of silence over them, though Hermione flicked her wand in the air to halt it from wrapping around her.
"Ah, Mrs. Snape," Voldemort said, his tone almost cordial. "It's such a pleasant surprise to see you again, still running after the brats of your Order friends—as always. Now Neville," he said, turning his attention back to the prisoner lying at his feet, "won't you join me? You show spirit and bravery, and are as pureblooded as they come. You will be a valuable Death Eater."
Hermione saw Neville's fists clench. "I'll join you when hell freezes over!" he declared.
Hermione pointed her wand at the Dark Lord, even as she felt Harry bump his way through to stand beside her.
"Neville here is going to show you what happens when you throw away your noble stock and good qualities for a foolish cause," Voldemort said, his voice a sibilant hiss.
At once, Neville grew rigid at his feet, as though struck by a spell, and the Dark Lord reached down and yanked him up. The Dark Lord waved his wand, and there was a shattering sound as a misshapen, bird-like shape flew through the air toward him. As it zoomed closer, Hermione realized at once what it was, her eyes widening in recognition. The Dark Lord snatched it out of the air, shaking the ragged old Sorting Hat in his hand, and then held it over Neville's unprotected head.
"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts!" Voldemort declared. "The noble House of Slytherin should suffice for everyone—don't you think so, Neville?"
Neville's face contorted, and for a moment, he looked as though he were about to be sick—and then he spat at Voldemort's feet. "Go to hell!"
Voldemort's enraged expression was the last thing Hermione saw before he yanked the hat down on Neville's head.
"On your own head be it!"
The Death Eaters' wands were holding everyone at bay, but guided by the golden potion running through her veins, Hermione broke ranks. Jets of light flew at her, but she ducked, twisted, and dodged, slashing her wand in their direction. Bolstered by her sudden spurt of bravery, the crowd broke loose, and the hexes and curses aimed for her were now being matched by those determined to stop them.
Harry appeared at her side a moment later, panting, but wearing the most determined expression Hermione had ever seen. There was a pounding of hoofbeats, and the sound of Grawp as he made his appearance from the darkness with a cry of "HAGGER!", and arrows flew out of nowhere, arcing over the walls and raining like a downpour upon the Death Eaters. Harry reached Neville first, but as he yanked the hat off of his friend's head, something glittery and red slid out from the brim, thumping to the ground. Freed from Voldemort's spell, Neville reached down and swiped it from the ground.
"Glad you're alright!" Neville said, beaming at Harry as he hefting the Sword of Gryffindor in his hands. "Hermione was right—look out!"
They both ducked as a giant club swung low over their heads, and then they were fighting their way through, wands and sword blazing. It was chaos again, where no one knew if the person at their back was foe or friend. Neville disappeared among the crowd, and Harry pulled Hermione behind one of the surviving pillars.
"The snake—we've still got to get the snake—"
There was a sudden, unanimous cry from all sides, and they both snapped their head around to look. A snowy white owl had appeared out of nowhere, gliding toward Nagini. The snake was reared up, ready to strike Neville, when Hedwig raked her talons along the snake's back, causing it to whip around to retaliate, jaws snapping impotently as the owl veered away. Whatever happened next was over so fast that they did not have the time to see it, but a moment and a sword swing later, the sight of Nagini's head arcing through the air was unmistakable as it tumbled back to the ground. Harry opened his mouth for a moment, in an exclamation of 'oh', and then shut it. He looked back at Hermione.
"This is it, then," he said grimly.
Hermione saw the snowy owl swoop upward and away, disappearing around a castle turret, victorious and unharmed. She smiled at this, and then nodded. "Go do what you have to do," she said. "Leave everything else to the rest of us—we're all here with you!"
Harry nodded, and with a salute in her direction, turned and ran back into the fray. Hermione followed, and a moment later, the man she had been about to duel was thrown to the ground by what appeared to be a bloodied corpse—and then her vision cleared as she recognized her vampire friend. Then she and Sanguini were fighting side by side, pushing past the Death Eaters to get to the double doors, where the battle was slowly surging inward. They were nearly knocked over as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy burst past them, but Hermione reached out at the last minute and yanked on the back of Narcissa's robe.
"Narcissa—wait—"
"My son—my son—Draco!" Narcissa yanked away from her, but Hermione held on.
"Draco isn't here!"
Narcissa whipped around to look at her. "What? Where—"
A sudden scream as Sanguini took down the Death Eater who had noticed Hermione's distraction and been about to hex her tore through the air, but both women ignored it. "Draco is with my son. He's safe. If you want to stay and fight, do so. But if you're not willing to, then you should leave—he's safe."
Narcissa gaped at her for a moment, and then wheeled around to face her husband. Lucius's pale, bruised face was a pitiful sight to see, but so was the look of dejection on his face as his wife turned toward him, as he clearly expected to be told bad news.
"Come—Lucius, Lucius, we're leaving."
"Draco—"
"Severus's—if Hermione is to be believed, Draco is safe. We're going!"
Lucius's pale grey eyes flickered between the both of them, and then grasping the situation, he started towards his wife. Without a second glance in her direction, both Malfoys left the direction they had come, tearing off toward the school gates, where they would Apparate away. Hermione saw a wisp of something misty and white burst forth from Narcissa's wand and then slip off into the darkness like a glowing lantern, and then turned to face the throng.
