Well, this is the last! Writing this story has been a total adventure, I've loved every gut-wrenching minute of it! There will be an Epilogue to follow, in a separate chapter, but other than that, here we are. Pouf x
Chapter 45
The morning sun was just beginning its ascension to its highest point, promising a hot, end-of-summer day, when the first attendees started to arrive at the gates of Hogwarts castle, to be welcomed by the school staff, who were all now back in attendance ready for the new term, and by Ministry officials, all new to their roles, all keen to make this day a memorable one.
Hermione was in the front row of the seating that had been laid all around the Whomping Willow, which had now ceased its whomping, the huge branches stilled to a mere fluttering by a charm from Professor Flitwick, making it seem much like any other tree, apart from its majestic branches, evergreen leaves and enormous, wide trunk.
McGonagall had transported every single chair and bench from the school building to outside, but as people started to arrive in their hundreds, Hermione could see it would not be enough. Luckily, guests conjured their own chairs, sat on grassy hills around or simply floated in the air – everyone would be able to see and hear.
The idea for the memorial service had been all Severus, the notion coming to him after her own insistence that something meaningful must be done with the wands that had been discovered, concealed in a dated wooden box at the Riddle House. He had taken the idea to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who agreed wholeheartedly, and the school was decided as the only venue that would accommodate all those who wanted to attend.
The Ministry of Magic building could only take a finite number of people, and that many witches and wizards in Muggle London might have looked rather suspect. By holding the memorial service at Hogwarts, already under Muggle-repelling charms, they were guaranteed safety and privacy.
Hermione had worked painstakingly to identify every single one of the wands. Many were easy, and she summoned them with a simple Accio charm, the same way she had extracted Harry and Ron's from the box. These were labelled with a simple parchment tag tied around the wand with string, although many of them were so familiar that they didn't need a label, for she could almost feel the magical signatures of her friends.
She had shed tears as she held Ginny's yew wand in her hand, and even more when Neville's cherry wand, of which he had been so proud, flew into her palm.
As Hermione called out the names of those she knew had died that day, wand after wand came flying out of the box, to be neatly labelled. The ones that were left over, she put in her beaded bag and paid a visit to Mr Ollivander, now in retirement and continuing to convalesce at the home of his son and family, on the East coast.
Garrick Ollivander had poured her tea and they had spent a quiet afternoon identifying the remainder of the wands, the old wandmaker providing the name of the owner, and how many years the wand had been in use. From this information, Hermione was able to deduce whether the owner had been a Hogwarts student, or an adult.
Back at the castle, spending their first night together in the family quarters that they had chosen to make their home, Hermione sat at one of the two desks in their living room, painstakingly labelling the final wands. Four of the names given by Ollivander were identified by Severus to be Death Eaters, and he took great delight in throwing all four into the fire, poking the blaze until there was nothing left of them.
The other wands belonged to students who were unknown to Hermione, and to an Auror who had come to assist at the battle, and perished there. Severus stood behind her, at the desk she had claimed by the window, and massaged her shoulders, seeing that she had completed her task.
"It is done," he observed.
"It certainly is," she replied, putting all the labelled wands neatly back into the box before standing, and wrapping herself in his arms.
"I love our new chambers," she whispered, looking around the sitting room and study area, which had doors leading off to their bedchamber, a bathroom, and a small kitchen.
There was also a second, much smaller bedroom, that had been the reason they'd selected these quarters. Not for now, they had both said. But maybe someday.
-xxx-
At the memorial service, the wands were given to the families of the witch or wizard to whom they had belonged, as they entered. Many held them reverently in their hands as they found themselves somewhere to sit, and expectantly waited for the occasion to begin.
When it seemed that the castle grounds could take no more, Hagrid closed the gates and locked them, and Kingsley Shacklebolt strode to a long wooden table that had been placed to the side of the Whomping Willow. It was covered with a brightly-coloured cloth that was embroidered in red, blue, green and yellow, to represent the four houses, who were but one school.
"Thank you for coming," Kingsley began, his deep, rich voice heard by everyone assembled, courtesy of a Sonoros charm that enhanced and magnified his voice like a Muggle loudspeaker, but much gentler.
"This is both a day for celebration, and reflection. We rejoice that those dark forces who sought to destroy our peaceful, tolerant society have been obliterated, but we are here to remember those who did not survive to see our triumph. We wish to honour those witches and wizards who made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure a better world for the rest of us.
