Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter.
This is my first time posting a story, and I guess I just needed somewhere to toss this. *shrugs*
Chapter One
Rita Skeeter had never been a likable person, not even as a child. Her parents often shook their heads at their daughter's antics, and lamented on where she might have picked up such atrociously nosy behavior. Skeeter thought this somewhat uncharitable, since purebloods gossiped like it was as natural as breathing. At least Rita had the honesty those airheaded ninnies lacked about their shared nature. It was one thing that people could say with conviction about her: no one worth their salt interviewed with Skeeter without knowing what would come of it. She was reliable, if only in a grimace-worthy way.
Some people called what she did rubbish. However, Rita saw what she did as nothing more than brutal honesty not everyone would willingly admit to. She could admit to maybe a teensy bit of bias when it came to certain individuals, but that's what they got for trying to set themselves up as some kind of paragon of virtue. If there was one thing Rita knew, it was that no one, no matter how much they appeared so, was truly innocent. Except maybe babies, but she was still on the fence as far as the manipulative little crotch goblins were concerned, with their cooing, squishiness, and subtle, enticing smell. They were downright devious.
Which brought her to her current predicament. Rita had been banned from covering any of the Death Eater trials. She'd nearly gone apoplectic when a younger, far more stupid, and easily manipulated reporter had been given that vaunted task. It rubbed her all the wrong ways. The boy was quoted as being fair and impartial, and she wanted to do nothing more than gag.
However, they couldn't keep her from being at the ministry with the rest of her vulture-like brethren, trying to catch glimpses and interviews as prisoners, freshly released or permanently imprisoned, were shuffled between Azkaban. She'd learned long ago, though, that if anything of substance was going to go down, it wouldn't be happening at the main entrance. No one, not even her brainless photographer, noticed as she slipped away and made her way through the dizzying labyrinth of halls. She wasn't exactly inconspicuous with her signature look, but a disillusionment charm took care of that. She'd also worn her flats to cut down on the noise, instead of her lovely, spiky heels.
When she got to the little-used elevator and took it down to the Wizengamot level, she changed into her animagus form and waited for the doors to ding open. Once they did, she flew a few hallways away and waited near the so-called 'back door' they used for only the most controversial prisoners, as well as emergencies. Security was a bit of a mess at the moment, otherwise she might not have made it.
However, she didn't have to wait long.
There was a commotion from the direction of the Wizengamot, and Rita was rubbing her two front legs together in anticipation and unmitigated joy. Then she saw a group of four aurors walking with a purpose and flanking a body floating between them. Rita's tiny little beetle heart nearly stopped in her thorax. It was Harry Potter, and he was covered all down his front in blood, it appearing to have drained from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
Normally, this would be cause for celebration. The Boy Wonder was always good for sensationalism and selling papers. No, what brought her elation crashing down around her ears like so much rubble in an earthquake, was the fact that where Harry Potter was, so, too went Hermione Granger.
Rita buzzed angrily as she thought of that upstart little chit and her self-righteous crusade against excellent journalism and the public's right to know the truth. She'd have to be careful on how she went about this if she didn't want to incur the she-beast's wrath. First, though, she'd need to infiltrate St. Mungo's to get all the juicy details of Potter's symptoms.
No one noticed as a beetle floated through the hallways to an empty office with a nice little personal fireplace. Rita had used this office before, and it belonged to some junior flunky who was usually out scurrying for some boss or another, and wasn't high enough on the food chain to have any anti-intruder wards.
Rita's mind raced as she helped herself to some floo powder, before shaking the container to smooth it out once more. By the time she stepped into emerald flames, she wondered what deity of fortune was smiling down on her that she might get to report on not only Voldemort's death—twice!—as well as Albus', but also the great Harry Potter in her lifetime.
She let herself indulge in a small smirk as she considered what would be the best way to get into St. Mungo's, but also on how to avoid the notice of Little Miss Perfect.
XxXxX
To say that Hermione Jean Granger was tired was an understatement. She'd foolishly thought, like everyone else, that with Voldemort's defeat they'd be able to relax, and stop moving from one life-threatening emergency to the next. Oh, how the Fates liked to be cruel. A mere two weeks after the Battle for Hogwarts, Harry started to display some worrying symptoms.