Everywhere, it was chaos. Tonks and Remus were fighting side-by-side on one end in a duel against three. Ginny and Aberforth Dumbledore were teaming up, Ron was with Dean and Seamus as they interjected themselves into other peoples' duels and came crashing down on their opponents in support, ending them all that much quicker. Hermione found herself standing with Sanguini, both of them working seamlessly together with Felix Felicis running through their veins to guide their teamwork.
Centaurs were bursting in through the Entrance Hall, charging with bows and arrows raised. Goblins hacked at the enemy, hexes and curses flew every which way, and in the midst of all of it, the door to the kitchens burst open within the bowels of the castle, and a great swarm of house-elves exited like an angry anthill disturbed, with two very prominent figures in the lead. Kreacher and Dobby, for all they had never gotten along, were each wearing a pot on their head and carrying a kitchen knife in both hands, and were screaming an odd sort of war cry.
The Death Eaters were outnumbered, almost ludicrously so; the horde that surrounded them was such an amazing mix of humans, elves, centaurs, goblins, and other unexpected allies alike—all composed of those whom they had alienated and attempted to suppress with their despotic regime. For all that every race represented here had been oppressed at some point, there was no debate about who was superior to who as they all fought alongside each other.
Hermione saw Bellatrix suddenly turn her wand on Ginny, who was frantically trying to keep on the defensive, and rushed to assist her—though not before Molly got there.
"Not my daughter, you bitch!"
Hermione grabbed Ginny's arm, yanking her out of the way just in time as a jet of green light soared over them both. They stumbled away from the fight between Molly and Bellatrix, and rejoined Sanguini as he ducked and twisted and side-stepped, waiting for the opening he needed to finish off the two death eaters holding him at bay. All around them, it was a clash of several different battles all at once, and it was difficult to make out anything at all with the confusion of lights and dust clouding the air.
Hermione broke away from Sanguini and Ginny, who were now teaming up to throw their opponents off-balance long enough for Sanguini to reach them. She ran to join Minerva and Kingley's fight as they put their dueling skills to the test with the despot himself. All three of them twisted, dodged, ducked, slashed, blocked, defended, and gave everything they had, working seamlessly as a team, though they couldn't quite seem to finish him.
Voldemort's eyes bugged when Hermione threw herself into their battle.
"It's useless!" he screamed, as Hermione's Stunner crashed against his Shielding Charm. In such close quarters, she could still not afford to use lethal spells. "All you have fought for is for naught!"
"Give it up!" Hermione called, ducking his jet of green light. "You're going to lose!"
Kingsley's shower of sharp obsidian arrowheads and Minerva's knife-shaped birds smacked into the Shield Charm around the Dark Lord, as he continued, "I have seen into your heart, Mrs. Snape! I know the only reason you have ever involved yourself in this war was to protect your husband and child—neither of which you have left!"
Their spells clashed again, three on one, as the Dark Lord added, as though he thought Hermione had not quite comprehended his words, "Your husband is dead, mudblood! And your son will soon be, as well!"
"Fool you!" Hermione shouted, neatly ducking his next spell, and returning with another simple Stunner. "If you wanted to kill my husband, you should have checked before you left—" she dodged again "—should have waited—" Another duck and dodge "—should have pressed your own cold fingers to his neck and checked for a pulse—" another twist and side-step, followed by retaliation "—because he's alive!"
"Liar!"
"This is what happens, Voldiedork," Hermione said, with uncharacteristic gleefulness. The situation she was in was dire and serious, but she still had some of the golden potion in her, sustaining her luck—at least, she hoped there had been enough to hold out for this long— and now was her opportunity to give the Dark Lord the very same sort of cheek she had once shown Lucius Malfoy. "You've gotten sloppy in your dotage! You used to be so thorough, too—but first Severus survived because you didn't make sure he was dead before you left, and then Harry got away too! Things don't seem to be working out for you, do they?"
There was a sudden, enormous explosion behind her, and Hermione whipped around in time to dodge the enormous club of the giant who had just taken out part of the wall near them. Minerva and Kingsley were both pressing forward against Voldemort, holding his spells at bay while she was distracted, and Hermione turned her wand on the giant behind her. She felled him with a swarm of human-sized knives transfigured out of the rubble around them, but before she could turn around, something heavy and hard knocked into her from behind. The blow threw her forward, and she skidded on the ground, twisting around to look up in time to see Rowle standing above her.
His wand was gone, his face bloodied, but his hands were clenched into fists. Hermione scrambled for her wand, only to realize she had dropped it from the force of his hit—and she surged up, pointing her fingers at him.
"Incendio!"
Fire burst to life around her hand, engulfing it without burning her, and she swung toward him. Her first connected, and the death eater let out a shout of surprise, something that fell between a grunt of pain and a scream of shock at the burn. But the fire sputtered out a moment later as his big, meaty hands came to wrap around her neck, cutting off her air. Hermione struggled, kicking hard, as Rowle's grip slowly increased, crushing her windpipe and strangling her.
Her vision blurred with suffocating pain and dizziness, and the last thing she saw was Sanguini coming up from behind the enormous Death Eater, one hand raised like a talon to strike, blood-filled jaws opened wide. Coming to her rescue. And then her world shook, and she felt herself falling. Her head hit the ground with a hard thud, and the screams from the man above her was all she could register. She heard Harry and Ron's voices as they neared, heard Harry's cry of alarm as he knelt over her, his warm fingers closing around her wrist as he checked to see if she was still alive. Cold ones lifted up her head, pulling one unresponsive eyelid back to peer down at her, and Hermione vaguely made out Sanguini's swaying face before he released her, allowing her eye to join the other in darkness.
