ihopeour

by alissa.mellie

d

9. 9

There's a tapping sound at the window, and the owl hoots impatiently as Hermione makes her way over to open it.

It's an hour before they'd agreed to convene to work on the Gringotts plans; she and Harry had both argued they should start earlier, only to be met with Ron's stubborn refusal, insisting it would be a useless planning session if they hadn't gotten enough sleep—especially after the chaos of the last few weeks.

Hermione'd woken early regardless, though; still exhausted, but her body too anxious and on edge to remain unconscious, even with the added interruptions of Lyra's cries every few hours, waking her just long enough for Draco to tell her to go back to sleep while he tends to her.

The quiet is nice, though. Between Hogwarts and being on the run and being in the middle of a war…well, she's not sure the last time she had a moment of peace like this.

(One where she's able to sit and let herself feel the weight of it all, sip at coffee while lost in thought, knowing the three most important people in her world are safely sleeping just a few walls away.)

The owl hoots peevishly at her lack of urgency.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she sighs as she reaches to unlatch the window. Her brow furrows as the owl flutters inside. "You haven't even got a letter—who sent you?"

Her question is answered when, instead of settling on the perch, the bird lands on the chair besides the one Hermione had been sitting in—and then begins to elongate, morphing into the form of Ginny Weasley.

"Hermione! Thank god you're okay, merlin, we've been so worried. Are Harry and Ron here too?"

Hermione can't get it together enough to answer the other girl's questions, though, is still processing her transformation from poultry to person.

"What the actual fuck." Rather than screaming, Hermione's voice drops to a whisper as she stares at her friend. "Am I dreaming?"

"Nope," Ginny reassures her, proud glint in her eye. "I started the process last year, thinking there must be a way it'd come in handy—didn't want to tell anyone in case it didn't work. Had my first successful transformation just a few months ago. And thank merlin for that, too, because it's the only reason I've been able to keep from being murdered by the Carrows so far. And with things as tense as they are now, I figured we needed to know what was going on, and I remembered Sirius always talking about them roaming the grounds and going too far on accident, because the wards didn't recognize animals, so last night I just—started flying."

"I—you—" Rubbing at her temples, Hermione tries to form a coherent thought. "Wow. Okay then. How are you here now, though? Bill mentioned your mother was livid you hadn't come home for Easter, so how…"

With a scoff, Ginny helps herself to a mug of coffee, looking entirely comfortable in the cottage despite only having been there once before—a skill Hermione's always envied.

"Yeah, I'm sure she was. Ruined all her plans, I'm sure." Ginny rolls her eyes. "The woman forgets that I know her—assumes that because we're on such different pages about so many things I can't figure her out. But I've been doing that since I was a toddler. I could tell from a million miles away if I got on the train at Easter there was no way in hell she'd let me come back to Hogwarts after the holiday—so, I didn't get on."

She shrugs as she said it, like it's no big deal, but Hermione can see the tiredness behind her eyes; the frustration, when it's taking everything in you to fight and even the people on your side try to encourage you to give in.

"She doesn't want me to fight. Because I'm a girl, of course, and that's always been an issue between us. Because I'm the youngest, and she still thinks I'm a child. But mostly, I think, because the rest of them are too far gone—all adults, moved on with their lives, there in the thick of it. And it's hard to worry about them when there's nothing she can do about it—especially Ron, off on you lot's secret mission, with Harry at the center of it all. It's entirely out of her hands, and that's—"

"Terrifying for anyone, let alone a mother who can't protect her children," Hermione finishes, mouth turned downward in understanding.

"Exactly. All of it, all of their safety and lives—it's completely out of her control. So she's trying to command me entirely for some semblance of control. As if I'm home, tucked away being the wards, even if everything else goes wrong, even if everyone else gets hurt or killed, she'll know I'm safe and have that one bit of peace." Ginny tugs at the scrunchy to release her hair from the tight athletic ponytail, sighing as it spills down onto her shoulders. "And I understand it, of course. I mean, we both know I have my own issues with control." A laugh of dark humor escapes her. "So I can't blame her—if I had a way of ensuring Blaise's safety, or yours, Luna's, any of my brothers…it would make this all much more bearable. But—that's not how wars work. And I'm not a doll to be protected, I'm a soldier. I fought at the Ministry, I'm leading ASA—I'm the one who's had Him live inside my head."

Her voice grows raspy on the last word, years of anguish at the way everyone seems to forget. How nice it must be, not to remember that time a piece of Riddle's soul ran rampant in Hogwarts.

(Merlin, does she wish she could forget.)

"I'm not going to back down from the fight against the person who ravaged my mind when I was eleven—the reason I would come to covered in blood, not sure where I was, missing memories but so far past tired I knew I couldn't have been sleeping. The reason I've been scared to close my eyes in the castle all the years since, the reason every minute we're in the chamber for ASA I spend thinking of what would've happened if you hadn't had a mirror, or Justin hadn't been with Nick. The reason I feel like I'm not anything most days—the reason I know everything about the Dark Lord, know him better than myself. This is my fight as much as anyone's—maybe more."

"You're absolutely right," Hermione affirms, gently squeezing the other girl's hands with her own. "I'm sorry that everyone finds what you went through so easy to look past. I know I'm guilty of it, too." She waves away the other girl's shrug. "But Gin—why are you here now? Won't they be looking for you at Hogwarts?"

"Er…no, actually." Ginny has the good sense to look a bit shamed even as her mischief shines through. "So…we've been mounting resistance all year, of course. Neville and I have been heading ASA, and we've been trying to do what we can at the castle, at least. But we've also had limits, you know? We've been smart about it all, not getting caught doing the things we know would convince them to kill us once and for all. But…"

She pauses, giving Hermione an apologetic look before continuing. "When Draco didn't come back after Easter we were really worried. And those who had gone home for the break could tell there was a change in the air. So Neville and I figured the end was coming; figured the best thing we could do was escalate, draw more of their attention to Hogwarts and away from you lot and the Order's efforts. And it worked—maybe a little bit two well, because then the Carrows and Snape decided we were too much of a liability. They ordered the reformed Inquisitorial Squad to catch us, told them we'd be killed the second we were caught, so Pansy shoved us in her Head Girl rooms to hide."