Today's memorial service is a special occasion, held here at Hogwarts School to commemorate those who fell here, in that last, terrible battle, but we do not forget those who have gone before, those who also gave their lives, or had them taken, because they made the choice to do what was right.
Witches and wizards, would you please raise your wands, for Albus Dumbledore, for Sirius Black, and for Alastor Moody. We remember Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Amelia Bones, Cedric Diggory, Emmeline Vance and Broderick Bode. We recognise the sacrifice of James and Lily Potter, who are gone, but never forgotten, and our thoughts remain with Frank and Alice Longbottom."
The silence that fell across the Hogwarts grounds was absolute, not a sound could be heard as everyone in attendance raised their wands as one. The wind ruffled the leaves on the trees, emphasising the silent respect that was being paid to those who had given their lives for the cause, for the triumph they were now celebrating.
After a minute, wands were lowered, and Hermione was gladdened to feel Severus reach over and take her hand, clutching it tightly in quiet, unwavering support. It was now time for their plans to come to fruition, and hope that their charmwork, which had been cast under the guidance of Charms master Professor Flitwick, had been successful.
"I now invite the wand holders to come forward, as arranged," Kingsley announced.
An older witch and wizard, clearly husband and wife, walked through the mass of chairs to reach the covered table by the Whomping Willow. The witch had curly blonde hair, held back in a purple-flowered headband. Hermione felt her heart lurch with pain, and clutched Severus' hand for support.
The flowers on the woman's headband … they were lavender.
The couple reached the table and stood behind it, laying a beautifully carved wand on the surface, and faced out towards the audience.
"This wand," she began, falteringly, before finding her courage, "belonged to our only daughter. Her name was Lavender Brown."
Hermione felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, her jaw hurting from the tight clench she was holding it with.
"Lavender loved life at Hogwarts," her father continued. "She was full of light, vivacious, and annoyingly happy."
Her parents both smiled at the memory.
"Lavender was taken from us, but her beautiful magic will live on at Hogwarts forever," her mother finished, and cast the flat of her hand over the table, and over Lavender's wand.
The wand rose without her touching it, and Madam Brown levitated it into the air, guiding it towards the willow tree, towards its intended destination. When the wand reached the tree, it seemed to be under a spell that beckoned it home, for it appeared to cease being solid, and wrapped itself around one of the thinner branches, coiling around and around until it disappeared into the tree's own wood.
There were gasps from the crowd as that branch alone sprouted fragrant lavender down its length, verdant purple and giving off a sweet aroma.
Lavender's parents began to return to their seats, nodding at the Minister. Their job was done. Their place was taken by a small, fourth-year boy, attending alone, who laid a light brown wand upon the table, and summoned his nerve.
"My name is Dennis Creevey," he announced to those before him. "I am here today to remember my brother Colin, who was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. This was his wand. Our parents cannot be here, because they're both Muggles, and can't see the school, but they have always supported us. I don't have much to say, and I'm feeling a bit nervous, really, so I just want to say that Colin was a brilliant brother. The very best. I'm going to miss him more than you could ever know. Sleep well, Colin."
Hermione's tears fell freely as brave Dennis levitated Colin's wand towards the willow tree, his face determined and serious. As the wand approached the trunk, it attached itself to another branch, twisting and curling around as Lavender's had done, becoming part of the woodwork of the tree.
She saw Lupin, seated across the aisle from her, squeeze Dennis' arm as the boy passed to retake his seat, his eyes as red as her own. As a tall woman got to her feet, holding a familiar cherry wood wand and wearing a huge hat, Hermione's heart sank to the pit of her stomach.
No, please. No. She was not prepared for this.
Augusta Longbottom was as straight-backed and as proper as she had ever been, but as she turned, placing Neville's wand upon the table, her face was different. It was full of pride.
"I represent my grandson, Neville Longbottom," she told the crowd, her voice clear and confident. "This is his wand. Neville was an exceptionally fine young wizard, and a credit to his parents, my son Frank, and his wife, Alice, and I am privileged to be here in their stead.
Neville lived the most difficult of lives, having parents who were not dead, but yet, not fully alive. However, I never once heard him complain. He had many friends, and astounded all with his great bravery. Like his father before him, my grandson did not cower in the face of danger, but met it head on, like a lion … like a true Gryffindor. The world is a poorer place without him."
