The Burrow was bustling with activity. Picnic tables had been set up in the yard again. Most of the Order would be at the house within the hour; Mrs. Weasley was in a worse state than she'd been before the wedding.
"Harry Potter you mash those potatoes with your hands!" she was saying when Hermione entered the kitchen. "No need to make a mess trying to do it with magic."
"He can't mash them with his hands, Mum," one of the twins said. "It'd be a mess!"
"George Weasley—" Mrs. Weasely began, but then she caught sight of Hermione in the doorway and she stopped. "Oh."
"Hi," Hermione said. The rest of the kitchen went quiet.
Harry and George were by the stove, Harry with his wand pointed at a huge pot of boiled potatoes. Ginny was at the table with the newspaper.
Kingsley disturbed what was sure to be an awkward moment (she hadn't seen any of them properly since the Battle of Hogwarts), walking into the kitchen from somewhere in the house quickly followed by Mr. Weasley.
"Oh, Hermione. Good," Kinglsey said. "You didn't happen to bring Snape with you?"
"He's at Gringotts." He had made the appointment before the gathering of the Order had been planned. Since they were already in hot water with the goblins, what with her breaking in and burning away bits of treasure inside a vault that didn't belong to her, they'd decided it would be best if he kept the appointment and she kept her distance. "I don't know how long he'll be."
"Gringotts?" Bill asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Apparently the last of the Princes died, but not before deciding that he'd redeemed himself as a member of the family. He inherited the estate, so he's meeting with the goblins about it," she said. Then she smirked at Bill. "And he's probably trying to convince them to let me into the building again."
"Good luck with that," Bill said, trying not to laugh. Mrs. Weasley scowled.
"I was hoping he could talk a bit about what went on this last year," Kingsley said pensively, destroying any cheerfulness that had entered the room with Bill's good humor. "We could use a clear explanation."
"I've already told you everything," Harry said sharply, jabbing his wand at the potatoes. They all mashed at once, squishing noisily in the pot. About half of it splattered, shooting for the ceiling, but George contained it with a grin. Mrs. Weasley smacked Harry on the arm with the wooden spoon she had in her hand, but he didn't seem to notice; he was trying to stare down the Acting Minister of Magic.
"It's important that we get the details from more than one person, Harry," Kingsley said patiently. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just very important that we have the story straight before we bring it to the public."
"You want to share the whole of it?" Hermione asked, surprised. She and Harry shared a look.
"Probably not the whole of it," Kingsley said, sounding uncomfortable now.
"You want to keep the Horcruxes out of it?"
"I don't think the general population needs to hear that part, no. Just the Wizengamot."
"The Wizengamot that was so riddled with corruption it's now made up of four junior assistants, an honorary member in long-term care at St. Mungo's, and two decent blokes who had the good sense to leg it when it all went to pot last summer?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "One of whom you can't find, last I heard. The other, rumor has it, refused to come back on account of it doesn't rain nearly so much in Bermuda."
Kingsley crossed his arms and glared at her. "How did you know any of that?"
Hermione just smiled. The truth was that Hogwarts had become a waypoint for just about anybody remotely involved in anything in the past week, not to mention the portraits were the worst gossips in the history of word-of-mouth.
"Er, hi," Ron said from the doorway behind Hermione. "Sorry to interrupt, but Snape's in the yard making everybody uncomfortable. Do you think you lot could come out now?"
Hermione turned and left the kitchen, patting Ron's shoulder on her way past.
"Ronald, that was rude," Mrs. Weasley hissed behind her, but nobody else reacted.
Severus was indeed making everybody uncomfortable, and he looked quite pleased with himself. He was standing off to one side of the gathered Order, grouped together in little conversational clumps, and watching the lot of them with an air of benevolent condescension. It reminded her of Dumbledore just as surely as it reminded everybody else.
You'll have to work on the twinkle, she observed. His eyes sort of glinted with humor at that, and she smiled back at him.
They arranged themselves around the picnic tables. It was strange. Hermione took her seat next to Kingsley, feeling a pang when it was Ron across from her instead of Tonks. Harry was in Moody's spot near the head of the table, across from Minerva. Dumbledore's place at the head of the table was empty, though that might've been because there wasn't a chair there. Severus was in the chair beside her instead of standing behind her, a stormcloud shadow.
There had been meetings since the Ministry had fallen, but they'd been small and quiet. Clandestine gatherings, a few people gathered in the corner booth at a pub. Hermione hadn't been to any of them, and only knew that they'd been taking place because Minerva had mentioned it.