Hermione splutters. "But—you're saying you've both just been hiding out in her rooms for weeks? How are you eating—how are you surviving?"

"We didn't stay there permanently—just until the next morning. Long term we've been staying in the room of requirement; we repurposed it and heightened security, and it provides anything else we need. Good thing, too, because more and more people have been coming each week—the Carrows have completely lost it." She shivers, thinking of the horror stories each new student refugee has brought as they claimed a newly manifested hammock. "As for food…well, our friendship with the Hogwarts house elves has been critical, of course. But on top of that…Hermione, the room is even more incredible than we imagined. It created a passage that opens up at the Hog's Head, right into Aberforth's flat above the pub."

The older girl opens and closes her mouth, incapable of forming words. "Aberforth has been helping ASA?"

"He's been a godsend, honestly. Pain in the ass, of course—he's not exactly nice, is he? But he's been willing to do a lot for us, and has been in touch with McGonagall so she doesn't panic, or anything, and so the both of them can figure out a way to get us all out safely either if the battle comes to Hogwarts or if this isn't over by the end of term."

"Would've been nice of him to mention this at the Order meeting a few weeks ago," Hermione grumbles. "But okay. I'm so relieved to hear you're all okay."

"Us? Are you kidding? The three of you have been on your own for a year—I'm so glad you're alive." Ginny pulls her into a tight hug, then leans back, gaze clouding over. "Have you heard from Draco?"

"Yes, he's here, actually. It's…a long story." The brunette grimaces, ignoring the urge to glance at the still healing wound beneath her sweater. "Suffice to say I was taken captive and brought to Malfoy Manor; Dobby managed to get us out, as well as the other prisoners and Draco's mother. Dean was one of them—he's here still, you can see him if you'd like."

"Dean's alright too?" Ginny's entire person lights up with joy, the relief evident. "And Draco and his mother…thank merlin."

"Thank Merlin for me?" Draco drawls, his voice entering the room seconds before him. "I knew you loved me all along, weaslette."

Ginny doesn't even retort back, just speeds across the room to punch him in the arm before throwing her arms around his shoulders tightly. "We thought you were dead, you bastard!"

"I understand that Weasleys feel the need to express affection through violence, Ginevra, but please mind the infant in my other arm, will you?" He laughs at the way her eyes go wide. "And I'm sorry you worried. I missed you too."

He moves toward Hermione, pressing a kiss to her temple before gently passing over a sniffling Lyra. "Sorry, love. I wanted to give you a bit more time but someone's hungry, so Dad just won't do."

Ginny's still frozen, staring at the exchange, astounded.

Her focus flickers between them both, down to Lyra, quiet now that she's being fed.

"So much for not telling anyone else," Draco murmurs quietly. "Though she does know everything else already."

Hermione snorts before meeting her friend's eyes. "While we were on our mission, I found out I was pregnant—part of Riddle's plans. I went into labor almost three months ago, now; her name is Lyra."

Ginny blinks, a small sound escaping her. "Merlin. You couldn't have led with that?"

/

"I spoke with Griphook," Remus says after finishing his coffee. "I thought he might be more willing to help me, given…well, our similar treatment and status in the wizarding world. Obviously the situations are very different, and as a wizard there are many privileges I have that he doesn't, but nonetheless, I thought he might be less…reluctant, shall we say, to assume I hold the same prejudices as many other wizards. Which—perhaps he was. But nonetheless…he had some conditions."

Hermione's sat around the kitchen table with Harry, Ron, Bill, Sirius, and Remus. Narcissa and Andromeda look on, chiming in whenever they have helpful ideas but mostly conversing with each other. Ginny'd left just a few hours after her arrival, once she'd had a chance to check in on both brothers at Shell Cottage and Dean, not wanting to leave Neville on his own with the rest of ASA for too long and having received the information she came for.

(It feels useless, Hermione thinks, being able to see each other for such small wisps of time, having to watch her friend go right back to the hellscape.)

(But at the same time…it's everything, being able to have just a few moments together. Being able to see each other alive, and okay, and feel as though there's hope. It makes it feel like they're actually approaching the end of it all.)

"What did he want?" Bill asks with narrowed eyes. "Remus, with all due respect, I've worked in this field for many years, and you can't trust a—"

"Werewolf?" Remus finishes for him, eyebrows raised.

"No, that's not—it's completely different, I—"

"Is it?" Remus asks him, voice steel without ever raising his volume. "It's a sentence I've heard plenty of times before. Have you not noticed, since your attack, the way people look at you differently? The way even those who've known you for years suspect you capable of horrible things?"

Bill swallows heavily. "I have."

The older man grimaces. "Exactly. And you're not actually a werewolf—you're not capable of that kind of harm, and even still, are met with such a negative response. And we're wizards; we have wands, and some of our rights, and are members of the group in power. So can you imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to experience that same disdain and distrust amplified, and without any of those benefits?" He meets Bill's eyes without judgement. "I believe your experiences are genuine—I have no doubt you've had negative, harmful interactions with goblins in your line of work.

"But those interactions did not occur in a vacuum; from their perspective, you're not a coworker—you're a member of the group that has subjugated them for centuries, you're someone who's never cared that they don't have the same rights and protections, you're a member of the group in power that sees them as subhuman. Our people have spent the last thousand years colonizing, of usurping resources and treasures and lives. I'm sure plenty of times goblins weren't kind to you—wizards have been awful to them, why would they be? All of your negative experiences have come after a lifetime of suffering at the hands of wizards for generations and generations of goblins. We are unquestionably the villain in this story. You're saying we can't trust them—but how could they ever trust us?"

Bill looks stunned as he takes it all in, the guilt clearly uncomfortable as it washes over him. Ron and Sirius, too, look conflicted; a lifetime of pureblood upbringing, being used to the way the society is.

(Of thinking they're on the right side—thinking that surely, they recognize and care about blood supremacy at play, so they must not be guilty of other forms of bigotry.)

(They're the good guys, after all.)

It's the same trope played out over and over—humanity never learns.