Augusta stretched out a long, thin hand, and levitated Neville's wand towards the tree, where it was snatched up by the topmost branch, coiled around it, and a burst of cherry blossoms sprouted out of the top.
His dignified grandmother bowed her head towards it, in a final show of respect for the boy who had fought, to the very end.
Professor Sprout, Neville's favourite teacher, could be heard sobbing loudly as Augusta returned to her seat. Hermione was shaking, and felt Severus slip his arm around her shoulders and kiss her wet cheek, uncaring of who saw, nor what they thought.
The wands continued to be brought forward. One after the other … after the other. Too many.
The grieving families continued to spill up to the table, speak about their loved one, and levitate their wands towards the willow tree, which was becoming more ethereally beautiful with every wand that it absorbed, growing all manner of fruits, flowers, leaves and blossoms to represent the woods each one had been made from. The trunk and branches were a mixture of many different shades of brown, black and grey, growing more iridescent as more wands were added.
This would no longer be the Whomping Willow. This would be the Memorial Willow, a living reminder of the final battle, and why they must all work hard to ensure that such an event never happened again.
More wands. More families. More bereaved parents. Too many brothers and sisters with siblings now lost to them.
And then, the first husband. The only husband that would take the stand, in fact.
Remus Lupin got slowly to his feet, straightening his brown cord jacket and pushing a hand through his messy blonde hair. He took a step towards the table, wand in hand, before seeming to change his mind. Was he alright?
He turned around, and gently took his sleeping son from the arms of his wife, who handed the blue-haired infant over. Holding Teddy in the crook of his arm, Remus approached the table, walked around it, and laid on its surface the distinctive wand that had belonged to Tonks.
Oh, Remus.
Her heart was breaking for him.
Looking older and shabbier than ever, he lifted his eyes to the crowd, although he sought comfort from Orla and Andromeda, who were seated together, holding hands.
"This is the wand of my dear wife, Nymphadora Tonks, although if she heard me use her full name in public, is it likely that my wand would by flying up into that tree, not hers."
A few relieved chuckles could be heard from the crowd.
"This is her son," he continued, looking lovingly at the slumbering baby in his arm. "This is her baby son, who, because of the madness of one man, will never know his mother. Thanks to the discovery of her wand by the Aurors, my son will at least now have a place to come and mourn her. Let us ensure, friends, that we teach our children well, so that they will teach their own children, why such an atrocity must never be allowed to happen again."
There was a tumult of applause at Lupin's rousing words, that did not cease as he levitated Tonks' wand to the tree, standing with their son to watch it bed itself into the wood. It was a fitting tribute to his wild and eccentric wife, who would have been clapping loudly with the rest.
As he returned to his seat, he nodded at Orla, who, to Hermione's surprise, stood and began to make her way to the front. She could see only too clearly the dark hawthorn wand that she was carrying. It was unfathomably brave of her to do this.
The Irish girl with the Malfoy-blonde hair stood trembling at the table, having laid the wand before her, as the others had done.
"The owner of this wand is the only bearer of the Dark Mark who has been permitted to become part of this living memorial," Orla began, to a few shocked intakes of breath that rippled around. "This wand belonged to my brother. His name was Draco Malfoy. Throughout his life, before we found one another, my brother did not have a choice. He suffered for the failings of his parents, in particular … from our father."
She paused, and Hermione could see that she was struggling, for her hands were shaking as she touched her throat, and shook her head as if indicating that she was unable to continue.
Remus leapt from his seat, Teddy now safely in the hands of Andromeda, and came to stand behind her at the table, his arm around her, publicly declaring his love for her in the quietest of ways, supporting her through this challenge.
"Thank you," she whispered, inaudible to anyone except those in the front row.
"In the last weeks and months of the war," she continued, clearing her throat, "my brother did everything he could to escape his family, and to escape from the circle he found himself trapped in. He was captured, alongside myself. I was lucky enough to get away, but Draco was not. His final act was to bring down the snake who was essentially keeping … Voldemort … alive. He died a hero, and … and I suppose … I suppose I just would like that to be known."
Lupin turned her around and she levitated Draco's wand towards the willow tree, where it was accepted just as the others had been, and a large brush of rich hawthorn appeared. Orla breathed a visible sigh of relief, and allowed Remus to escort her back to where they were sitting, where they held hands, tightly.