And then nothingness took over, and the sounds of battle faded away.
The last thing Hermione remembered thinking was I think my luck ran out.
~o~O~o~
Hermione found herself sitting down by the lake. It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the lake sparkled like a mixture of green and blue jewels. The castle lay off in the distance, standing proud and tall, and Hermione found herself idly wondering why she hadn't thought to bring her books with her.
"I thought you'd be here," Sirius suddenly said, coming from behind her and slumping down to the ground next to her. His hair was long and wild as Hermione remembered, but it had been neatly parted. He was fresher than Hermione recalled, too—his face had lost that haunted look of Azkaban, and he appeared carefree and young. This image was perhaps helped by the fact that he was wearing school robes, and he was fiddling with the tie, wincing at the fact that it was too tight before flashing her a grin. "What are you doing?"
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, and then shut it. She merely shrugged. "I don't know."
"I suppose that's as good an answer as any," Sirius said, folding his arms behind his head and leaning against a tree. "Sometimes, it's nice to just sit back and do nothing."
"I didn't say I was doing nothing," Hermione said, smiling. "I just said I didn't know what I was doing."
"Same difference," Sirius said, reaching into his pocket to unwrap a chocolate frog.
At that moment, there was the sound of footsteps, of wet leaves crunching beneath a pair of feet, and Hermione looked around in time to see James striding forward. For a moment, Hermione thought it was Harry—but then the hazel eyes and lack of a scar made her see otherwise. He sat on the ground next to her, sitting cross-legged and leaning back before pulling a little golden ball with delicate-looking wings out of his pocket.
"Sorry I'm late," he said cheerfully, holding it up for Hermione to see. "Nicked this first."
He released the snitch, and it at once fluttered out of his hand, darting up and out. Hermione waited for James to make a grab for it, but he instead just sat back to watch it flittering about their heads. The sound of a wrapper being pocketed allowed Hermione to turn around in time for Sirius to bite into the head of his chocolate frog.
"Where's Remus?" Hermione asked.
James shrugged. "He's busy. Said he still had stuff to do."
"Anyway," Sirius said, "we thought we'd just drop by, since you've got too much time on your hands."
"I do not," Hermione protested.
"You haven't got a book," Sirius pointed out. "Hands are empty, and it's not like you're sitting here trying to telepathically summon the Giant Squid. Hence, too much time on your hands."
"It's not meant to be a literal expression, Sirius," Hermione said, suppressing a giggle.
"But he's still right," James pointed out. "Now that it's all over, you can relax. So we thought we'd join you."
"I… over?" Hermione blinked, not quite understanding, yet feeling that there was something she was supposed to get here. "What's over?"
"Well," Sirius said, turning his chocolate frog card over in his hands. "We figure that now that Voldiedork—can I call him that? It's very fitting, I think—is dead, and you're sitting back and recuperating… you can relax. I mean, you've pretty much been working nonstop for years, haven't you? I'm surprised you haven't driven yourself nuts, or driven yourself into the ground—or done both and sprouted a tree."
Hermione suddenly remembered. "I suppose," she echoed. "I mean, I have been… working…"
There was a sudden hum, and they both looked up for the source of it. James spotted it first, pointing at the hornet nest nestled on one of the upper branches of the tree they were resting under. They gazed at it for a moment, and then Hermione turned to look back at Sirius.
"So what are you going to do now?" she asked. "That it's all over, I mean."
"Well," Sirius said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I thought I might just sit back and relax, too. I mean, there's nothing left for us to do, so we can just enjoy whatever happens to us now."
Hermione turned to look at James, who nodded emphatically at this.
"We'll be leaving Hogwarts in the boats like the other seventh years, won't we? Lily said she'll share mine."
Hermione smiled. "I've never gotten to leave Hogwarts by boat. I didn't get to take part in that tradition when I graduated."
The hum of the hornet's nest was growing steadily louder, like a white noise of many voices clamoring to be heard, and their importance merely reduced to a buzz. Sirius clapped a hand over her shoulder.
"You haven't graduated from life just yet," he said with a playful grin. "Come to think of it, Snape hasn't, either. You'll end up having to share a boat with him!"
"Like she would mind," James chuckled. The golden snitch fluttered near his ear, and then darted over to her before flittering up again. "Count yourself lucky—you got held back! You'll have more time to try and read every book in the library!"
Hermione elbowed him. "My life doesn't revolve around books, you know!"
The hornet's nest was getting annoying loud now, like a chainsaw that someone had forgotten to turn off. Sirius grasped her hand and pressed the chocolate frog card into it, closing her fingers around it.
"We'll see," he said. "Anyway, we've got to go. The boats are leaving soon, and we've put them off for too long."
As one, he and James stood up, stretching. Without bothering to retrieve the snitch still fluttering steadily higher toward the sunlight, hovering closer and closer to the hornets buzzing above them, they strode off in the direction of the castle.
Hermione peered down at the chocolate frog card in her hand, and turned it over. Dumbledore's wizened old smile looked up at her from its window, and to her surprise, he waved.