"Think about it," Hermione adds, wanting to make sure they all see—needing them to understand. "How many times have you heard that goblins are greedy? And yet why are we led to believe it? Because they want and take treasures from wizards—treasures that are goblin made, that wizards stole in the first place. They have a history of doing whatever they can by whatever means necessary to obtain the things their people worked, sweat, and bled to create after they've been pilfered and commandeered by wizards, passed down as though they're ours rather than stolen goods taken through bloodshed and colonialism. We subjugate them, thieve their most precious relics—and then manage to paint them to be the bad guy for wanting back what was rightfully theirs all along. We point so many fingers at others, hoping to distract everyone enough to never realize that we're the greatest monsters of all."

There's a beat of silence as they digest this. Eventually, Bill clears his throat. "You're right. You're completely right. I—I've been in the wrong the entire time. I was blind to all of it. I—merlin, I've been in this field of work for years and I never even considered…that's fucking terrifying." He goes entirely pale as the weight of it all settles on him. "How can I be capable of that kind of racism without even knowing? I never meant to do anything like this. What else have I done…merlin. Fuck. I think I'm going to be sick."

"I'm not going to comfort you," Remus tells him honestly, "Because we don't deserve comfort for the wrongs we do—we deserve accountability. Guilt like this is heavy to carry, but that's the point—it ensures that you never forget, never repeat the action. No matter the intent, damage done is damage the parties that have been wronged have to face regardless. We aren't the ones who deserve consolation for the harm we've perpetrated. But I will say, the fact that you're receiving the information and changing your opinion, the fact that you're learning from being called out—that is important. That means you will prevent yourself from doing it in the future, and the people around you. That is how we end the cycle."

It's clear that it's sunk in, then; they need time to come to terms with the revelation, and besides that, the sooner they finalize their plans for getting into Bellatrix's vault the sooner they can end this war and actually DO something about the systemic problems they're talking about.

"So," Hermione says, firmly moving forward with their planning. "What, exactly, did Griphook say? What did you have to do to convince him?"

Remus brushes a lock of hair back and out of his face. "Nothing, actually. He—he doesn't like us or trust us, but in his words, 'The Dark Lord is committing genocide of other witches and wizards over something as arbitrary as birth; I am not so naïve as to believe he has something pleasant planned for members of another species.' He doesn't think we'll do right by goblins, either, but—we're the lesser of two evils in his book."

"So he'll help us?" Harry brightens, relief coloring his features.

"To some extent. He won't come with us, but he has been to Bellatrix's vault before—he disclosed which specific security measures are in place, what we would need to prepare for."

"And in return?"

"He doesn't truly believe we'll hold up our end of the deal; that's why he won't come along to help," Remus explains. "But he said if, somehow, we're genuine in wanting to repay him for his help, he wants a goblin-made relic in the Black family's possession; Sirius and I got rid of all the ones in Grimmauld Place years ago, but to be honest we just haven't gotten around to going through the vault because it's just so vast."

"Well that we can definitely make happen," Sirius says confidently. "And anything else he needs."

Remus smiles at his husband, before opening up a notepad. "Right, then. Other than what Bill was already aware of, this is what we're up against."

"We have Bellaltrix's hair from my robes—we can use that to Polyjuice. Dobby managed to bring her wand as well after he disarmed her, so it will be completely convincing," Hermione jots down.

"The largest and oldest vaults are the deepest underground, and have the best security. So the Polyjuice will come off at the Thief's Downfall," Bill reminds her.

Harry makes a face. "We'll have to be prepared to get whoever our escort is to still open the vault after that, then. And we'll need to have a different way out."

Scowling, Sirius says, "Whoever polyjuices into her…their acting will have to be perfect. Whatever it takes. Even the smallest out of character action will mean that the jig is up."

A few feet away, Narcissa looks on with derision.

"Do they always make things so difficult for themselves?" she asks her sister, brows drawn together in confusion.

"And worse," Andromeda mutters disdainfully. "Bloody Gryffindors. They assume the hardest way is the only way. It's pure insanity."

"And yet both of our children are bound to one," Narcissa reminds her with a playful roll of her eyes.

"We'll have to imperius him after the thief's downfall," Bill continues with a grimace. "I don't like it at all, but it's the only way. Not to mention, as soon as the thief's downfall finds any enchantment or concealment, it will set off an alarm and derail the cart. So we'll only have a few minutes to get in and out of the vault before security gets to us."

Narcissa sighs, unable to hear their plotting any longer. "I can't, you all are absurd. This is painful to witness. If I may, I have a few suggestions."

All of the Gryffindors crowded around the strategy blueprint on the table look up at her with surprise.

"Go on, then, cousin," Sirius says cheerfully.

"You're expecting this to be difficult," she begins, holding up a hand to stifle Ron and Sirius's protests immediately afterward. "Of course it will be, but what I mean is, you're so convinced it will be hard to do that you're assuming you must use the most nefarious, intricate, delicate means of doing everything. You assume the most difficult way of doing your task is the only way to successfully complete it. And in doing so you are only complicating things further."

She points to their haphazardly sketched map of the Gringotts interior. "Right now, you've listed off a number of complications with getting here, because her vault is so deep within the bank. Your plans at this point rely on them not knowing her wand was stolen or suspecting any potential subterfuge regarding her vault. But consider a muggle whose credit card has been stolen; what's the first thing they would do?"

Hermione's eyes close and she lets out a groan as understanding escapes her. "Call the bank and have them freeze the account, so they know any forthcoming charges or attempts to withdraw are fraudulent."

"Precisely. Knowing what I do of both my sister and Riddle, I would be willing to bet my life that they contacted Gringotts immediately after your escape—especially knowing Draco and I were with you, and we're aware of Bellatrix's obsession with her vault's security." Narcissa's face remains expressionless, though they all know she's preening a bit as they realize she's right.

"So we're screwed, basically," Ron says, nose scrunched in frustration.

"No. Like I said—you assumed the most difficult means was the way you needed to use. You expected it to be a difficult venture, and so you assumed you would need to use Polyjuice Potion in order to get inside."

"So how would a Slytherin approach the situation?" Remus asks earnestly.

The corners of Narcissa's lips turn upward. "Well, why not walk right through the front door?

/

After they finish up their plans, deciding to spend a week preparing and getting things in order before launching the mission, Hermione makes her way to the living room, settling into the plush armchair with a sugar quill as she begins to unwind from the weight of the day.