At first, it was just a cough, which wasn't uncommon in anyone who'd been near the castle as everything was being blasted to bits and thrown into the air for people to breathe in. Plenty of people were needing lung treatments from inhaling various forms of aerial debris, so they thought Harry was no exception. Except, unlike everyone else, the treatments not only didn't help, but made it worse.
This didn't stop Harry, of course, who was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, doing things for the ministry, hunting down left-over dark forces, making public appearances, and going to Death Eater trials. After the debacle of Sirius being imprisoned for twelve years without a trial, Harry refused to deny even the bottom of a barrel Death Eater their day in the Wizengamot. So exactly thirty days post-battle, he was attending one of the trials. People had been seeing him so sporadically, even Ginny, that no one connected his various complaints and symptoms until he collapsed during the trial of Antonin Dolohov, coughing up blood and collapsing into unconsciousness.
Antonin, the disgusting bastard, had laughed and proclaimed over the tide of panic and shouting that swept the room; "Not going to be The Boy Who Lived this time, eh?"
With Severus in recovery from Nagini's bite and Hermione needing to narrow down what curse was killing one of her best friends, she'd done something she never thought she'd do: called Lucius Malfoy for help. She'd been prepared to hurl the obvious at him; 'You owe Harry. He kept you, Draco, and Narcissa out of Azkaban,' but to her everlasting surprise, she hadn't had to.
He'd apparated over immediately, and just as importantly, discreetly, and strode into the room toward Harry, who was in a magically induced coma and stasis spell.
Well, strode as well as he could as he was leaning heavily on his cane. He looked better than he had at the Final Battle, but there was still a gaunt look about him, and moving appeared to pain him. His grey eyes were still sunken and haunted, and though his hair was nearly back to its usual luster, his five o'clock shadow remained.
One part of Hermione, the one she didn't want to acknowledge existed, thought; Good. It was the same part of her that kept Rita Skeeter in a jar, disfigured Marietta Edgecombe, left the toad Umbridge to the centaurs, and enacted or participated in a few other less than savory endeavors.
The other, more prevalent part, felt sympathetic toward the man's plight. Of course, she knew that any discussion on helping him manage his pain, especially suggestions of muggle techniques, would likely be met with sneering mockery at the least, and a subtle curse at worst. Well, if he'd been allowed his wand, which he wasn't, at the moment.
So, she simply kept her mouth shut and waited for Malfoy senior to conduct his exam. The biggest problem they faced was the curse ate through the stasis spells at an accelerated rate. The spell was merely a band aid on a gaping, fatal wound. She was almost bouncing on the balls of her feet, her anxious energy needing an outlet, and her usual method—talking someone's ear off with questions and comments—would not be welcomed.
Lucius looked Harry over as he picked up his chart and read it. The longer he read, the more he scowled and became even more pale, which was a feat for most purebloods, who could make the purest of snow look downright dirty in comparison.
Lucius looked up at Hermione. She was the only one there, since Ron couldn't be trusted to be in the same room as the Malfoy family patriarch, and Ginny probably couldn't, either. There was far too much bad blood, and Hermione couldn't risk driving off one of the only people who could help. Currently, the two were with their mother and father, by force from Hermione and their parents.
"No one has told us, and we didn't think it prudent to inquire, but what did you do with the Dark Lord's body?" Malfoy asked, his tone smooth, revealing nothing.
She bit her lip and frowned. "They burned it with fiendfyre."
Lucius closed his eyes and hunched over in such a way that left Hermione's heart sinking to her toes.
Lucius straightened and sighed. "That is…unfortunate. I'm not sure if it would have helped, but it would have been something. Mr. Potter is suffering from Unitates Hostium Sanguis, or the Blood Enemy Curse. It was used primarily in duels, though it was banned from official duels under the belief that it promoted poor sportsmanship, and the inability for a witch or wizard to let the matter go once a duel was over. It did, however, persist in unofficial duels until the late 1200's where it fell out of favor entirely. The idea is that, if defeated, the loser will still 'win', since the winner must beg the witch or wizard they fought to use the counter-curse or obtain some of their blood to counteract the curse with a potion. If the person they battled died, then they must seek the blood of close family for the curse removal."