A voice suddenly broke through the loud hum of the hornets, although it seemed to come from the nest, and with a jolt, Hermione woke in time to adjust to the fact that she was not at the lake or Hogwarts, but instead in a soft, warm bed—and make out what those around her were saying, their words coming out from the darkness.
"—evidence? Evidence? There is no evidence, Williamson!" It sounded like Arthur Weasley. "This summons is absurd—"
"She's married to a wanted man, Arthur, and she's been an active participant in the war!"
"Yes, but that's not evidence—a trial is—"
"It's not a trial, Arthur!" the man called Williamson said. "But her husband is a Death Eater—or at the very least, his status as one remains to be clarified. There's going to be a hearing—an investigation—to determine whether charges will be pressed or not."
"It's still absurd! Severus Snape was on our side—Harry himself—"
"We can't allow justice to be determined by letting everyone who has a good word put out for them slide by, Arthur. You know this—"
Another voice suddenly broke through as a door was forced open, and several footsteps pounded inside.
"She's our friend, you moron!" Ron's voice shouted.
"And anything that she did, she was doing it under orders!" Harry sounded angry. "Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore is dead," the Auror said, as though any of them needed reminding. There was the sound of paper rustling. "Please inform Hermione Snape that as soon as she is awake, a date and time for her hearing will be scheduled. The Ministry is willing to take pains to schedule with convenience to her health. Please remember that this is not an arrest or a trial, but an inquiry—we are merely asking her to go on record explaining herself."
"Hermione was her husband's handler," Arthur said quietly. "Severus and Hermione only ever did anything on Albus Dumbledore's orders. I don't doubt that's the only explanation you're going to get."
There was a tense silence, and then Hermione heard Williamson's footsteps face away.
"If you have any complaints, Arthur, talk to Kingsley."
"Kingsley isn't king, Williamson. He can't arbitrarily declare people innocent or guilty—he's bound by the law just as much as anyone else, and if you haven't noticed, he's attempting to fight corruption, not perpetuate it. He's negotiating on a plan of action with the Wizengamot…"
"And in order for the Wizengamot to make an informed decision, they need to understand everything that has happened regarding You-Know-Who. By all accounts, Madam Snape was the Order's right-hand. Good day, Arthur."
Silence followed, and then Hermione heard Harry utter, "Git. After everything's Hermione's done…"
"I'll go tell Snape," Ron muttered. "Selenius wants to see his mum, though—should we bring him?"
"I don't know if that's a good idea," Arthur said, sounding weary. "Selenius doesn't need to see Hermione like this—she needs quiet and rest. In any case, I doubt Severus wants Selenius to leave his sight."
"Right."
Ron's footsteps faded away as he left, and then Hermione heard Arthur heave a sigh. "I'll go downstairs to help Molly before heading to the Ministry to help the Goblins' appeal—they're going through with their decision to renegotiate Wizard-Goblin relations, and they need all the support they can get. It's bad timing for us, with so much else to do, but it needs to be done… they'll be helping us with restoration, after all…"
"Hermione's amazing," Harry said softly. "I know Ron and I never fell in line with her when she was going on about elf-rights and how wizards treat non-wizards, but she was able to connect with the goblins and get them to help us—and that vampire who agreed to be a diversion so that Hagrid and I could get away… and the centaurs…"
He trailed off.
"I firmly believe that Hermione has always seen something in others who are often overlooked," Arthur said. "Even if some of the things she does seem a bit unorthodox or naïve to us."
There was a long pause, and then Harry said in an odd sort of tone, "Maybe that's why she married Snape."
"I have no doubt that Hermione married Severus because she loves him, Harry—"
"I wasn't saying—I wasn't implying otherwise," Harry said quickly. "It's just that she's probably the only one who would have ever seen anything in him in the first—you know, that none of us ever saw, not until he gave me those memories. He hid that part of himself so well."
Hermione slowly forced her eyes open, adjusting them to the dim light of the room in time to see Arthur smile at Harry before turning to leave. Harry stood there for a moment, and then turned to look at her. It took him another moment longer, after he sat down at the foot of her bed, for him to realize she was awake.
"Hey," Hermione said hoarsely. She smiled weakly at him.
Harry stared at her for a moment, stuttering, and then pulled himself together. "You're awake! Were you—did you—"
"I think I heard most of what you were saying," Hermione said quietly, slowly sitting up. To her relief, she appeared to be suffering nothing more than soreness, which was a step-up from the number of times she had awoken barely able to walk. She fumbled at her neck for a moment, and felt relief when she realized that her locket was still there. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A little over a day," Harry said, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. "As soon as I defeated Voldemort, everything started happening so fast… but we brought you back to the Burrow as soon as we were able to leave. There was so much going on, and the Aurors started coming in to help us clean up—mostly 'cause they weren't under the Imperius anymore, or were able to act without being arrested, or because Kingsley sent them a message telling them that if they didn't get moving he was going to fire them all…"
"Sounds like he'll make a great Minister of Magic," Hermione said dryly.
"It's only temporary, though," Harry said, putting his glasses back on and giving her a wry smile. "I'm surprised you haven't already asked, but don't you want to know how it all went down?"
"That can wait for later," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Right now… for the first time in years, I don't have to—I can just sit back and relax without worrying about Vol… about Voldemort."
Harry nodded. "Get some sleep," he advised. "I'll bring up some food in a little while, if you like." He paused, as though about to get up, and then said, "And about—about what happened in the Forbidden Forest…"
"I waited for you," Hermione said, without preamble.
