AN: Hello, fanfiction and Harry Potter fans. I do not own Harry Potter, but feel free to enjoy this or hate it. If you enjoy it, please leave a lovely comment, if you hate it, then leave some constructive criticism, thanks!

Can You Take the Jump?

Chapter 51

The sounds of Dumbledore and Belby speaking sounded like they were speaking underwater, or maybe she was the one who was underwater, but either way, it was all muffled and unclear. Hermione stared into Hermione Granger's dead eyes. Those dead eyes had burdened her throughout this life, giving her sleepless nights, unimaginable guilt, and terrifying fury. But now, they just looked at her with disappointment.

"Miss Evans?" Dumbledore called her, pulling her from the depths of the water. "Are you listening?"

She blinked, no, in fact, she had not heard a single word.

"We were telling you that Hogwarts is prepared to give you sick leave for however many months it takes. You may take a break from your education and come back whenever you wish."

"And I'm telling you, Headmaster Dumbledore, that Miss Evans may not return."

Belby's harsh truth made the line between the sage wizard's brows deeper.

"What do you wish to do?" he asked her as if she knew what to do about her bloody education in a time like this.

"I don't know."

The older men glanced at each other. Belby opened his mouth, but Dumbledore stopped him.

"Of course," he nodded with understanding. "This must be hard to take in. You can take all the time you need to make the decision. We will speak with your family an—"

"No!" Hermione snapped. "No one outside this room can know."

"Miss Evans, you must tell your family. Give yourself support at this time and allow them to say their goodbyes and mourn."

Hermione ignored her Headmaster and turned to her Healer.

"The Obscurus. It eats away at my trauma, my magic, and my soul, right? The potions aren't the only reason I'm dying. The parasite is killing its host."

"Well, yes. It's adding to your magical properties as well, giving you more power, but it doesn't necessarily mean you have 'more' magic. The potions were meant to give some semblance of a normal life while you had a life. Although it did accelerate the lack of 'having a life' part of the equation." Belby explained. "However, the Obscurus, as long as you had it, was going to feed off of your magic and soul, killing you in the end, even without the potions. Our magic is what gives us a longer life than muggles and makes us quite resistant to muggle illnesses, but if our pool of magic is gone, it doesn't matter the intervention Healers provide or the age and strength of the person before the sickness. For example, no magical folk can contract chicken pox, but dragon pox? It targets our magic, which was why has killed so many people, Healer Black included."

Harry was standing next to Hermione Granger. He was 33. Around the time when he died. His long messy hair was tied in a man bun, his beard and moustache unkempt. He always had bags under his eyes, but his eyes shined with happiness, unaware of the shard of Voldemort's soul still embedded within him.

An idea dawned on her, causing the entirety of her subconscious hallucinations to realize her idea at the same time. There was a uniform reaction of shock. Harry fervently shook his head, but it was too late.

"What if…" Hermione's heart trembled. "What if I had another soul?"

The room became eerily quiet.

"Hermione," Dumbledore spoke quietly, but it was not with the same gentleness he had before. It was dangerous, like a predator on the hunt. Quiet and lethal. "I don't think you know what you're suggesting."

A chill travelled down both Hermione and Belby's spines as energy rippled across the room. Belby may have backed down, but Hermione had faced Death Eaters, Dark Lords, time travel, her past self, and everything in between.

"That's where you're very wrong, sir. I know exactly what I'm suggesting." She shook her head at the crazy yet ingenious idea. "If there was someone out there separating their souls into pieces, what would happen if they were to put one in me, Belby?"

"I-I mean…" Belby stuttered, he'd never been taken off guard like this. Even as a thought experiment, it was too wild to even consider, yet it fired a buzz of excitement. The same buzz he felt when he was first offered the position to create potions for the girl in front of him. An impossible idea made possible? Another challenge? Something to finally fuel his mind out of life's daily boredom? "If there was such a-a-a…mad person, then yes. Yes. It could potentially buy you more time. We don't know which is deteriorating faster, your soul/magic or your body, but if the prior is being eaten away faster, another soul could occupy the Obscurus. Give you a bit more time depending on how much of their soul resides in you, of course."

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore stood, rising to his greatest height. The old man towered over Hermione at his normal height, now she was minuscule, but she did not back down. No, she couldn't back down.

"You have a theory about Voldemort," she stood to her tallest height as well, staring down one of the most powerful living men in Wizarding England. "I know you do, but you've never had any proof to determine if you're correct or not. I am your proof. You know what I am, and I'm telling you that I've Seen it. I'm sure about not just one, 3 of them and 2 more that I think have been made, but I cannot guarantee."