"Alright," Mr. Weasley said, shooting a look at the twins that quieted them down immediately. "We're here to talk about what happened. All the facts on the table. Answer each others' questions."
"What about him?" Ron asked, surprisingly almost everybody when it wasn't Severus he gestured to but Kingsley.
"What about me?" Kingsley asked.
"You're the Minister now."
"None of this is on the official record," Kingsley said, his voice low and steady as always. He really was a good choice to lead after a crisis. Even under stress he sounded unflappable. (And he'd been dealing with a lot of stress in the week since the violence at Hogwarts; the least of which came from Ron Weasley at a picnic dinner.)
"The Order of the Phoenix is a vigilante group, after all," Fred put in.
"If we officially exist, we officially have to be prosecuted for taking the law into our own hands," George finished.
"Precisely," Kingsley said, helping himself to a large scoop of mashed potatoes.
They talked as they ate. There was a marvelous roast, big chunks of cooked vegetables, and mashed potatoes with gravy. They passed around a basket of fresh-baked rolls. Beer and hard cider to drink. It would've been a hardy picnic if not for the topic of conversation.
Fred and George started them off, talking about watching in Diagon Alley and helping to pass information between the Order. Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle talked about keeping the Dursleys safe (mostly from Vernon's penchant to get bored and declare the whole endeavor a lot of claptrap). Others had more to tell—Kinglsey had stayed at his post guarding the Muggle Minister, Hilary Glass had developed a dangerous habit of "losing" case files the Death Eaters drew up against people who stood up against them.
Hermione felt like she talked for a long time when it was her turn. She told them about sticking to Harry's side the last half of sixth year, about Dumbledore's search for the Horcruxes and his plans to die. Harry took over at one point to talk about their time on the run. She told them about breaking into Gringotts.
"It would've been completely counter to my assignment to let him rob Gringotts," Hermione said, eyebrows raised at them all. "He'd likely have been captured and killed."
"Instead she bloody planned capture as her escape plan," Severus said, speaking for the first time. Bill, one of the few who knew more-or-less the full story of her incursion, chuckled. Hermione glared at him while he told them all about the immediate fallout at Gringotts and what he'd walked into that morning when he'd turned up for work.
"You weren't put in Ministry holding," Mr. Weasley said. "I was keeping a lookout on the cells."
"I was only there for an hour or so. They took me to Malfoy Manor."
"The Muggle Fights," Kingsley said, nodding slowly. Hermione nodded once.
"It was a good thing the 'Battle of Hogwarts' developed when it did," Severus said. "I likely blew my cover trying to get her out—it was only a matter of time before somebody investigated and discovered who conjured the Mark that scattered the crowd."
They talked a bit about the fight: the Battle of Hogwarts. They toasted absent friends.
"I think we need to address the dragon," Dmitri Hill, one of the Aurors, said. It went quiet. Most of the Order looked away from Hermione conspicuously enough that Harry and Ron both looked at her, eyebrows raised.
"The dragon?" Ron asked.
Severus's hand was clenched on the table, which was somehow very endearing. She put her hand on his and squeezed gently before sitting back, feigning ease, and looking at Hill.
"Well?" she asked. Hill looked away before speaking again.
"How did it start? Who did it start with? Why did it happen?"
"What's 'the dragon?'" Ron asked again.
"I was," Hermione said, looking away form Hill only long enough to glance at Ron. "For how—he gave me a name and told me when he needed from them. For who—I don't remember who was first." That was a lie. "For why—I wish I knew. For my part, they why was 'because Dumbledore told me to.'"
"You didn't know why, but you went along?"
"I don't think you understand how my relationship with Dumbledore worked." It came out more sharply than she'd intended. She took a deep breath before continuing. "I was barely seventeen, angry with my friends because they hadn't invited me to Christmas over something petty and juvenile, feeling left out. Sent home to parents who had no idea what was going on." It hit her, just then. The loss of them. Her hands clenched into fists on the arm rests. Severus pried her fingers from the wood, lacing them with his. The gesture was hidden by the table, and she felt like lifting his hand to her lips just for the reaction. Instead, she continued, "He needed somebody to train as a Healer. Somebody close to Harry. Somebody who was already part of the Order. I volunteered, of course. Anything to be useful. I didn't realize until it was well past too late that he never intended for me to return to school with my peers. I needed N.E.W.T. scores for the Healing course, so I studied for those first. Then he sent me to do other research, learn from other contacts.