"I know," Harry said. He hesitated, and then said, "There's something else I've been wanting to tell you. For the longest time, I didn't know who you were—which you obviously know, but it's just that ever since I found out you existed, I've always wondered who you were. I sometimes imagined the circumstances under which you were hidden from me, or pestered Sirius for information he couldn't give. Sometimes," he admitted, "I resented you for not being there. Especially after Sirius died. And now, I realize all along that you were right in front of me."
He gazed steadily at her.
"And now I know that no matter what, you were always there for me," he said. "Thank you."
Hermione smiled, and held out a hand to him. He took it, and she pulled him close to her, before wrapping her arms around him.
"I'm so glad," she whispered. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, unbidden, but for the first time in years, she did not bother trying to hold them back. "And Harry… I'm so proud of you."
~o~O~o~
As soon as she located her wand—which had been helpfully placed on the nightstand—and was able to walk, she was downstairs with everyone else. Everyone was there, and yet, they were not—people kept dropping by every few minutes, only to leave again because they had something urgent to attend to. As before, there were celebrations going on around the country, and everyone was spreading whatever news they had. The story of how Harry had defeated Voldemort was the most oft-repeated tale, but it was not what Hermione was most interested in hearing first.
As soon as Molly had served her a bowl of tantalizingly warm soup, Hermione asked about Severus and Selenius, only to hear from Ron that they were both still at Tine Cottage. She was still tired and weary, and the burden of nearly twenty years still weighed heavily on her, but as soon as she had filled her belly, she insisted on being allowed to leave.
Ron and Harry were mystified by this behavior, and Hermione took a moment to explain it to them as she hunted around for a traveling cloak.
"Everything else can wait," she said. "I've spent the past several years separated from my family on and off—don't you think they're the first people I want to see?"
"Why don't you bring them here?" Harry suggested. "That way, we can all be together."
"I appreciate the offer, and maybe later, I will," Hermione agreed. "But right now, I don't think any of us are ready for that. It's just—" she took a moment to search for the right words. "It's just been too long, Harry. So much has happened to us, and there's so much else we need to do before we can live our lives again. And I think—Harry, I know you think you know Severus, after what you saw in those memories, but he's still a more complex man than what you saw in the Pensieve. And…" she paused. "Harry, even after all we've been through together, after so many years of having to hide who I really am, I don't think we know each other as well as we'd like to think, either… and I think that's going to take time to repair."
To her surprise, Harry only took a minute to absorb this before he nodded. "Right. Just… just know that when you're ready, we'll still be here."
Grateful for Harry's understanding, Hermione prepared to leave. She knew that part of Harry's acceptance of her feelings was the fact that he was probably experiencing the same thing on a larger scale. She was very aware that out there, there were hundreds, probably thousands, of people who wanted him to step forward and talk. Talk about how he had done it, acknowledge the lives lost and sacrifices made, suggest plans for the future. Talk about hope. This was most likely the reason he was staying at the Burrow right now—there were only a few people he wanted the company of while he recuperated from what has surely been as much of an ordeal for him as it had for anyone else, and Hermione had no doubt that he understood the feeling of not wanting to deal with the masses right now.
People wanted him to step forward and put a close to this long night, this terrifying chapter of their lives. To share their grief and celebration, to be their leader and savior all in one, and to direct them in the restoration of their lives. Yet, how could they expect him to be ready to do that when he himself was still recovering from it all?
She Apparated to Tine Cottage from the Burrow, and landed beside the mailbox that had once been Sirius's boundary marker. The beach was still visible, off in the distance, and the waves rolled along the shore as they always did. On the ramp of land leading down to the beach, a collection of wildflowers had begun to bloom, dotting the hills in brilliant, gentle shades of blue and violet. The sky was a bit overcast with the promise of rain, and yet, Hermione thought that Tine Cottage had never looked more beautiful.
She slowly knelt down on the ground, and dug her fingers into the soft and dewy earth. It was then that she realized she was still in the clothes that she had fought in two days ago, though they had been Scourgified of blood and dirt, their tears and scrapes magically mended. Yet, she did not care, as she leaned forward to breathe in the scent of one of the wild roses growing up along the mailbox.
The door opened, while she knelt on the ground immersing herself the beauty and peacefulness of their sanctuary. There was a sudden cry of "Mum!" and Hermione looked up in time to see Selenius running toward her, arms outstretched. She stood up, brushing off her hands in time for him to throw his arms around her. She hugged him tightly, and then they pulled away to look at each other, as though to check that they were both really, truly there.
"You're alive!"
"Of course I am," Hermione said, kissing his forehead. "Why would you think I wasn't?"
"No one would let me see you," Selenius said. "They said you'd been hurt, but wouldn't tell me how badly."
"I'm fine," Hermione assured him warmly. "Just a little tired and sore, but I'll be right as rain soon."
Selenius hugged her again, gently this time, and then turned to look at the doorway. Hermione followed his gaze, and then a brilliant smile slowly lit across her face as she saw who was there. He looked about as tired as she felt, and without his voluminous robes, the bandage around his neck was clearly visible over the top of his white button-up shirt, leaving him looking more vulnerable, more open somehow—but there was no doubt that not only was it him, but he was alive and as healthy-looking as anyone could be after having their throat mauled by a giant snake.