The old wizard paled, his worst fear, confirmed ten-fold.

"Five?" He asked, breathlessly. "How can it be? How is that possible?"

"Five what?" Belby asked, bewildered by their conversation. "What does that bastard have?"

"Horcruxes. Pieces of his soul, broken from the whole, embedded into objects to achieve immortality."

"No fucking way," Belby's eyes twinkled with interest. "That kind of magic must be…"

"Dark." Hermione finished for him, killing the shine in his eyes. "Darker than just dark. It's evil. In order to do it, it's not just murder. There's a whole process that's…it's better to just die."

"Five," Dumbledore muttered. "I never imagined that he could…that anyone could make so many."

"Wait," Belby frowned. "If 5 is a lot, how are you sure that he can even make more? I'm going to assume that type of magic is strenuous to the mind, the body, and the soul itself, to say the least. A soul doesn't simply split because we want it to."

"Don't underestimate him."

"Have you considered that you're overestimating him?"

"Professor Dumbledore has underestimated him all his life, now look at the damage he's causing this world," Hermione narrowed her eyes, staring at the old wizard. "The people tortured and murdered. The regime he's hell-bent on creating."

"Why are you telling us this?" Dumbledore asked, sitting forward in his seat, but his hand was at his waist where the Elder Wand sat, ready to strike her down at a moment's notice if need be.

Hermione Granger was never a good actor because she believed that it was too similar to lying. Lying seemed like such an unnecessary tool when the truth was often much more effective. In all her years of working at the Ministry, she never once lied or cheated to accomplish her goals and status. Genuine hard work and sometimes brutal decisions based on the truth were what set her apart and made her the Head of the DMLE at such a young age.

But she was not Hermione Granger.

"I am a Seer, plagued by my visions since birth. Visions of Voldemort killing, torturing, and mutilating life and goodness. It brought me a parasite that I can never get rid of, and now I'm dying because of it." Hermione's eyes teared up, but she didn't let them fall. "But my sight and this parasite have also given me the chance to fix the world I've Seen. When I saved Sirius from the Initiation, Voldemort saw what I could do. He coveted it. He still covets it. The government will fall. Once it does, the DMLE and the Aurors will do jack shit to help. You know this. I know you're thinking of creating a group. A band of talented and brave individuals who will fight the horrors to come," Hermione could see Dumbledore taken aback by her words. The Order of the Phoenix was yet to be made, only an idea in his mind, but the brilliant part of her terrible origin story was that his plans were like the back of her palm. There was nothing he did that she did not know.

"But Dumbledore, they will not be enough." She pressed. "Their numbers are greater, their forces diverse with dark creatures, and no moral code stopping them from firing Avadas every bloody second. They will come like hoards, dropping your talented and brave recruits like flies. I can help you. I can be the eyes and ears within the operation. I will be your spy."

"Becoming a Death Eater doesn't explain how you're going to get his soul, Hermione," Harry told her.

"At the same time, I will also become Voldemort's most prized possession." She told both Dumbledore and Harry. "He won't be putting his precious soul into an object that can be stolen or broken. It would be put in a living being, whom he thinks is devout to him. A person with a survival instinct to keep herself and his soul alive and capable of defending herself when your freedom fighters of Light come storming in. Or so Voldemort thinks. He already covets me because of my Obscurus. He felt its tremendous magical power. Strength like that protecting his most precious sad little soul? He'll want it. I'll make sure he'll want it."

"Holy fuck." Belby whispered. "Am I crazy or is she making a lot of sense?"

"I already know what 3 of the 5 Horcruxes are. I will hunt the rest of them down. And finally, I will die, taking his soul with me. Then, he will die."

"Wait," her Healer raised his hand. He blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. "Even with a little bit of research Voldemort can find out that Obscurials have shortened lifespans because of the parasites eating away at your magic/your souls."

Hermione turned to him with a smile, "Wow Belby, it's like you're adding yourself to the equation."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you think I kept you in this room because I needed moral support?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Clearly, the more people know about my plan, the more dangerous it is, but I kept you here because you're important to the plan."

Belby raised his hands in surrender as he took a step back. "I don't think I should get involved with this…"

"If you leave without promising to help me, I will wipe your memory of this entire evening. Every single detail. You will remember nothing."

Belby took his wand out, pointing it for defence. He glanced at Dumbledore for help, only to find the old wizard sitting in his seat, making no move to help him.

"What is it you want me to do?" He asked, hesitantly.