Hermione was hanging on every word he said, filing it all away to dive into research the minute Lucius left. The problem was, her brilliant mind was going a mile a minute, and the panic was beginning to rise.
"But…Voldemort has no family left," she said, the words almost strangled when they came out.
Predictably, Lucius flinched at the Dark Lord's name, but he nodded at her assessment.
"Hence why I asked about the Dark Lord's body." He looked over at Harry. "The Dark Lord's reckoning persists beyond the grave."
"I refuse to believe nothing can be done. Where did you read about this curse at?" Hermione said, her anger at Lucius' defeatist attitude rubbing her all the wrong ways. And when Lucius looked up at her, sympathy evident in his eyes, she was near spitting mad. She didn't need anyone's sympathy, let alone his. She refused to let Harry die.
"The Ministry hasn't had the resources to go through my home as of yet, so I still have the tomes you need. I'll have them brought over, and I'll have the house-elves start scanning the others with me to speed the process up," he said, taking a moment to lean heavily on his cane.
"I thought you were made to free all your house-elves," she said, quickly, her anger howling with joy at finding a legitimate release on the elder Malfoy.
He shrugged. "We did, and some refused to leave, so now they are clothed and paid."
"What—"
"I do not think this is the time, Ms. Granger," he said, cutting her off.
Her mouth snapped closed with a dull, angry sound. He wasn't wrong, and that made it sting all the more.
"I'll do as I said." He paused a moment and grimaced. "I will not wish you luck on this endeavor, Ms. Granger. Those in your group seem to have an abundance of it, and if anyone can manage to get out of this situation it would be Mr. Potter. However, I do not see much hope," he finished.
Hermione lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the man, which was a feat considering she was shorter than him. "Then it's a good thing we don't need your well wishes, or your hope," she said, her words acid.
Lucius inclined his head. "As you say, Ms. Granger. I'll see myself out." Turning on his heel, he left the room. His auror escorts were there to see him back to his manor. As part of his avoiding Azkaban, he had to submit names of all Voldemort's followers and active sympathizers. In return, the ministry had to protect him from said followers and sympathizers until they were tried and/or Kissed. As it stood with the trials, the Malfoys would have an auror escort until Lucius passed beyond the veil from old age. Bureaucracy was anything but efficient.
After Lucius left, Hermione had nothing to do until the texts showed up, so she pulled out the book she'd been reading before he'd shown up: Hogwarts: A History. It was her go-to, but she couldn't concentrate. For one of the only times in her life the book held no comfort for her, the familiar lines nothing more than utter gibberish.
Thankfully, she didn't have long to wait. True to his word, the tomes were brought into the room by a breathless auror.
"He sent these four to start," the man said, and groaned as he dropped their weight on the window ledge next to the chair Hermione sat in. "And here's the note on how to open them without getting hurt."
Taking the note from him, she quickly scanned it before glancing at the tomes. The books were obviously dark and dangerous, and she very much did not care about that fact at this moment if they had information to help Harry. She pulled one to her instantly, and after following the instructions opened the cover. A month ago, she wouldn't have opened anything sent to her by Lucius Malfoy without checking it first, but time was of the essence, and paranoia did nothing here but hinder progress. Plus, Lucius avoided Azkaban by the skin of his exceptionally white teeth. There was no way that killing her wouldn't end with him Kissed.
Hermione pursed her lips when thinking about the Dementors that had skulked back to Azkaban. She'd been working with Kingsley on prison reform, among a great many other things, and she was determined to see the wretched things gone from the prison. Now is not the time! she scolded herself, and set back to the book.
After what felt like ages, despite how quickly she ate through the books Lucius was sending, Hermione was quickly coming to the same conclusion as Lucius. However, she was nothing if not stubborn. She really hadn't wanted to do this, but there was nothing for it. She didn't bother to check the time before she called Professor Snape.