Hermione slowly walked toward him, almost-dreamlike, with Selenius's hand grasped in one of hers, as though he thought that doing so would keep her upright. Perhaps it would. But as soon as she reached him, her free hand came out to grasp his shoulder, and she felt immense relief as both of his arms came out to wrap around her, pulling her firmly against his side. It had been so long since all three of them were together like this, without the weight of the world bearing down on them, and for the first time, Hermione felt an inkling sense that perhaps finally—finally—it was all over.
Severus's hand moved from her waist to her cheek, brushing it gently with the pads of his fingers, before leaning in to kiss her. Selenius released her hand, and Hermione cupped Severus's cheek as she closed her eyes, leaning into him. A moment later, she pressed her head against his chest, and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"I can't believe it's finally over," she whispered. She opened her eyes, and reached one hand for her locket, pulling it out for the both of them to see, stroking the soft sheepskin backing. "We can finally… we can finally put this back."
They stayed there for a long moment, the three of them.
And at last, they went inside.
~o~O~o~
The sheepskin rug was placed neatly in front of the mantle in the living room, though it was such a small and cozy living room that the couch and armchairs had been pushed back to make room for it. Hermione did not know when Severus had cleared out their quarters at Hogwarts and brought their possessions here, but she was pleased that it had all been taken care of already. It was one less thing for her to arrange, one less reason for her to return to Hogwarts and see the wreckage of what had been her home for quite a number of years.
They did not talk about Spinner's End, as Hermione sat on the floor with the corner of the rug in one hand, the scrap of worn sheepskin in the other, and a spool of white thread and a needle at her feet. They did not discuss Hogwarts, as she leaned back in her husband's arms and shifted into a more comfortable position on his lap, and took her time in hand-stitching the piece back in place. Her years of knitting hats for house-elves had paid off somewhat, although the skin was thicker than expected, and it took some fumbling for her to get the thread through. But she worked in steady, comfortable, peaceful silence.
Selenius sat at the other corner of the rug, his back to the mantel, and immersed in a book. There were three cups of tea on the arm of one of the armchairs, perched precariously, and which none of them were particularly concerned about. The fireplace crackled merrily as she sewed, and as the rug came closer and closer to repair, a sense of inner peace stole across Hermione. The piece of sheepskin she was sewing back into place looked different from the rest, a bit more worn in a different sort of way, and it would never look quite the same as the rest—particularly since, if you pulled the wool to the side, or brushed your fingers along the skin, you would detect the cluster of stitches holding it together.
Hermione felt this was all very well. They would never be the same again. No matter what they had to look forward to, their lives would be forever changed, forever set in stone by what had happened and what they had done. At last, she finished, and set aside her needle and thread to examine her work, before turning to look at Severus.
A faint quirk of his lips told her that he approved greatly of her handiwork and the symbolism it represented. And at last, breaking their silence, Hermione extricated herself from his arms and stood. She offered him her hand, and he grasped it and got to his feet.
"Let's go for a walk," she said.
~o~O~o~
The beach was beautiful in the afternoon, when the sun broke through the clouds to warm the chilly sand beneath their feet. None of them wore shoes, and Selenius hurried along the shore ahead of them, his trousers hiked up to his knees yet still wet with ocean spray as he stopped every few yards to check the sand, as though expecting to find treasure. Occasionally, he picked up an odd-looking shell, only to drop it back and continue his search.
Hermione half-expected to see a shaggy black dog racing after him, barking happily and sending sand flying beneath his feet. This was the sort of thing Sirius would have been at Selenius's side for—instead, Crookshanks was padding along steadily after Selenius, bottlebrush tail held high, not slowing or increasing his pace as he trotted after the boy, leaving little pawprints in the sand.
Hermione and Severus walked slowly along the shoreline, hands joined tightly as they savored this moment—the first opportunity that they had to simply be together again, without the knowledge that they would be parted again soon after. But they knew that they could not put off discussion of the world forever, and at last, they cracked open the topic with the reluctance of someone peeling back a fresh bandage on an open wound.
Neither of them had much energy to speak of; Nagini's venom had not been completely mitigated by Hermione's quick medical attention, and it would take a few days for the damage it had caused to be reversed. Hermione was still exhausted from the battle itself, as well as the fiasco of escaping from Gringotts that had preceded it shortly. But still, they approached the topic that they knew would have to be broached eventually.
"There will be trials," Hermione said slowly, as they watched Selenius pick up a flat stone and chuck it off into the waves, to see if it would skip. "For both of us, probably. The good thing is that Harry and the rest of the Order are all on our side—the Ministry can't ignore that kind of support, especially since Kingsley's been temporarily voted Minister of Magic."
"But there is still the possibility that the law will not work out in our favor," Severus said, his voice quiet. He had hardly spoken a word, and his deep, silky voice was still raspy and hoarse. Scratchy. Not quite the familiar smooth baritone Hermione knew.
A look of determination flashed across Hermione's face, deepening the shadows under her eyes. "If the worst comes to worst, we'll leave Britain," she said without a moment's hesitation. "If all we have left is persecution and stigma, we'll take everything we have and go. But I'm not expecting that scenario."
His hand tightened around hers, his thumb gently caressing her fingers. "As long as we both understand and agree upon our plan of action if things go badly for us."
Hermione lifted their joined hands up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his. "We do. But I have a feeling that there will be a lot of angry people if the Ministry doesn't see things our way, and we both know how politics can sway a trial in one direction or the other. Right now, Harry's the one everyone's going to listen to, and Harry's on our side."