"You're going to tell the world that you cured me," she smiled. "Not that you got rid of my Obscurus, but that you've managed to contain it. You will boast as you usually do and tell the whole world that you helped me to control the parasite that plagued my life."

"But that's a fraud! If I get caught in the lie, my whole reputation and my life's work will go down the drain!"

"I AM YOUR LIFE'S WORK!" Hermione shook him. "I AM YOUR REPUTATION. And I am still fucking dying. At least this way, the world will think you've actually accomplished something rather than just delaying the inevitable."

"But when you die—"

"No one has to know that she died from the Obscurus," Dumbledore interjected. "Hermione's been on drugs her entire life. She's been sick her entire life. If we control the media at the time of her death, people can just think that she died from a weak constitution."

"I will make a will," Hermione persuaded gently. "No autopsy. No one has to know that nothing changed. You will remain brilliant and revered as you've always been. Nay, even more so."

His body language still rejected the idea, but his eyes were less guarded. "Still, Obscurials around the world will flock to me for a cure. A cure I never made!"

Dumbledore shook his head, "That depends on how we announce this so-called cure. The situation between you and Miss Evans is unique. You've been privy to her case, her condition, and her Obscurus since she was a baby. You've been there every step of the way, making personalized potions ever since. This unique insight can be the core source of your cure. Irreplicable to other situations. People and Healers from around the world may ask for your insight, but not a cure. Insight is something you can give since it's what you've been doing all along with your potions; a different method of approaching an Obscurus and managing the outbursts."

"And there is no guarantee that you won't be able to find a cure for them, Belby. Remember what you told me? I'm the worst patient. Everyone's nightmare to take care of. Unpredictable, unstable, and incurable. Not everyone's like me."

Belby ran his hands through his balding hair, frustrated with Hermione and Dumbledore's combined persuasion. But Hermione knew it was only frustrating because it was working.

"It's not really a fraud. Obscurials are curable. They just need a sense of belonging, love, and comfort. It was just bad luck that I was a Seer on top of everything. What are the chances of meeting another me?"

That pushed him over the edge, "None." Belby straightened his back and his usual air of arrogance recovered. "I guess we have a press conference to announce."

…

After forcing Belby into an Unbreakable Vow to never disclose their conversation to anyone, including his family, Hermione and Dumbledore sat in the Headmaster's office in silence. The whirls, tick, and small clinks of his miscellaneous, yet intriguing items, as well as the fake slumbering sounds of the past Headmasters, were the only sounds to fill the spacious room.

"This is an incredibly dangerous task."

She nodded.

"You may die, before your Obscurus kills you, I mean."

She nodded once more.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"I'm more afraid of what will happen if I don't fight."

Hermione thought back to the many faces she saw in the afterlife before she made the jump to live once more. The many faces that would stand there in that world, disappointed in her for failing despite everything.

"What happens in the future?" Dumbledore asked, unable to push down his curiosity. "Why are you an Obscurial?"

"You've been holding back that question for the past 15 years, haven't you?" Hermione acknowledged his some-what self control. "What do you expect that I saw? I saw war, sir. People are murdered or become murderers. You know better than most that there is nothing quite as simple yet horrifying as that," she told him simply. "The government falls. Muggles and muggleborns are slaughtered. Half-bloods are second-class citizens. Those who sympathized are caught and tortured to be made examples of. Those who were neutral will join the Death Eater forces to survive. Dementors roam Hogwarts. Wands are snapped. And life as we know it comes to an end."

"You've Seen all of that?"

No, she hadn't, at least not all. She died before the world got to that point, but it wasn't far from what would happen. Magical folk were no different from regular muggles in their wars.

"I have conditions, Professor."

"Conditions? I thought you wanted to do this."

"I do, but I have conditions nonetheless. If you don't follow these conditions, I will not help you."

Dumbledore nodded, "If it's possible, I will do it." He knew a spy was priceless, to lose her would be a huge detriment to the Order and perhaps to the future.

"First, no one else will know about my illness. Second, you will never tell anyone else about me being a spy."

"No one? But your sister—"

"Will never know. The information I give you must always be anonymous. In order to keep my position as a spy safe, you will have to fall into some of Voldemort's traps. Evading every single one of Voldemort's plans will cause suspicion, and he will likely turn his wrath on me. This means that you will send your people into battle knowing that it is a trap and that they will likely not come back alive. That is the role you have chosen by creating the group and becoming the leader."

"I cannot—"

"You must. That is the burden and weight that you must shoulder. Which people you send, which traps you decide to fall into on purpose, and how you decide to tell the team that will be dispatched will be your prerogative. Your group is made of brave people whose only regrets will be not being able to say goodbye to their loved ones, so I suggest telling them that it will be high-risk and very likely of death or capture. This leads me to my last and most important condition."