She'd gone down to the bank of floo chimneys the hospital kept off the main hall, too focused on her destination to notice how deserted and quiet the halls were. When they admitted Harry, the office administration shut down all incoming floo traffic and only allowed outgoing use. The people given permission to bring others through were staff, the minister, and Harry's closest friends.
When she made it to the fireplace, she threw in the floo powder and called out clearly to the emerald flames; "Spinner's End, Severus Snape's house."
She stuck her head into the flames and looked around. Professor Snape must've had a block on his floo calls so that no one could see the room unless he allowed it, because she was met with a yawning void in front of her.
"Granger," a voice growled from the nothingness.
She jumped, nearly smacking her head on the brick. "Sir!" she exclaimed. "I—"
"You realize, Ms. Granger, that it is half past midnight, and I am still in recovery," he said, his raspy voice causing her to flinch involuntarily as he came into view, though everything behind him remained unseen.
"Yes, but—"
"Call me at a more suitable time, or preferably, not at all," he said, and moved back to cut off the call.
"It's Harry!" she blurted out in a rush to get him to stop.
He paused, but she didn't know for how long, so she rushed the explanation. "Lucius Malfoy said he'd been hit by something called Unitates Hostium Sanguis, and the healers say he doesn't have much time. He needs your help," she finished, breathless.
Still, he said nothing for a long moment, and she was just getting ready to plead with him when he sighed.
"Move away so that I may come through."
She could have squealed with relieved glee as she scrambled out of the way, but she knew the Potions Master would not take kindly to such a display. He came through the flames with a woosh, brushing the ash from his billowing black robes as he paused and locked eyes with Hermione.
"Take me to Potter," he said, his voice low.
Hermione kept her eyes from straying too long to the black cravat he now sported around his neck, and nodded. She took him through the halls towards Harry's room, telling him all she'd learned over the last few hours.
"The healers confirmed Mr. Malfoy's diagnosis of the curse, and I've been trying to find an alternate cure in the books, since we don't have access to Voldemort—" Snape barely controlled a flinch, "—but I haven't had any luck. I knew if anyone could find such a thing, it would be you," she finished as they reached the room.
Snape walked in and did just as Lucius had, looking over the chart, but he also ran some diagnostic spells. His dark eyes were fathomless and unreadable, and Hermione did her best to contain her nervous energy so as not to irritate him.
After what might have been sometime between five minutes and an eternity, he finally spoke, meeting her gaze full-on and merciless. "You realize, Ms. Granger, that alternate cures take years to develop and test, and sometimes there is no substitute cure. Considering this one is tied to blood—"
"I know," she said, and cut him off. She had the utmost respect for the man, but she hadn't called him here for the same song and dance Lucius had given her. "However, I also know that if anyone alive could manage this, it would be you. It's not flattery," she added quickly, his patent scowl darkening his expression at her words, "it's simple truth. You are Harry's only hope, and we have to at least try."
Snape gave an inelegant snort. "There is no, 'we', Ms. Granger."
She took a sharp intake of breath, then before she could say anything in rebuttal, he spoke again.
"I do not want, or need, your assistance on this matter. In fact, in your current emotional state I doubt you would be much use beyond pestering me," he said acerbically, almost managing his usual drawl.
She bristled at his words about her emotional state, but she couldn't deny them. Also, she was intelligent, there were no two ways about it, but she was also intelligent enough to admit when something was beyond her reach. Third year had been a hard and cruel, but necessary, lesson in regards to her academic ego. He had years of experience on her, and it would take too much of Harry's precious time to try and 'catch up' to him.
So, she unclenched her jaw and took a deep breath before nodding. "I understand, sir. Would you like my notes?" she asked, trying to display a maturity that grated terribly on her pride.
Snape considered her for a moment, but whatever decision he'd come to in those few seconds wasn't apparent to her. "Yes, everything you have. Keep going through the books, though I doubt you'll find much more. Lucius would have sent the texts to you from the most relevant followed by the obscure and least helpful. I'll find a healer and commandeer a lab and some of Potter's blood samples."