"Ever the optimist," Severus murmured. "You were always so sure we would both survive, while I could hardly contemplate the idea… and yet, you managed to make it happen—almost by sheer determination, it seems."
"And planning," Hermione said with a faint smile. "With lots of luck and hope thrown into the handbasket to hell."
Severus's voice cracked as he coupled together his response. "And now—you're staying here? You're not—going back to the Burrow?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't think we're going back to Spinner's End, either, unless it's to retrieve our things."
"I agree," Severus said quietly, kissing her cheek lightly. "It has its own share of good memories with you and Selenius there, but…" he trailed off, unable to finish.
But Hermione understood. He had grown up there with his parents, which was not a nice collection of memories, and Wormtail had spent several months living with him there as well. The neighborhood was not a pleasant one. There were too many reasons why they wanted to stay at Tine Cottage. Why it was now practically their home in all but full, verbal acknowledgement.
"How's Draco doing?" Hermione asked suddenly.
"He's returned to Malfoy Manor," Severus said quietly. "His parents are currently making negotiations with the Ministry."
Hermione tasted something bitter in the back of her throat. "Lucius will just buy their way out again, I suppose?"
"No, I don't suppose so," Severus said indifferently. "Shacklebolt would never allow it. But they're negotiating upon what charges are being pressed against them and the evidence behind each one, trying to use the fact that Narcissa helped Potter in the Forbidden Forest as proof that they were serving against their will. Which was true near the end, I suppose…"
"But they're trying to use that one act to mitigate everything else they've done."
"I honestly wouldn't have expected anything less from Lucius."
Hermione nodded, and then paused before plowing on. "But you still haven't said how Draco is doing."
Severus sighed and looked away, gazing off in the direction Selenius had gone. "He's about as fine as you can expect. His parents have survived, he has his own trial to contend with, and his future is uncertain." He hesitated, and then with an air of near-reluctance, admitted, "He has asked to see Selenius again. However, he is not allowed to leave Malfoy Manor—Shacklebolt has had too much experience with Malfoys to let him do that—and I am not about to let Lucius near Selenius. Not right now."
"Good," Hermione said, her voice tight. "Selenius with Draco is one thing—but if you even thought I would entertain the idea of letting Lucius Malfoy near my son…"
"I hadn't." Severus gave her a dour look. "Do you think he's the sort of man I'd want my son to be around?"
"No," Hermione whispered. "I don't."
Severus nodded curtly at this, and then placed a hand over his bandaged neck with a grimace. Hermione glanced at the white cloth, and then at his face.
"Does it still hurt terribly?"
"No," he admitted. "Itches like mad."
They both looked down at the sand as Crookshanks padded up to them and rubbed against their ankles, his entire body vibrating with a loud, rumbling purr; and then they looked to see Selenius jogging after them. They waited until their son had caught up, sand spraying everywhere as he skidded to a halt, and then the four of them began making their way back.
Later, after the first family dinner that Hermione could remember having for the longest time, they sent Selenius up to bed and followed shortly after. For a moment, as they began undressing, they began to feel that things were finally normal again—until Hermione slowed as she pulled off her shirt. She walked to stand in front of the mirror, and it was the first time in nearly a year that she finally got a good look at herself.
A year on the run had not been kind to her. Her ribs were visible, and she crossed her arms across her chest to run her fingers down her sides, feeling every one of the dips and bumps. There were a few tiny scars here and there, mostly from trivial things, such as being scraped by brambles and branches while out camping. But there were still more visible marks, too—Bellatrix's handiwork was spelled out incomprehensibly in reverse on the reflected surface, and the place that she had been stabbed in her side was still ridged and ropey pink. The scar on her leg was of a different kind, flat and discolored.
But what frightened her most of all was that she could barely recognize herself. Her face was sharper, not in the manner of those who had suffered Azkaban, but tired and worn. She looked like someone Molly Weasley would not have allowed to leave her house without being fattened up with good food first. And her hair was a mess, dirty and wild, and only temporarily held back by being bound in a messily-tied braid.
She found herself contemplating what to do about it when her husband came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him and resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Are you coming to bed?" His voice was hoarse, but his words surprisingly soft.
Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in deeply before opening them to gaze into the mirror again. And then she tore her eyes away to look at him directly, giving him a warm smile before taking his hands in hers, and following him to the bed. They got in under the covers, and it took several tries for them to find something comfortable for them both—they no longer precisely remembered how they had so easily done this before—until Hermione rested her head on his shoulder and buried her face in his chest, and he was able to rest his head on the pillow without her tangle of hair tickling him awake.
They had been apart for so long that Hermione felt something within her despair at the fact that it now felt so strange, even if there was still a familiar element of comfort and security to it, to share her bed. To have a warm body against hers that belonged to someone she trusted implicitly, to have someone touching her at all; to be in such an intimate situation that had once been almost ingrained to the level of instinct, and was now so alien and uncertain.
After all this time, to know her husband in person was somewhat comparable to meeting an old acquaintance that she had once known very well, but was now only a vague resemblance of the person they had been before. They had both changed so much, and been apart for so long, that Hermione found herself agonizing over the smallest things. What if she turned over on her other side? Where before, she would have done it without a second thought, what would happen if she did it now? Would Severus think she was turning her back to him? Would he misinterpret it as rejection, as a subtle cold shoulder to try and distance herself from him, when it was really just because it was more comfortable for her to be spooned against him?