She'd tried to go bother Draco and Lyra, but her soul mate had taken one look at her expression and all but ordered her away to take a few minutes of alone time to decompress and relax before pouring herself into the two of them.

Lost in thought, she's absentmindedly chewing on the end of the sugar quill when Ron approaches her

"I get it now," Ron says softly. "I—I' sorry, Mione."

Hermione raises her eyebrows, entirely lost. "What are you talking about?"

"I…during fourth and fifth year. I mean, I've always been a prat about these things, but especially when you were vocal about house elves rights and mistreatment, and whenever we other creatures would come up, I gave you so much shit about it. I didn't…I didn't understand, then, how important it all was—how horrible I was really being. I never even considered that what I had been led to believe might've been all wrong—that you might just be able to see it all more clearly because you were seeing it all for the first time. You didn't deserve it, and I…I'm sorry." His expression is pained, so genuinely sorrowful as he meets her gaze.

"Thank you, Ron." She reaches to hug him for the first time in a while. "I…I'm really proud of you for growing so much. It means a lot that you remembered."

"Still, though. I wish I had gotten it then."

Hermione sighs, repositioning herself in the chair. "I do too. But life is never that easy. And none of us are perfect—I'm plenty flawed myself, I've done more things wrong than I could count, especially where such important and difficult topics are concerned."

She cocks her head at him. "What's done is done. But we can make sure it doesn't continue happening. We can educate the people around us. We can make sure our children and everyone who comes after us knows better. That's what this all comes back to, isn't it? Everything we've done—the whole purpose is to create a better world. This is just one more part of that—a huge, significant part, don't get me wrong, but aiming for the same end goal nonetheless."

Ron nods in agreement with her words, determination burning bright in his eyes.

(And she can see it—that he's not just babbling these things, and going along with what she's saying. He means them; is never going to forget this.)

"Do you think this Gringotts plan is going to work?" he asks, nerves and curiosity in his voice.

"I…I like to think so," she says slowly. "It's definitely better than many of our previous plans; more cohesive, more likely to work, the easiest to enact. But…I don't know."

"It almost feels too easy," Ron says, as though he's read her thoughts off a teleprompter. "And there's no room for anything to go wrong."

"Exactly. Which in theory is fine, because again, it's our best plan yet. But historically…well, we've been pretty horrible at sticking to plans, and we only survive because our talents lie in improvising solutions in the thick of it all. I'm not sure we'll be able to do that, this time."

"This will just have to be the one time we stay on-script," Ron says decidedly. "Then he'll start keeping the snake with him, and from there…"

"We can finally put an end to this thing."

It's not happiness they feel, not really—there's too much pressure and fear for that.

But the anticipation, the sense that one way or another it will all finally be resolved, soon…

(Hermione can see the relief in his face, too.)

Notes:

chapter title from hurricane by bridgit mendler

Chapter 49: I do bad things for the sake of good

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione clears her throat before popping her head in the sitting room. "Narcissa, do you have a minute? I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions—about sleep patterns and teething, and that kind of thing. Usually I'd read everything I could get my hands on, of course, but given the circumstances…"

"Yes, of course, dear." Narcissa is on her feet in an instant, easily slipping away from the chatter with Dean and Fleur she'd been lost in.

As soon as they're in the hallway, the older woman cocks a curious eyebrow. "What is it you truly want to discuss?"

"I just told you, I—"

Narcissa snorts. "Please. Darling, I know we haven't gotten to spend much time together, but I'm not quite that incapable of deciphering a person; intuition for reading people is a necessary prerequisite to legilimency, the reason why there are so few of us—as you well know."

Hermione blushes at the correct assumption that she'd used a ruse.

"I don't doubt for a second you would've done whatever it took to be prepared for Lyra's arrival. Information makes you feel more in control and equipped to handle the situation at hand, makes the overwhelming comprehensible—I am the same way. And so I know you must have managed to get books months ago; and besides that my niece just had a baby not long before you, and while she's not the literary type, that husband of hers surely bought out Flourish and Blotts' entire stock of maternity and infancy resources, panicky wizard that he is. On that same vein, if you did have a question about stages of development, I have no doubt you would turn to Nymphadora rather than myself, as she's experienced it all nearly two decades more recently." She gives Hermione a knowing smirk, but it softens as she continues. "It's fine if it's something you don't want the others knowing about—I understand the need for a pretense more than most. I just need to know what it's about so I can be of any help to you."

"I…yes, you're right, but—not here. Come with me, please." Hermione leads her down the hall, into the only unused guest room.

Remus is already there, looking equally confused and concerned as he and Narcissa both watch Hermione lock and ward the door, casting a muffliato and shield charm to prevent ears of the natural or extendable variety.

She takes a deep breath as she turns to the both of them, resisting the urge to pace at the front of the room while she speaks. "I'm sorry for dragging you both here without any explanation. But it's important—really, truly critical. I don't want to get the others' hopes up until I'm sure…and besides that, it's incredibly sensitive information."

"Okay," Remus says slowly, nodding in understanding. "I believe you, and I trust you of course. But why isn't Sirius here as well?"

Hermione bites her lip, knowing this is the part he's not going to like. "Well, it's—it has to do with knowledge of magic; dark magic especially, the underlying principles and some specific details, and—"

"It has to do with Harry." Narcissa purses her lips as the realization sets in. "So you think Sirius won't be able to think about it all rationally."

"He acts first most of the time," Hermione says apologetically, anxiously tugging at the end of her braid. "I love him, and I think he's a wonderful father, but when it comes to strategy and logic…well, he can be blindsided by his emotions. This is something we have to be entirely clearheaded about."

Remus sighs, looking very much his age as he braces his arms on the back of the chair in front of him. "You're absolutely right. He and I have been having that very conversation since the day after we were Sorted. Point taken. Carry on."

She swallows nervously, hoping she's understood everything correctly, hoping there's even the slightest chance her theory might be right.

(hoping she hasn't created hope where there is none.)

"Pheonix tears," she begins. "I know their power lies in healing. But how, exactly, does that work?"

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asks, brows drawn together.