She nodded as she gathered her notes and handed them over to him. It was not a large amount, but there had been a few experiments on trying to find a different cure for the curse that would be vital to his research. She just hoped Harry's luck hadn't run out, and the Potions Master managed what a fair few others had tried to do centuries ago, with no success.
"One last thing, Ms. Granger," he said, after taking the notes and before leaving the room.
"Yes?" she asked, her words taking on a far more suspicious tone.
"Keep all your well-meaning, foolish friends out of my way. I will update you all when and if I see fit, not a moment before. Leave me be, or I will walk away. Understood?" he asked, his words harsh, but comforting in a familiar way. This was Severus Snape in his element, and it consoled a small part of her that he was bringing his best to the table, severe words and all.
"Of course, sir."
XxXxX
Severus Snape was getting far too old for emergencies, and was, currently, not in any condition to be dragged from bed in the middle of the night. Especially ones that concerned Harry bloody Potter. The man whose body was as lank as his black hair, bit back a growl that would only serve to irritate his still fragile vocal cords. Of course, that's what happens when the giant, venomous snake housing a piece of a megalomaniac's soul was ordered to attack you. You tended to have a few wounds to show for it.
The fact of the matter was, he hadn't expected to survive the final battle. And if that know-it-all swot Granger hadn't thought to throw a stasis charm over him right after she shoved a bezoar down his throat along with some blood replenishing potions, he wouldn't have.
At a more reasonable time of day, he supposed he could mentally express a grudging sort of thanks to the girl. At this particular moment, his gratitude had soured. If he'd known he'd survive only to be at the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice's beck and call, instead of recovering and planning a long retirement far away from all of Britannia, he'd rather they had not bothered, thank you very much.
Of course, his poor mood might also have something to do with Potter's current circumstances. He'd worked so hard to keep the spawn of James Potter alive, despite Dumbledore's insane machinations and Voldemort's prophecy-driven bloodlust. Now, it was all for naught.
Somehow, Voldemort managed to hit Potter with a blood curse. A blood curse that could only be cured with Voldemort's blood or him speaking the counter-curse, and, what do you know? He was dead. They'd decided the best way to dispose of him was to burn the body with fiendfyre, despite the risk of wielding such a mostly uncontrollable thing.
Severus snorted. Now look where they were. Short the body, blood, and bone of the Dark Lord, and the Chosen One dying for its lack. Irony was a cruel weapon. Not that Severus believed the remains would have worked for a cure, but it would have been something to try, instead of the current nothing they could do.
Granger, of course, had promptly buried herself in books. The looming death of one of her best friends was driving her through every tome imaginable, with desperation wielding a whip like a demon, pushing her to a cliff she had no hope of avoiding. Severus hadn't even bothered to tell her it was pointless. She wouldn't have believed him, done it anyway, and come to the same conclusion as he had: Harry had days left, maybe a week on the outside if one was optimistic. Severus was not, of course, an optimistic person. He'd say Potter had closer to forty-eight hours.
Severus groaned, and slouched down in the uncomfortable hospital chair in the lobby of St. Mungo's, his head dropping with a thud on the back of the chair. Perhaps more shocking than Potter's imminent death, was the picture of the usually perfectly composed Potions Master slumped in his seat.
The occasional rise of yelling, demands, andpoof of a camera could be heard when the front doors were opened. The aurors were doing a fine job of keeping reporters out of the hospital, especially now that they were licking their chops at the prospect of Potter's death. Not that they wanted him to die, per say, but, oh, the story. The problem was potential patients were having trouble getting in, too. Not a single person that passed by did not appear disgruntled to some degree, having been accosted and questioned by the aurors.
Snape's eyes were closed, but there was a soft rustling of fabric coming his way. He groaned inwardly at what he knew would be a disturbance of his brief peace.
"Are you Master Snape?" a soft, tentative voice asked, and one he didn't readily recognize.
It set the hairs to standing on the back of his neck. His eyes snapped open and he sat up so quickly the young woman took a step back. Her hand clenched, and he knew she'd kept from drawing her wand, but only just. Her eyes were dark, though not quite as dark as his, and shielded. She managed to look him almost in the eye, but not quite, which was something people were taught when trying to avoid the intrusion of a legilimens, whose powers were increased with eye contact. It made him…curious, and a tentative probe proved her shields were breathtakingly strong.