Dumbledore's eyes paid close attention to her. For the first time, he didn't try to enter her mind. It was simply pure attentiveness. She'd finally gained his trust.

"My sister and the Marauders, minus Pettigrew, will never join your group. You will make sure of it. They are not a part of this war. They are not a part of this fight. They will live."

"Minus Pettigrew?"

"I don't give half a shit about Peter Pettigrew," she spat.

"All right," he raised a brow at her clear distaste for the smallest Marauder, "but as for the others, when they turn 17, they will be adults and I have no right to—"

"Adults? They are children. This is a war that the adults have failed to stop, so why is it up to the kids to fight it?! They will not join your team of justice fighters."

"And if they insist on joining?"

"Which they will," Harry told her. "Remember how I was? Couldn't be left on the sidelines. Needed to be in the midst of the battles and the chaos."

"Then you test them. And you fail them. Show them that there is a pre-requisite level of field capability that must be met or else they are not allowed."

"To purposely fail them…they're good duelists. They could make the difference between winning and losing a battle."

"BUT I WILL HELP YOU WIN THE WAR," Hermione slammed her fist into his table, awakening Fawkes with a loud squawk. "It's me or them."

He stared at her for a while, but she did not budge.

"Miss Evans, why can't anyone know you're a spy? It's not like the people between the two sides of the war will mingle with each other."

"Because I plan on mingling with the Slytherins and cementing the idea that I've gone to their side. That I thought the Light was hopeless in their fight and chose the winning side. The pragmatic, self-serving, and self-preservationist Slytherin in me ditched them and chose to win than die fighting to the last man."

"Why?" He asked desperately. She didn't blame him. Her plans weren't understandable, not to the average person. Someone had to live her life to understanding them truly, and even then, she wasn't sure they'd make the same choices, even if they understood why she was making them.

"No one mourns a villain. No one mourns a traitor, a deserter, or someone who broke a fundamental trust between friends, family, and lovers. I'm dying anyway, so I will make myself easier to hate and to forget. Everyone will move on and live a happy life. That's what I want."

"Sweet child," Dumbledore shook his head.

If someone else had called her that, she would have been annoyed, but Dumbledore was one of the few people who was actually older than her when you combined both of her lives.

"You underestimate your impact on others. Even if you make yourself the most hated person. You will never be easy to forget." He promised. "Hermione, please don't make those your conditions. Making your friends and family hate you will not achieve the bliss for them that you think it will. They will resent you but miss you. Then they will resent themselves for missing you because they think you do not deserve their mourning, only then to miss you more for the times they didn't hate you. Besides," he paused. He reached across the table and held her cold hands in his warm ones. "You deserve the commemoration, the mourning, and the sorrow that comes when someone great dies because you are great. People should know it, especially those close to you deserve to know that their judgement in you was not misplaced, but exactly right."

"What about the guilt they had in not stopping me from doing this? They will have to live with the fact that I walked into hell all by myself."

He paused, "You're right. There is no correct method of embarking on the challenge you're setting out to do. I just think they should know, even if it's not right away. If you die regretting the fact that you never told anyone, and the only people who know are bound by the Vow to never tell anyone…then there's nothing left to be done."

Hermione stood up and reached out her hand to the man across the table.

"No man dies without regrets. It's a natural part of being selfless in your lifetime, and selfishness has no limits, so in the end, everyone, regardless of how selfless or selfish they lived, will regret something on their deathbed. I will be no different, but one thing I will not regret is that Voldemort will die having many many regrets, the main one being me. My conditions remain. Please perform the Unbreakable Vow."

…

Lily kept a watchful eye on the door of their Charms classroom as students filed in for their afternoon class. She didn't get to see her sister during the morning for Advanced Transfiguration, but she didn't see her during lunch either. In fact, her sister looked quite sickly as of late, causing reason for alarm in Lily's mind.

The front entrance for the professors opened and Flitwick entered, announcing the start of their lessons.

Lily glanced around with alarm, this time, it wasn't just Hermione that was missing, but all of the Marauders as well.

"Good afternoon, everyone." Mr. Flitwick's squeaky voice called to them from the front. Lily could see his small eyes going back and forth between the rows of tables to notice the empty spots. "Where are Misters Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Miss Hermione Evans?"

Lily winced at the emphasis on her sister's name. After Hermione's academic probation last year, she was on the red list for all the professors. They were not to tolerate anything lower than model student behaviour.