"Do the tears serve as a panacea—are they a blanket cure all that washes over the entire body and rewrites and eliminates everything that's wrong? Or do they act more like an antidote, specifically counteracting whatever is wrong?"

Remus rubs at his jaw, looking as serious as she's ever seen him. "I don't know for sure, to be quite honest with you, Hermione. I don't think it's a distinction many people have devoted time to."

Her soul mate's mother frowns. "Just to clarify, you're saying one would erase the harm, while the other would reverse it?" She makes a face when Hermione nods. "I agree with Remus—I don't know that it would be possible to know such a thing for sure. And furthermore, I would assume it does both."

Hermione's heart only races faster as they avoid giving her a concrete answer. "But if you had to give your best guess?"

"If I had to give my best guess…" Remus exhales heavily. "Phoenix tears cannot cure curses or cursed scares. They cannot cure dragon pox, or vampirism...and they cannot cure lycanthropy." He doesn't hesitate as he lists his own condition, though it's clear this is the one that cements whatever hypothesis he's building up to. "Given that all of those are injuries or conditions that are transmitted in their entirety at infection, if I had to guess, I would infer that phoenix tears can only cure open or active wounds."

"Which would explain why a substance being powerful enough to bring people back from the brink of death can't cure that which would logically be a quick fix in comparison," Narcissa murmurs. "And we know phoenix tears cannot bring back the dead, which is likewise a condition with a sense of finality."

"So you're saying of the two categories I mentioned…" Hermione hedges with wide eyes.

Remus gives her a tired look.

Her gaze is pleading. "Please," she asks quietly. "I need to make sure you're saying what I think you are. I swear I wouldn't push it so far if it weren't important."

"Of the two categories you mentioned, I would assume it primarily acts as a means of counteracting whatever injury or other source of harm is present."

Hermione's shoulders relax—and then she's falling to her knees, a sob of relief escaping her.

Both of the older adults are on the carpet beside her instantly, Remus's look of concern so familiar it's comforting.

"Thank god," she manages to gasp out, chest heaving as the emotions overwhelm her. "Oh, thank god."

They wait until she pulls it together; not badgering or demanding answers, just sitting with her, head pressed against Remus's shoulder while Narcissa gently rubs circles on her back.

After a few minutes, she manages to calm herself down, blowing out a deep breath as she sits up straight, meeting both of their expectant gazes.

"I could be leaping to conclusions," she prefaces. "I've only been doing research on the subject for a few months, I'm by no means an expert—"

"You're spiraling," Remus says gently, the way he and Harry have plenty of times before. "Start at the beginning of your research. How did you get to this conclusion? What started you looking down this path in the first place."

"I—we've been using the fangs to destroy the horcruxes for a while now," Hermione says.

"And Harry—just in passing one day, thinking nothing of it—he made a joke one day about how he couldn't blame them for fighting back, because he remembered how badly it hurt to be stabbed by one too. It wasn't anything else, just the usual kind of quip he makes, of course, but something about it felt…off, somehow. I couldn't figure out why, but it consumed me, replaying that moment over and over, and trying to figure out why it was bothering me so much."

She looks back and forth between them, but they don't see it either.

(And in hindsight it seems so incredibly obvious, so insane that they hadn't seen it sooner, but it's such a small thing in passing—feels wrong enough to notice but not figure out why, like realizing halfway out the door your shoes are on the wrong feet.)

"Harry's been bitten by a basilisk."

Her voice is clear as she says it.

"Basilisk venom destroys horcruxes."

She's in her element now, presenting the facts that bring them to a revelation—this has been her life since she was eleven

"So how is there one still tethered to him?"

Narcissa's eyes bulge with shock as she processes the information, not having been aware of the fragment of Voldemort's soul housed inside the boy who lived.

Meanwhile, Remus has a sharp intake of breath, and then his eyes lights up with insight. "The tears would have to have counteracted the venom—so both he and the horcrux were left unharmed afterward."

"You see it too!" She can't stop the desperate hope building in her chest. "And so I started researching antivenoms for snakes in general—which I should've done ages ago, really, if I had paid more attention when Arthur was injured or when we found out about Nagini this could've been—"

"Focus," Remus reminds her. "You were talking about researching antivenom."

"Right! Sorry." She takes another deep breath before continuing. "So, in order to create antivenom for snake bites, muggle doctors induce immunity in a host animal of some sort—a goat or what have you—and then they administer the hyperimmunized serum to the patient. That's what made me start looking into it in earnest; because phoenixes could just be serving as the host animal, right? And obviously we don't induce them to have immunity to the basilisk, but because of their healing powers they do—and so I wondered if phoenix tears were then just the magical equivalent of hyperimmunized basilisk serum."

Remus is rapt with attention, the cogs in his own mind whirring.

Narcissa is likewise assimilating the new scientific information to her preexisting magical schema, but a large part of her is just taking it all in—she's never seen Hermione in action, before, never been able to witness the action behind the mind that's managed to keep both her son and Harry Potter alive all these years. Observing it now…it's awe inspiring.

(There's a part of her thrilled with every moment that passes, anticipating having the witch before her as a part of the family; wondering about what Lyra will be like, with such excessive intellect in her genes—the likelihood that she'll give both her parents a run for their money.)

(But there's also a part of Narcissa that's sad as she watches; as she wonders what Hermione might have accomplished, who she might've been able to come if all of her brilliance and dedication didn't have to be channeled towards war.)

Hermione carries on, oblivious to her future mother in law's internal conflict. "Which made me turn to the mechanics behind it all, because if there's a parallel outcome and a parallel origin of conception, whether or not they act in the same way is the key to figuring out whether or not we can use antivenom as a basis of understanding, and for prediction. Functionally speaking, antivenoms work by neutralizing the venom they're intended to oppose. They prevent things from getting worse once administered, but they can't reverse damage that's already been done."

Remus crosses his arms as he takes in the information. "I see what you're saying—and this is incredible, Hermione, not just for you but for all of the magical world. But if we're assuming phoenix tears are a parallel to antivenom, how would Harry have been healed so completely, when antivenoms can't reverse damage already done?"