"I think he was hoping I'd stumble on a cure for his hand." She understood why he'd want it, pitied him his dread of death (strangely human of him, after all), but hated him for it, too. If she'd found a counter curse, would he have opted to let the Vow kill Severus?
Severus squeezed her hand, bringing her back again, anchoring her. "I didn't, though. I just… I became the dragon."
"What's 'the dragon?'" Ron asked again, more insistent. She could hear the dread in his voice.
"An assassin, Ron. I killed people. Dumbledore gave me a name; I went to their house and waited for them. Then I took what information I could from their minds, collected evidence from their hiding spots, and killed them. The Death Eaters called me the dragon because I burnt the house behind me. No evidence."
Ron looked impressed. Ginny looked horrified. Harry looked… thoughtful.
Abruptly, Severus stood and walked away. She wished she could, too. She'd rather put the dragon behind her, lock it all away in a box in her mind and never think about it again.
"Dumbledore never… It wasn't like that last time," Mrs. Weasley said quietly.
"I think he was desperate. He was dying and afraid of what would happen when he was gone. He didn't want to leave pieces on the board, and since he couldn't trust that Azkaban meant true removal from play…" She let it trail off.
"Don't talk about it like it was a game of chess," Hill said.
"It's the most convenient metaphor," Hermione replied, shrugging. "And just because I can understand his motivation doesn't make it right. I wish I'd told him no. Or at least objected."
Severus returned with a Pensieve. She'd thought he'd just gone to cool off, take a walk, get some distance.
Silence fell along the tables. The dishes, which Mrs. Weasley had charmed to bus themselves, were the only noise, clinking softly as they stacked together and drifted off toward the house.
Severus conjured a tall table and arranged the Pensieve on it, Shrinking the lid and stowing it in his pocket. Then he removed a memory, placed it in the basin, and turned to look at them all with one eyebrow arched.
One by one, the Order put their faces in the Pensieve and vanished into the memory. Harry—the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One—went first, then Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. Everybody else followed their example.
"What are you showing them?"
"A fight with Dumbledore." He took her hand and led her to the Pensieve.
"Which one?" she asked, and he smirked.
And then they were in the Pensieve. They were in the memory of the headmaster's office. They arrived just in time to watch Severus entirely ignore the offer of a lemon drop and take a seat instead. They were at the desk. Fawkes perched on the back of Dumbledore's chair.
"How did it go?" Dumbledore asked, popping the declined sweet into his own mouth and stowing it in his cheek. "You look no worse for wear."
"It was a quiet evening. For once, the blame could be safely assigned elsewhere on all counts."
"Oh?"
"I am to tell you that he applauds your growth of…" Severus cleared his throat, looked away. Dumbledore smiled benignly, clearly amused. Severus scowled at him when he caught the look. "'The old man finally grew a pair; give him my congratulations,' was the exact turn of phrase."
Dumbledore laughed merrily. "Odd choice of compliments, is it not?"
"Indubitably."
"You misunderstand. It's a Muggle phrase."
"Very amusing, sir." His tone was very nearly sarcastic.
"Indeed it is, my boy. Indeed it is."
"Why Edward Barr, Headmaster?"
"Hm?"
"The wizard your 'dragon' killed tonight. Edward Barr. He was a paper-pusher with Magical Law Enforcement. An aging Auror relegated to filing and research after his last head injury."
"He was plotting to kill the Minister of Magic."
"He was Rabastan's plaything." The memory Severus stood and began to pace. Those watching the memory, who had gathered around the desk as it progressed, stumbled out of his way before realizing he'd walk through them like a ghost. "A sinner, surely, but not a true threat."
"Odd that you call his plots his sins," Dumbledore said, fingers steepled together, gray fingers going white where they pressed against the healthy fingers. He watched memory Severus pace over the top rims of his glasses. "I'd say it was his vice that was the threat."
"His sin was his vice, then."
"Many people would see it such."
"So plotting to kill the Minister is not a sin?"
"I'd say enacting the plot would be the actual sin. He was just keeping himself sane among the filing."
"So why did you have him killed, then? Were you proving a point to the Dark Lord?" His voice was low, just on the edge of mocking. Dumbledore just smiled at him, though.
"I am dying, Severus. I find that I have very little to prove. There are simply things that need to be done."
"You're mad. You've gone mad. Properly. Not barmy-old-codger mad, either. You've lost your mind. You've lost your reason."
"I assure you, I have my reasons."
Memory Severus threw himself back down in the chair, eyes intent on the headmaster. "Albus," he said at long last. "Haven't enough people died already?"