"I'm not sure about the boys, but Hermione was feeling very ill today, professor." Lily excused. "Very…very ill. Right Alice?" She turned to her friend, hoping she'd catch her drift and nod, but it was Severus who supported her claim.

"She said something about feeling nauseous and wanting to vomit in the morning."

"Yeah, she looked bloody terrible." Zacharias Smith laughed as he agreed. "Probably all weepy from a broken heart. You know how girls are."

"Oh please, Sirius isn't here either." Mary scoffed at her ex-boyfriend's sexist comment. "It's called having an actual attachment to the relationship you were once in, Smith. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"And you do? Curtis, if my memory serves me right, you were hooking up with another guy the next day!"

"At least she wasn't hooking up with a guy during the relationship!" Marlene immediately came to her best friend's defence.

"Okay! Enough!" Flitwick stopped both sides of the argument, looking regretful that he even asked a question in the first place. "Someone please let the boys and Miss Evans know that I expect a notice of absence from Madame Pomfrey by dinner today? Now, moving on. Non-verbal charms…"

Lily continued to glance at the door, hoping to see everyone stumble in late. Nothing was the same after Hermione and Sirius broke up. The Marauders kept to themselves due to Sirius's insistent bad mood, which meant none of the entertainment they usually provided for the House, or even the school in general. No pranks, no jokes, no common room talent shows, or Gobstone tournaments. With the news being so dark as of late, now was a perfect time for the school to use some of that Marauder charm, but they were too busy tiptoeing around Sirius, resulting in the rest of the school also tiptoeing around him.

Hermione on the other hand acted like the whole relationship never happened, busy making friends with her previous bullies or off doing something by herself.

The door opened to reveal James and Peter.

"Tardy, Mr. Potter and Mr. Pettigrew."

"Sorry Professor Flitwick," James pushed Peter in front of him and quickly sat in their seats near the back of the class.

"5 points from Gryffindors for each of you."

The red and gold side of the class groaned, but Lily turned to James, wondering if she could somehow convey her questions to him with her eyes.

James sensed her gaze and looked right into her eyes, but instead of answering her unspoken question, he seemed to be asking one of his own. She responded inquisitively, but Flitwick interrupted them by clearing his throat.

The class continued on, but there was no sign of Hermione, Sirius, or Remus.

"Let's get some practical practice in," Flitwick motioned everyone to stand and pushed the tables to the walls.

Lily took the chance to run up to James, only to be stopped midway by Severus.

"Do you know where Hermione is?" Severus looked concerned.

"No. You don't know either?"

"She didn't look too good after breakfast, so I thought she went to the Hospital Wing, but she wasn't there when I went to check up on her."

"You guys want to know where Evans is?" Peter inserted himself into the conversation after eavesdropping. "She's with Sirius and Remus."

"Sirius AND Remus?" Severus was perplexed. "What's she doing with the two of them?"

"Don't you know?" Peter leaned in, the little wisps of hair on his upper lip he's been trying to grow for a pathetic 'moustache' came uncomfortably close to Lily's ear. "Your sister's playing both of them and they found out."

"Peter!" James called from their desk. He looked suspiciously between his small friend and Lily whose jaw dropped so far down that it looked a little unnerving. He ran down and grabbed Pettigrew. He yanked him back whispering furiously into his ear.

"Oi! Back off! I didn't say anything regards to that!" Peter shoved James back.

"Break it up boys!" Flitwick heard the commotion. "Or you'll be spending you evening with a detention with me!"

Lily grabbed James's shirt before he went back to his seat, "Is it true?"

His eyes nervously flicked back and forth between his friend and Lily, "I-I don't know. It's not certain."

"But Remus and Sirius are with my sister now?"

"Yeah," James headed up to his seat, leaving a fuming Lily.

"Lily, what happened? What did he say?" Severus asked.

"That my sister is a two-timing horrible person…"

"What?"

"And that she got caught."

"What?!" Severus's eyes bulged. "There's no way! Your sister barely has time to date Black, let alone another guy. She's busy with tra—" he stopped. "stuff with us Slytherins."

Lucky Lily was too preoccupied with the bundle of information she'd received in such little time that she didn't notice Severus's blunder. "I don't know what to think. James just all but confirmed it."

"Trust me. Your sister is not that type of person. You know that."

"Then why isn't she here, Sev? After barely passing last year, and receiving academic probation, why isn't she here?"

Severus rubbed Hermione's enchanted golden coin, which she'd dropped during training early this morning. It contained a desperate message from Lucius, one she needed to see now.

"I don't know, but whatever the reason, I'm sure it's a good reason. It better be."