"I think—and I know it sounds like speculation, but hear me out—I think it all comes back to the idea of complete damage versus damage in progress. Because there are a lot of things that in the muggle world are or would be complete damage that in the wizarding world aren't; magical healing is on a different level of capability. Let's say in the wizarding world we consider cursed wounds or lycanthropy to be maladies completed upon transmission, and thus their impact to be complete damage, and injuries like cuts, abrasions, and venom to be damage in progress, because they're active, open wounds, or because they haven't completed the full extent of their spread.

"But for muggles, without things like blood replenishing potions and healing spells and the like, it comes down to a cellular level—muggle maladies like skin cancer come from UV exposure killing skin cells repeatedly, and so on. So when we think about antivenom in muggle science—with no magic involved, it's working on a cellular level, rather than along a person's magical current. And I think what it is, is that each cell that has already been destroyed by the venom is considered complete or finalized damage; so it stops the venom where it is and prevents spread, but can't undo the destroyed cells, the way phoenix tears can't undo curses. But for the phoenix tears, since they are working within the magical realm rather than on a cellular level, those destroyed cells aren't yet considered final damage."

"I—" Remus rubs at his eyes, expression befuddled and stress lining his torso. "Honestly I was always horrid at science in primary school, so I only understood about half of what you just said. But I trust that the conclusion you've come to is sound.

"I'm very impressed, Narcissa adds with a small smile, "but where exactly are you going with this? How does it all tie back to Harry?"

"Right, yes—I do have a point!" Hermione promises.

She knows she does this often—tends to get so worked up and worried no one will believe her, so determined to prove she knows what she's talking about and demonstrate every piece of evidence so they'll be forced to see that she's right, that she overloads with evidence instead of getting to why it matters.

"Whenever Harry had nightmares, before we learned Occlumency—when he would see into Riddle's mind. He always woke with his scar hurting. And any time he's felt strong emotions, or proximity…"

"The first summer after Padfoot escaped," Remus murmurs, "when he came to live with us. His scar hurt constantly—up through the tournament. Until he learned to Occlude; and even then, he doesn't have his shields up all the time."

"Exactly. And obviously it's the wound from the attempted killing curse, but if I'm a fractured piece of soul looking for a place to land on the only living soul around, what better place than an open wound? It would explain why his connection to Riddle seems to be almost through the scar. The dreams, of Riddle's memories and Nagini, they were how we figured out Harry was a horcrux in the first place. And if his ability to see into the mind of Nagini, another confirmed horcrux, came with pain in his scar, on top of everything else…"

"This whole time," Narcissa whispers, shaking her head sorrowfully. "It's been a marker of the night he lost his family, of such an awful tragedy, the reason he's been singled out and in danger so much over the years…and all the while it's where he's been tethered to the monster responsible for it all. That poor boy."

"I hate it too," Hermione confesses. "But also…I think it might be our saving grace."

Remus realizes what she's planning before she says it—a choking sound escapes him. "You—you want to stab your brother in the forehead with a basilisk fang."

(She resists the urge to say better than the sword, isn't it?)

"Only enough to break the skin, and with Fawkes on standby." She grimaces. "I don't love it either, but the logic is sound; for a horcrux, contact with the venom is destruction. For a human, it's only lethal if it spreads entirely. We get the venom into the scar, and thus the horcrux; as soon as it's destroyed we dose him with phoenix tears. Horcrux destroyed, Harry alive."

It kills her to be the one to suggest it—to know that if anything goes wrong, her brother's blood will be on her hands.

(But she loves him far too much not to do everything possible to save him.)

Closing his eyes, Remus groans, agonizing as he contemplates the situation.

"You know I would never ever suggest it if I didn't think it was his best shot," Hermione whispers.

"I do," Remus replies, reaching for her hand gently. "And I think you're right. It's our only option. But—that's my kid. I know I'm not as vocal as Sirius, but Harry's my son all the same. I watched him take his first steps, taught him how to drive a muggle car and how to cast a patronus…and now I have to do something that may very well kill him and just hope that it works."

There's a banging on the wards, just then, and Hermione moves to deal with whoever it is.

(She tries not to listen as Narcissa soothes him, tries to respect their privacy, but she can't help but overhear snatches of her soul mate's mother's commentary; her own struggle of wanting to protect her child, even as putting his life in danger was the only way to ensure he could one day really live.)

Once she's undone the wards, Hermione cracks the door—and pauses when she comes face to face with Harry.

"Why do you look suspicious?" he asks, voice teasing but eyes narrowed in concern.

"Been doing a little bit of plotting," she admits. "It's about time you heard it all anyway, though—come inside."

He nods and takes a step forward; but then, as though he can just feel that she needs it, pulls her into a tight hug.

"It's going to be okay, Mia," he promises fiercely.

"I hope you're right," she whispers back, clutching at his sweater like it makes up for the hurt she's about to ask him to go through—like it can prove how much she loves him, how she'd take this burden and bear it for him in a heartbeat if she could.

"Just this once, I will be. I love you."

"I love you too." She pulls back and tries to force a smile, but all that she musters is a tense grimace. "Come in so I can tell you about my new plan to poison you."

/

Harry takes it very well, all things considering; he looks impressed by her deduction, although very irritated he'd never considered the question of his own venom experience previously.

"I like it," he announces when she's finished explaining. "Definitely better than my become master of the hallows and hope for the best when Riddle avadas me plan."

"Your—are you trying to take fifty years off my life?" Remus demands.

Harry shrugs sheepishly. "We hadn't come up with anything better. But this…this sounds like it could actually work. And what's the worst case scenario—I die with the horcrux? If we don't do this that happens anyway. At least this gives me a chance at surviving; and not just that, but surviving as myself."

"Are you sure?" Hermione bites her lip. "Harry, I—I don't want you to feel like you have to say it's a good idea because I came up with it. And if you don't feel comfortable…well, we can try to come up with something better."

"I'm saying it's a good idea because it is one. Mia, you've spent the last two years trying to come up with something better," Harry says gently. "I seriously doubt you'll be able to find another option before all of this comes to a head. And besides that…if this is the end, I don't want to spend it all desperately waiting for a miracle. We spent too many years that way already. If you think this will work, then I do too—and even if it doesn't, I'm okay with that. We've done everything we could."

She wants to argue, wants to scream that she's not okay with it, not at all, there is no scenario in which she loses her brother that will ever be okay.