Her hair was black as the night, and pulled back into a braid that fell down her back, with the tip swaying around her waist at the sudden movement backward. It was curly, but not unmanageable like Granger's beastly mane. It appeared soft, and a few artful strands framed her fair face. It was said face that puzzled him, and sent echoes of familiarity through his mind, though he knew he'd never met her before. It had an aristocratic beauty about it, though slightly more understated than, say, Narcissa Malfoy, who wouldn't be able to hide what she was if you dressed her in mud and rags. Severus inwardly snorted at that imagery. Her clothing was plain, but of decent quality, and dyed to match her hair.
It was what he sensed from her, though, that had his eyes narrowing. There was a strength in her bearing, in both power and character. It wasn't intense, like Voldemort and Dumbledore had been. Those two were like getting too close to the sun: it would burn you to nothingness with a simple flexing of their magic. Or like Potter, though Severus was loath to admit it, whose power was like an ocean: always strong, though while some might move through it with relative safety, others were swallowed beneath the tsunami of his unchecked emotions.
No, she was like the moon. The power subtle, but strong, and pulled you toward it without you realizing you'd even moved. A bright light surrounded by darkness, but instead of dispelling it, it coexisted with it.
"Sir?" she asked, with the same soft, tentative tone, her brow now furrowed in concern.
He snapped out of his foolish reverie. Suns, moons, and oceans. When had he grown so pathetically poetic? "Yes," he rasped, keeping his voice low so as not to strain his throat. "I am Snape."
She licked her lips, a sign of nerves, and blew out a shuddering breath, as though getting ready to take a big plunge into unfriendly waters. "I think I may be able to help you with this," she said, and held out her hand.
For the first time he noticed the crumpled newspaper in her grip. The one he'd read this morning about Potter being the victim of an unknown, nasty curse. Skeeter had gone into great detail on the symptoms, trying to speculate what the exact curse was and who had cast it.
"Oh?" he asked scathingly, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, and not taking the paper from her. He doubted she could help. It didn't seem like she was some kind of Potter fan-girl, looking to get in any way she could to see the boy celebrity. Severus sneered internally at the word. Of course, he'd been in her presence for roughly a couple of minutes, and people were nothing if not surprisingly despicable.
She pursed her lips and swallowed before continuing. "I, well," she started with a grimace. "I'm the only child of Bellatrix Lestrange and Tom Riddle," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.
Severus's blood ran cold, and his mind froze with a fear he hadn't experienced since Nagini and the Shack. "No," he said, the rasp making the declaration harsher than he'd intended.
She'd flinched, if only just, and sighed, her eyes now downcast and refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm afraid so."
"How—"
"I would love to get into all of that, but I believe time is of the essence, sir." She squared her shoulders and met his gaze full-on. "You need to confirm what I've said and take my blood to start working on a cure. I know he doesn't have much time." Her voice had gone from firm to a whisper again, this time with a note of pleading.
Could this girl truly be what she was claiming? He had his doubts, but if it were true…Well, stranger things had managed to help Potter come through before. That boy was so Merlin-damned lucky, it was utterly ridiculous at times. Had the universe pulled yet another miracle out of its hat for him?
He looked her over once again, and though he refused to try and justify her words with what he saw in her appearance, he couldn't help it. Now that she'd claimed them as her parents, he could see the Black bone structure blending seamlessly with Riddle's, her eyes were a shade of dark between Bella's and Tom's, and hair that either parent could claim.
After a few tense moments, where Severus's eyes remained distrustful and calculating, he relented. "Very well, but know this: if you have lied to me, I will be turning you over to the aurors for wasting precious time on this nonsense."
When he finished speaking, a wan smile graced her features. "I'd expect nothing less."
He nodded once, and glanced around the lobby to make sure no one was paying them any mind, which they weren't thanks to the Aurors effectively halting all traffic in the area. "Follow me, then."