Severus squeezed Hermione's arm to alert her, not that she needed it.
It was time.
Carrying the three broken pieces of Harry's wand towards the front, Hermione laid them out on the table, atop the embroidered tablecloth that had been made up from the house colours of his beloved Hogwarts.
"Harry Potter," she began, in a calm, clear voice, "came to Hogwarts an orphan, with no one to call his own, no one to care. Before long, however, due to the love and support that exists in this school, and in the families whose children study here, Harry soon had mothers; in the shape of Molly Weasley, and Minerva McGonagall. He also had fathers; almost too many too list, although I shall try, found in Albus Dumbledore, in Arthur Weasley, and in Harry's own godfather, Sirius Black. He found father-figures also in Rubeus Hagrid, Remus Lupin, and, although he never knew it, Severus Snape.
However most of all, Harry had me, and he had Ron. We three were as close as siblings, and the very best of friends. We did everything together. Including, I should add, me breaking his wand, which you see here. I do not know how I will live the rest of my life without Harry Potter in it, but I will do my utmost to ensure that it is lived to the full, in honour of my very dearest friend, who was the bravest boy I ever knew, and I loved him for it."
Not trusting her voice to hold any longer, Hermione cast her hand over his wand, levitating the three pieces towards the tree. To her surprise, as the tree accepted Harry's wand the pieces appeared to repair themselves, forming for just a few seconds, his achingly familiar, complete wand again. She could not help the tears from falling as the beautiful holly wand wrapped itself around the base of the tree, a lush green holly bush with fresh red berries springing up from the place where it had settled.
"Thank you," she said, aloud. "For giving us all the chance to say a proper goodbye."
Goodbye Harry, she thought. Sleep well, my friend.
Returning to her seat with a huge feeling of relief falling over her, Hermione suddenly remembered that there was one last horror left to endure, as indicated by the none-too-quiet sobs that were following Charlie Weasley up the central aisle, his sturdy arms simply full of wands, the final ones to be added to the memorial tree.
As the tall, red-headed man stood behind the table, his freckled face resolute, he did not put the eight wands he held down on the embroidered surface. He held them, as if he wanted just a little longer with his family, cradled safe in his arms.
The Weasleys were a hugely popular family, and many witches of Molly's age were crying openly.
Charlie looked at Fleur, who was seated with her parents and sister, who had come over from France to support her. She had already agreed with Charlie that she did not want to participate in the public speaking, and therefore the task was left to him alone. Hermione had offered to do Ron's, but Charlie did not want to separate any of his family, which she completely understood.
"A wand of yew," he announced, holding up Ginny's familiar wand. "A wand that belonged to my only sister, who was killed here, aged just sixteen. No age at all, I'm sure you'll agree. Ginny, you were a pain in the arse, little sister. But I weep for the woman you were not allowed to become, for she would have been bloody amazing."
He placed Ginny's wand on the table, and held up the next.
"A wand of chestnut, that used to belong to a wicked man, but was lawfully won and recognised my youngest brother Ronald as its master. Ron, good grief you were a disgusting brother. You ate like a starving hippogriff, with much the same table manners. But I miss you, little mate. I'll miss you forever."
Ron's wand was placed next to Ginny's, and Charlie held up two wands together.
"These are the wands of my twin brothers, Fred and George. I know many of you will know them. They turned their inherent laziness and love of pranks into a thriving business, much to my mother's disgust. Their wands, as you can see, are the only thing about them that was different."
The twins' wands were added to the line on the table that Charlie was making.
"This one belonged to my brother Percy, just two years younger than myself. A misguided prat, who spent most of the time up his own arse, but Merlin, we loved him for it. Sleep well, Perce."
"This is Bill's wand," he choked, and a loud sob, unmistakeably Fleur's, was heard from the crowd. "Bill was my only older brother, and my hero, which basically means my parents made all their mistakes on him, so they were well practised when they got to me. Bill's son is yet to be born, but I promise you, mate, that Uncle Charlie will be keeping his eye on your boy. I bloody promise, alright?"
Percy and Bill's wands were laid next to his other siblings', and just as Hermione felt that Charlie was almost home and dry, he drew his father's wand.
"Arthur Weasley," he announced, and his confident voice finally broke with a heartbreaking, choked sob. "My father. The best dad there ever was, or ever could be. How can you not be here anymore, Dad? What am I going to do without you, and your bloody plug collection?"