But—this is war. They've all known it was a possibility all along.

(She's done everything she can to keep him alive this long, to give him a chance—she'll just have to hope it's enough.)

"And—I know neither of you are going to like this," Harry says, looking between her and Remus, "But I want to do it soon. If there's a chance I can go into the final battle wholly myself, without any part of him attached to me…I want that. I want it so badly I can't even put it into words."

Remus's eyes are sad—so, so incredibly sad.

(Because that's what becomes of hope, after all, when life comes along and shatters it—it turns to sorrow as surely as fire burns and ice melts.)

(Remus had so much hope, once; the sadness it becomes consumes him.)

"If that's what you want, we will make sure it happens," Remus promises.

Harry's the one who bounds to hug him—but it's Remus who holds on for minutes, desperately wishing he didn't have to let go.

/

Everyone's tense as they get ready for the Gringotts break in.

It's only the trio and Sirius that will actually be going; while Bill had been more than willing, they knew the more of them present the less likely it would be a successful mission.

And Hermione knows they're all nervous, but—it's a good plan. Narcissa's suggestions helped shape as close to perfect of a strategy as they could ever hope to create; it's just up to them to successfully carry it out, at this point.

"You know—as soon as it's done, he'll realize what you were after," Draco cautions them, one hand softly rubbing Hermione's back. "He'll know you know about the horcruxes, go to check on them all, and when he finds them all gone and destroyed…"

"The final battle starts," Ron says grimly.

"Zat is why ze rest of us will spend ze day preparing," Fleur declares, steeling herself for what's to come. "We'll get ze word out to other Order members—carefully, nothing specific, but let zem know zat odds are it starts tonight. Make sure zat those who can't fight are taken to safety before it all starts."

"We're heading straight to Aberforth after, to get through to the castle," Hermione informs the others. "Since he assumes that's the safest location, it'll be the last horcrux he'll check—and even if it weren't, I think it's where he'd stage the battle anyway. That's where all of this started—magic, horcruxes, choosing sides…all of it started there. For him, and for us."

"We'll have to coordinate carefully." Remus rubs at his jaw thoughtfully, mind a million miles away. "To make sure we're able to get all members of the Order in through the pub, and at the same time get all the students who are too young to fight out."

"Wouldn't they be safer staying there? Or even in the tunnel?" Harry questions.

His father shakes his head. "Maybe, but we don't know enough about how the room's magic works. If, merlin forbid, Hogwarts is destroyed, and thus the space the exterior of the room occupies, what happens to the people inside? Does it spit them out somewhere else—in the middle of the chaos? Are they trapped? Are they eviscerated along with the castle? We don't know enough to take the risk."

"What about the chamber?" Sirius suggests. "If it's been there since Slytherin was alive, it's survived nearly a thousand years, it's impenetrable. If we could get them there instead they would be safe until it all ends."

"But then if something happens to me, you have no way to tell them it's safe to come out—Aliyah will be down there, so there's no way of opening it," Harry argues.

"While that is not an outcome I am seriously considering," Remus scowls at him, "there are other parsletongues in the world; if the need arose someone could reach out for help. And I think that's a much better problem to have than any alternative if they're still in the RoR. Good idea, Pads."

Draco checks the clock with a frown. "It's almost time."

The others murmur their goodbyes to one another, wishing good luck with the day to come.

Hermione holds back a reluctant whimper as she stares down at her daughter; she knows she needs to let go, but this is the only time she'll see her before it's all over. If something happens, if this is the last time they're ever together…

She can't bear it. But—leaving Lyra is the only way to protect her; the only way to make sure the world she grows up in is a safe one. The only way to break this awful cycle, and make sure she doesn't have to fight the same fight and face the same enemy.

(And that—that matters more than anything.)

"I love you, little one," she whispers against Lyra's wisps of blonde curls.

It kills her to do it, but she lets Draco take the small weight from her arms.

His eyes meet hers, and she swallows heavily. "Draco, I—"

"I'll see you at Hogwarts," he promises. "We can—say anything else we need to then. But right now you need to be as focused as possible. We can't fall apart yet."

The words are grounding—exactly what she needed to hear, and she nods as she pulls it together. "I'll see you at Hogwarts," she repeats back. His free hand reaches for her own, fingers intertwining with her own for the briefest of moments.

(This—this is why she fights.)

/

Harry's under the cloak, Ron tucked in beside him, and Hermione is at Sirius's side, costumed to look unrecognizable.

She'd been a little worried about Harry and Ron's ability to move in sync, but her fears were unnecessary—both boys had adjusted to the awkward circumstance almost instantly, seven years of sharing space and playing Quidditch coming in handy, as they effortlessly predicted each others' movements.

Sirius confidently strides through the bank's front doors, throwing them wide open seemingly with dramatic flourish—but truly to make sure their invisible companions make it inside.

The goblins they pass seem stunned at his presence, but no one tries to stop them. They make it all the way to the front desk, where Sirius raises his chin. "Sirius Black, here to enter and make a withdrawal from my vault." His tone is bored and expectant—every bit the pureblood prince his mother had raised him to be.

It feels wrong—surely, this is too easy of a solution?

But just as Narcissa pointed out—there's no reason why Sirius Black wouldn't decide to visit his vault; no reason why he couldn't. Even with things as dangerous as the current climate—well, everyone's always known he's a risky fellow, haven't they?

No Polyjuice, no assumed identities—just strolling right through the front door, because there's no reason why he wouldn't. No reason why he wouldn't be allowed to access his own vault.

"O-Of course, Lord Black," the bank manager replies hastily. "Your wand, for identification, please?"

Sirius lazily proffers the wand. They take a moment to confirm it is, indeed, his, before returning it to him.

"And your companion, sir? I just need her name for the visitor registration log."

"Carina Couteaux," Sirius says easily. "Apparently another family member had a dalliance with a muggle abroad and thought none would be the wiser; you can imagine my surprise when a witch just out of Beauxbatons approached and told me we were related, but with a constellation name and features like that," he gestures to Hermione's black hair and grey eyes, "It wasn't much of a question. We're just stopping by to get her a few things from the vault today, but sometime soon when we have more time we'll return to formally create her account and ensure the proper inheritance is transferred, as we've done for my own children."