Dumbledore gave him a long, sad look. Hermione suspected he was imagining that Severus was thinking of Lily, and perhaps he had been.
"It is a necessary sin, Severus."
"Are you doing the killing yourself, then? Is it your sin or your vice?" The sneer that wasn't on his face was clear in his voice.
"It is my sin most certainly, Severus. But no; I am not the one doing what needs to be done." He held up his cursed hand. "I find that I can't do everything that I planned to do."
Memory Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hence the dead minions? You can't enact all your grand plans because you won't be around the direct them, so you changed the game? Escalated your tactics?"
Hermione stepped into Severus's side, and he put his arm around her. She'd hoped he would.
This memory was from a very dark time. It had been the sort of dark where she hadn't realized it was dark. Her eyes had adjusted, as it were. She'd been doing as Dumbledore said, trusting him, not questioning, not looking beyond the assignment, the moment. She hadn't been happy; she'd known that much. But she'd been too hard, too broken, and Occluding too often to really feel anything beyond the pain of the killing and the desperate need to push on through.
Dumbledore didn't reply. After a moment of quiet during which the two wizards stared at each other, Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk, hiding the damaged one with the healthy one and a habitual twitch of his sleeve.
"After you've killed me, Severus—"
"I've told you I won't do it."
"Not your vice?" Dumbledore said, the words cutting. Severus didn't react, but Hermione knew him well enough to know that he would've flinched if he could have.
"A sin I won't have on my conscious."
"You took a Vow, my boy."
"So I will die."
"And what use will that be, hm?" Dumbledore asked, bushy white eyebrows raised. He looked for all the world like he was directing a particularly slow student to an obvious conclusion. "And what of young Draco?"
"Maybe you should just set your dragon on the Dark Lord. Whoever they are, they seem competent enough at the task you've set them."
"You are more than competent at the task I've set you."
"I didn't say I couldn't do it. I said I wouldn't do it."
"I say you will, Severus Snape. And so you will," Dumbledore said. He hadn't stood, he hadn't raised his voice. His presence filled the room, though. His magic rolled around, vibrating back off the wards that were tuned to him as headmaster. In Severus's memory, the room went dark around the edges with the pressure of the foreign magic against him.
"Yes, sir."
They sat in silence. The light had returned, and Dumbledore had fished another lemon drop out of the dish on his desk. Memory Severus kept very still, like a rabbit that has just realized there is a fox watching it.
"I expect next term's Potions budget on my desk by Wednesday. You are going through knotgrass rather quickly this year, aren't you?"
"Yes, Headmaster."
Severus stood and swept out, slamming the door behind him.
The memory ended and they were again standing on the lawn outside the Burrow. It was strangely picturesque. The sky was clear and bright, the grass (and the weeds by the fence) was absurdly green and hearty. Compared to the misery of the memory, the way she remembered feeling that night, the long picnic tables and the hearty meal spread on them was perfection.
"You broke several bones in your hand that night," Hermione said, remembering. She'd still been calling him Professor Snape. He'd arrived at her flat—the same flat where they'd later conceived their son—and held out his bleeding appendage. She'd fixed it, and he'd seemed to want to linger, but he hadn't.
"I punched a wall."
A/N: Feedback would be much appreciated here! I'm trying to explain Dumbledore without making excuses for him He was a ruthless bastard, and I think he was in the books, too; you just don't see it so much because he used positive reinforcement to get what he wanted out of Harry. Also, it's been ages since I wrote actual-Dumbledore not portrait-Dumbledore. Comments, questions, haiku?
On an unrelated note, I found my livejournal password. So I've started that again— or at least I'm trying to remember how to do that. (I'm mak5258 there, too.) What I'd really like to do is create a cache of my stories there (namely this one), maybe find somebody to Brit-pick it, generally polish it to a fine shine and keep it there all pretty and stuff. I need to figure out how to get it on livejournal first, though... (Help?)
On an entirely different unrelated note, I'm looking for vacation suggestions. Probably a month from now at the earliest, most likely mid- to late-September. Where's your favorite vacation spot? Honestly, I'd love to visit the UK, but I don't know how long it would take to arrange an international trip. (September is going to be a good gap time so far as work goes— and that's a whole different note, much better suited to that re-found livejournal than an A/N— but I just found that out today. Hence the jumping to plan a vacation thing.)
So yeah. I'd love feedback on this chapter, especially on Dumbledore. Anybody who has pointers for livejournal feel free to send them my way. And vacation suggestions, please and thank you!
Cheers!
— M