Charlie broke down, resting one hand on the table to support himself, waving away offers of support, indicating with his other hand that he just needed a minute.
"And this," he continued, once he composed himself, "this was my mother's wand. What everyone should now know, or probably did anyway, is that you never … mess with Molly Weasley. I know I wouldn't fucking dare."
His coarse language made even the teary-eyed amongst the crowd smile. Nothing like an inappropriately-timed swear word to settle everyone's nerves.
"So, I'll see you later, family. Charlie loves you all, you bloody mad bunch of gingers."
He held out both of his hands, levitating all eight wands at once, his strong arms shaking with the magical power he was expending to do so. His shoulders finally slackened as the enchantment from the tree took over, and the crowd gasped as the Weasley wands were wrapped around the thick trunk, the family joined as one via their wands, forming the steadfast, solid base from which the Memorial Willow would continue to grow.
It was a fitting tribute.
-xxx-
The sun began to sink lower in the sky, the memorial service having taken hours, but no one had cared, in fact, no one had wanted it to end. Many people still milled around, in the shade of the memorial tree, touching its glittering trunk, smelling the different leaves and flowers that sprung from it.
Severus stood with Hermione under his arm, conversing with Lupin, who had gleefully accepted the teaching position, and several of the other returning professors. Cold drinks had circulated magically from the school kitchens, and many of the attendees had meandered down into Hogsmeade to seek refreshment, to draw breath, to commiserate and console, or to rekindle old friendships lost.
He saw Fleur Weasley in a tight embrace with Charles, and then she kissed both his cheeks as if she were bidding him farewell. She then turned and headed towards the Apparition point with her parents and sister, and Weasley walked towards Hermione, with Finnegan alongside him, who was talking ten to the dozen as always.
"Charlie?" Hermione questioned, walking towards him.
"She's going home, Hermione," he replied, "and so am I."
"But, I don't understand ….?"
"Fleur is returning to France with Gabrielle and her parents, to have the baby. She needs them."
"What about what you need?"
"I have no claim on that baby, nor on Fleur. She has promised to come and visit me, when she is ready, and if she wants to. Gabrielle will accompany her."
"Oh, Charlie."
"I'm going back to my dragons," he continued. "Firestarter Finnegan here is coming with me, as we are always on the lookout for new staff who can handle the heat."
Seamus looked incredibly excited.
"Stay in touch, won't you?"
"Of course, I will. I wish you all the best in your new life. You too, Severus."
"Thank you, Charles."
Hermione threw her arms around Charlie, and he lifted her from the floor in a huge embrace, as he had done the first time he'd been reunited with her in Grimmauld Place. She then hugged Finnegan too, and then the two wizards bid farewell to the Lupins, Minerva, Pomona and Filius, before taking their leave.
-xxx-
Late that night, when the last person had left the school grounds, all the new and returning professors were safely ensconced in their own quarters, ready for the start of the new school term, that began in a matter of days.
Hermione was at the window of their bedchamber, looking out over the grounds, where the willow tree that they had used as the memorial was still fizzing and sparking with magic as it absorbed the power from all the wands that had been imbued into it.
Severus doused the wall sconces, and dropped the fire to a low burn, darkening the chamber so that she could better see the aurora of light that was spilling from the tree, across the lawns. He moved in behind her, pressing his body to hers and encircling her with his arms.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, snuggling back against him.
"As are you."
"This is the first day of a new future, Severus. I feel like now I can begin to live again."
"I can understand that, Hermione. You will never forget, but now you can allow yourself to live, to love, to feel - without guilt."
She twisted around in his arms.
"You know that I do love you, don't you?"
"So I am told," he drawled, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. "How extraordinarily fortunate I am."
Hermione slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him towards her, pressing herself against him, running her hands over his bottom, which was bare underneath his dressing down.
Keeping his hand on her cheek, he bent down to her, seeking her sweet mouth with his lips, that he pulled into a tugging kiss. He drew her tongue into his mouth, coiling his own around it, like a snake circling its prey.
When she moaned in his mouth, he drew back, one eyebrow raised in question.
"Are you compelled, Granger?" he asked, dipping his hand under her dress and finding her knickers damp, as he expected.
"For you, Professor?" she replied. "Always."