His eyes were closed, but she knew he was not asleep—his breathing had not quite evened out. Cautiously, she brought a hand up to stroke his chest, brushing it with her knuckles, and causing him to let out an approximation of a sigh of contentment. Higher up, the bandages had been removed from his neck for the night, and the skin there was visibly reddened and sore, radiating outward from two visible puncture marks that had scabbed over. She carefully avoided touching it as she brought her hand up higher to stroke his cheek, and assured that she now had his attention, she shifted onto her other side. She felt him stiffen at this, but then relax when she took hold of his other arm, the one that was not underneath her, and pulled it closer to her body so that he was effectively holding her. She felt him shift at this, wrapping his arms around her, and let out a sound of agreement when he placed her more securely against him.
Satisfied, Hermione closed her eyes, ready to sleep, when Severus spoke.
"I've been meaning to ask," he whispered into her ear, "but how did you know to be there when the Dark Lord tried to kill me—and how did you have the time to bring me to Tine Cottage?"
Hermione swallowed. "Luck," she choked. "It was all luck—Ron and I insisted on accompanying Harry to find the Dark Lo—Vol—Voldemort—" she felt him twitch at this, but he did not protest her use of the name "because that was where Nagini was, and we still had to kill her. Harry knew where he was because of their connection, and so we went to find a way to kill Nagini… only to have that happen."
She heard Severus inhale sharply. "So if Potter had not seen into the Dark Lord's mind… if he had continued with his Occlumency…"
Hermione let out a weak laugh. "It's the final piece of irony, isn't it? You tried so hard to teach him Occlumency, yet his incompetency in the subject is what saved your life."
Severus ran a hand along her arm, his fingers brushing against the scars that formed the hated word on it left behind by Bellatrix Lestrange. "And Tine Cottage?"
"Earlier this year, Albus bequeathed Harry, Ron, and I several things of value," Hermione said slowly. "I got Tine Cottage and Selenius's copy of The Tales of Beadle the Bard… which is a long story in of itself, but he also gave me a pair of socks."
"Socks," Severus repeated flatly.
"Yes," Hermione agreed. "And it turned out what when a certain phrase was spoken within hearing distance of them, they… erm… well, the knit-pattern of a Time-Turner woven into them became real. Sort of like how Harry looking into the Mirror of Erised in his first year saw himself holding the Philosopher's Stone, which caused the stone to appear in his pocket. That's how I heard it, anyway."
This caused Severus's hand to still. "He gave you a Time-Turner?" He said sharply. "Again?"
"He apparently found a way to repair the one that sent me back twenty years in the first place, and enchanted it in the hopes that I would find it eventually," Hermione said tiredly. "In short, yes."
"That—that doddering old fool—I can't believe—no," he corrected, sounding disgusted, "I can believe he would give it to you. But you—you used it?"
"Trust me, you're not too far off from how I felt," Hermione said quietly, "but we couldn't leave you alone in that office, and we couldn't leave you in the care of the ones looking after the injured in the Great Hall. So I brought you back to Tine Cottage with Ron—which is why he has access here," she reminded him, "and then we returned to Hogwarts and went back in time by exactly one hour, perhaps not even a few seconds after we had left for Tine Cottage to begin with. I wasn't looking forward to using it again—and after what happened, I don't think I'll ever want to touch another Time-Turner ever again—"
She suddenly broke off.
"What?" Severus demanded. "What is it?"
"The Time-Turner…" Hermione said slowly. "It was in my bag… my pocket… along with my Notebook…"
If she had been facing him, she was sure that all the color would have drained from her husband's face as well as hers. "The Ministry took it?"
"No, I don't think so," Hermione said slowly. "I don't—I don't remember what happened to it. Harry or Ron probably has it."
"Your notebook," Severus said quietly. "It's a meticulous, chronological record of our actions since the first-war." Hermione twisted her head up to look at him. "Are you planning to submit it at your inquiry?"
Hermione bit her lower lip. "Yes."
"I see."
"If I had it my way, I would burn it," Hermione whispered, laying her cheek back down on the pillow. "But doing that changes nothing. It doesn't erase what's happened, and only means that another reminder of how horrible this war was is destroyed. Makes it easier for people to forget, once the sharpness and clarity fades away. And then all you have left to tell the tale ends up being compressed into a single chapter of Hogwarts, A History."
She heaved a sigh, and then closed her eyes. "I can't destroy it. No matter how much I'd like to not have to hold our actions up to the light to be scrutinized, this is probably the only comprehensive compendium of what happened. I want—I want people to read it and know. I don't ever want this war to be forgotten or—or diluted and distorted into something simple and petty because there wasn't a source around to give people the raw details of reality."
"In that case, we'll probably end up moving as far away from Britain as possible," Severus muttered.
"Good. You can meet my parents in Australia, once I've restored their memories. That's a visit long over-due." Hermione grasped his hand in hers, and caressed his knuckles with her thumb. "But humor aside… I can't destroy it. And I won't hide it."
She paused for a moment, and then for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled at him. It was a genuine one, with a slight quirk of mischief to it.
"I won't hide it," she repeated, with a glint in her tired, war-weary eyes that was rather reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore when he had a sudden spark of inspiration. "But I don't think we'll be playing by the Ministry's rules."
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~Anubis Ankh