The goblin nods as he jots down the name, before stepping away to fetch them an escort.

Hermione smiles shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her should. "I am—très grateful, Uncle."

She blinks once, and then again; never having worn contacts before, they're currently irritating her eyes beyond belief, and she has to resist the urge to scratch her scalp, trying desperately to ignore the itch of the wig.

It had been a stroke of genius on Ted's part, overhearing Andy and Narcissa's discussion of the thief's downfall. It would detect any form of enchantment or concealment; but just like so many times before, wizards overlooked anything nonmagical—and so they didn't plan for muggle means of concealment.

Thus Hermione's current state, in an entirely unfamiliar wardrobe, a realistic black bob of a wig, and aggravating grey contacts behind a set of false glasses. They'd added a few other small details here and there to make her look different—a little extra in the bust, a bit of muggle spray tan, and a decent layer of makeup. No magic necessary, but she still looks entirely unlike herself.

The manager returns, another goblin at his side. The new face points toward the door to the inner workings of the bank. "Follow me, please."

They follow behind him, carefully boarding the rickety cart. Hermione moves slowly, leaving one foot on the floor until Sirius nods—the signal that Harry and Ron have tapped his shoulder to let him know they're safely seated—and then she, too, climbs fully inside.

It moves rapidly, and it's a rough enough ride that Hermione clamps a hand to her mouth, worried that she'll otherwise be sick.

The Black vault is, just as Narcissa had pointed out, one of the greatest and most ancient, and thus in the deepest, most secure part of the bank; the ride is long, and they encounter multiple layers of security.

Sure enough, they pass through the thief's downfall, and a shiver runs through her—but there's nothing to uncover, and so they keep moving unhindered.

They begin to slow, nearing the deepest and most ancient vaults, and then the cart pulls to a stop a moment later. They all hop out, and Hermione can almost feel her blood pressure rise as the part she's been dreading most comes.

The dragon comes into view, standing at the center of a circle of vault entrances, the most high-security vaults in all of Gringotts.

They each take a set of clankers, sending the dragon in the opposite direction to allow them safe passage along one side of the room.

Only then does Harry cast the imperius curse.

(It had been the source of another argument, Sirius insisting he be the one to cast it, unwilling for any of the trio to take on that kind of weight.)

("We've already done worse, Dad," Harry had whispered brokenly, and before things could get too emotional Hermione pointed out that if it were Sirius they wouldn't be able to get into the vault at all.)

"Take us to the Lestrange vault," Harry's voice says, and the goblin obliges, continuing in the same direction but then passing further than where Sirius knows his own vault to be.

It's just a few doors further, but there are yards between them; a sense of foreboding fills the group as the halt before their desired entrance.

Ron throws the cloak off of Harry and himself and handing it to Hermione, who hastily sticks it in the beaded bag that's started to feel like an extension of herself.

"Open the vault," Harry commands, and their escort does just that, pressing a palm to the entrance until they're allowed through.

"Our timer starts now," Sirius says grimly. "Bill said we have ten minutes max to get it and find a way out."

"Remember, touch nothing," Hermione reminds them all. "Griphook said the geminio and flagrante setup has killed thieves before."

The boys nod seriously, and they all carefully spread out, in search of whatever object the horcrux might be.

"Hey Harry, Mione—you said one of the memories you looked at had Hufflepuff's cup, right?" Ron calls out. "I could be completely off base, but—is this it?"

Both of their gazes snap to where he points, and sure enough it's there—casually placed with various other valuables, sitting innocuously on a shelf high out of reach.

"We'll have to levitate you, Sirius," Harry warns him."

"It's my karma for what I did to Snivellus, I suppose," his father mutters under his breath; he sighs, and then morphs into his animagus form.

"Wingardium leviosa."

They all watch with baited breath as the Labrador is lifted higher and higher, till he's level with the shelf, and then carefully—so carefully—clamps his jaw around the stem of Hufflepuff's cup.

A beat later, when he hasn't howled and no replicas have exploded into existence, Hermione lets out a laugh of relief. "It worked! I can't believe it worked."

It had been Ginny that gave her the idea—her comment about animagi being able to come and go from Hogwarts ground because most magical wards and protections wouldn't apply.

Somehow, her guess that anti-thieving spells would work the same way had been correct—for who would have predicted a dog being in Gringotts at all, let alone stealing from a top security vault?

"You're a genius, Hermione," Harry praises, excitement clear in his voice even as his concentration is focused on lowering his godfather's canine self safely back to the floor.

Hermione holds open the beaded bag, allowing Padfoot to drop the cup within, and then he's changing back to his human form.

"Two minutes," Ron warns, glancing at the stopwatch on his wrist. "We have to go."

"Right—Harry, you go send off the goblin that escorted us with the warning. The rest of us will work on the dragon."

They hurry out of the vault, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius sprinting toward the Ironbelly.

"Accio devil's snare sprigs!" Ron casts within her purse, catching the package that emerges.

"We're sure this will work?" Hermione asks as she and Sirius begin blasting the various chains and manacles keeping the dragon in place.

"Charlie said it's one of the few things common across species," Ron confirms, having to yell over the volume. "Boosts their strength, and they can't resist the urge to fly, as soon as they eat it."

Meanwhile, Harry's attention is on the goblin, as he uses all of his strength to imbue the imperius with urgency. "Go back to the lobby as quickly as possible Warn everyone to run—you know who is coming. Gringotts isn't safe."

The goblin leaps into the cart as soon as Harry's finished casting, speeding back towards the entrance as Harry races to where the rest of his companions are.

"Last one!" Sirius calls out, directing his wand at the final manacle. "Everyone climb on."

As soon as they're all seated, Sirius releases the last bit of metal, and Ron opens the package in his hands, tossing the sprigs to the floor beneath the dragon's snout.

The dragon leans forward, consuming the bundle of devil's snare sprigs—and true to Charlie's word, within thirty seconds they're flying upward.

They smash through wood and glass and marble alike, all four of them casting to make the dragon's flight easier and ensure that none of the rubble and debris causes them any energy.

And then at last they break through the final layer, ceiling shattering around them as they zoom into the open air.