13,326Author's Note 1: Beta props go out to Melusin. Let's just say that if I was my beta, I'd have dumped my butt a long time ago.
There are a lot of very talented people over at DeviantArt that have done fanart for this story. Their work is amazing. Please go check them out: .com
And finally, everyone take a deep breath and hold on. If I did this right, it should be a non-stop ride until the end, when you come in for a smooth landing and can relax.
Chapter 48: One
The Ministry ball was awash in glittering fairy lights. A stringed quartet played from a small stage, the music loud enough to be enjoyed, but not so much as to disrupt conversation. The most powerful and influential in Britain's Wizarding world were gathered here this evening. Well-dressed wizards and witches mingled with each other and Ministry staff, flirting and courting, either consciously or unconsciously, the power that the Ministry wielded over them.
It was a beautiful and enchanting display. To the man known as Devrom Dollort, the room reeked of decay and rot. The glittering display hid only corruption, a boiling mass of pus beneath everything that was pure and good. It sapped and destroyed everything that the Wizarding world could be – should be – and like any surgeon, he would excise the infection in his midst.
It was such a powerful future, and only he was strong enough, powerful enough, to usher in the new golden age of wizarding might. From his spot slightly behind the Minster of Magic, he surveyed the scene and watched the couples on the dance floor swirl together and apart in time with the music. It was going to be a glorious future.
All of his plans were coming together. This would be the culmination of everything he'd worked towards. The setbacks he'd endured would be as nothing as he claimed his ultimate victory. When the pressure in the room subtly shifted, Voldemort smiled. It was beginning. He didn't even need the swift nod of confirmation from the lovely Bellatrix to know that the Order of the Phoenix had brought down the Apparation Wards enclosing the Ministry facility. They were coming. This was the glorious ending to all of his striving.
After this night, and the defeat of Dumbledore and his puppet brat Potter, he would take his proper place as the ruler of Britain's Wizarding world. He'd cut out the weak and diseased heart of the Wizarding world, leaving only the strong. He'd put the Muggleborn in their rightful place at the feet of the pureblooded. Then . . . then would begin the real work. Europe, Asia, the Americas, they would all bow to him in time. The oldest wizarding enclaves, he knew, would hold out the longest – Egypt, the Middle East and the African societies. But, by then, it would be too late, and they would be too outnumbered to stand against him for long. And when all of wizardom was his to command, the Muggles themselves would be brought to their knees.
As Dumbledore appeared in the middle of the room, Devrom Dollort shed his meek and unassuming stance he'd taken up behind the Minister of Magic. Now, he stepped boldly forward to stand at the edge of the dais that housed the higher ranked Ministry officials. It was, after all, proper to welcome his most expected guests. "Albus Dumbledore." His gaze shifted to the right, and he bowed slightly. "And the ever loyal and estimable, Minerva McGonagall." His eyes lingered on the tartan sash wound across her chest and her kilted up robes held in place by a broad leather belt. "I see you've come dressed for battle."
Albus stepped forward, ignoring the pops of Apparation around him, as the rest of the Order followed behind him, as well as the gasps and sounds of dismay from the party goers who didn't understand what was going on. There were various cries of "Dumbledore" or "Minister". He heard a few people mention "The Boy Who Lived" as Harry appeared. He even ignored the muttered curse behind him from Minerva at Tom's greeting.
"The time for shadow games is over, Tom." He swept his hands out to the now curious crowd, pitching his voice so that even those in the far corner of the room could hear. "These good people deserve to know the truth. There is no Devrom Dollort." Gasps from the crowd met this pronouncement. "Tell them who you are. Or would you prefer that I tell them? That you are Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son of Merope Gaunt, Witch, and Tom Riddle, a Muggle."
Voldemort was on his feet, his face red with anger. "Lies! Tom Riddle was a pathetic weakling. I am not Tom Riddle. I was NEVER Tom Riddle. It was never my fate to be constrained to that tiny, mundane little life." His face twisted into a snarl. "You want to know who I am?"
Pressing his wand to the suddenly bared arm of the man next to him, Voldemort shed the last of the glamours that hid him. "I am LORD VOLDEMORT." His voice rose over the gasps of horror and cries of fear from the crowd. "Come to me, my most loyal Death Eaters." Then, raising his wand over his head, he unleashed the Morsmordre over the gathering. The green energy from the spell shot upwards into the vaulted ceiling of the ballroom, but the spell was never meant to be contained indoors. Reaching the ceiling, the spell burst, raining down a sickly green mist that turned the once glittering ballroom dark and fearsome. As party-goers scattered, Voldemort laughed. "Now," he commanded. "All who acknowledge me, bring me my enemies."
Frightened wizards and witches watched in stunned disbelief as friends and neighbours, people they thought they knew well, pulled their wands amid shouts of, "Lord Voldemort."
Neville wasn't sure how he'd ended up in the far corner of the ballroom with Nagini. He'd volunteered to track the Lestranges. As Dumbledore and Voldemort talked, he'd seen Bellatrix Lestrange in the back of the crowd, and he'd taken off in her direction. Then Voldemort had released the Morsmordre, and he'd lost her in the screaming and milling people as the shattered remains of the spell has blanketed the room. Now he'd lost sight of both Harry and Ron. He'd stumbled around a bit, and he was fairly sure he'd seen his Gran, and she'd seen him – and wouldn't he have some explaining to do later – and he'd obviously taken a wrong turn because everyone else was over THERE and he was HERE.
With Nagini.
He took a step backwards. "Nice snake."
He took another step, his eyes darting around for help, any help. Patches of smoke still drifted along the floors, and clung to the walls, obscuring much of what was happening across the hall. No help looked to be coming.
Nagini slithered another foot forward, the muscles of her massive body bunching and contracting in a hypnotizing fashion.
He pointed his wand at her. "I'm warning you. Stay back."
Not that any of his last three spells had done anything to slow her down. The bright coloured splash of the spells just slid off her smooth scales. Her massive mouth opened, exposing fangs as long as Neville's hand. Obviously, she didn't think he was a threat. If snakes could laugh, Neville was sure she was laughing at him. She slid another foot closer.
Off to his side, obscured by drifting smoke, the screaming had stopped, and an ominous silence had fallen over the room. Into that silence, Neville heard Voldemort call Harry's name. He wasn't able to hear Harry's reply. Then his attention was back on Nagini as she darted forward.
As Neville scrambled backwards out of her reach, his heel caught, and he went down in a tumble, his robes tangling around his legs. "Ooophf."
Unforgiving metal dug into his back. The Sword of Gryffindor. He'd forgotten about it.
Nagini moved within striking range. Panicked, Neville rolled, trying to get to his feet, trying to get the sword free from its awkwardly strapped position.
He wasn't going to make it.
Behind him, Neville could hear singing and wondered if the angels were coming for him early.
And there was Lil' Sev, lying on the marble floor looking reproachfully up at Neville. He knew Sev must have come out of his pocket in his thrashing around, but Sev's dark eyes were looking at him, and Neville could hear the scathing voice of the Potions Master. "Dunderhead! Are you just going to lie there and get eaten?"
Was he?
Nagini rose up to her full height, mouth open and fangs bared as she prepared to strike.
She dived forward.
Wand still clutched in two fingers, Neville snatched Lil'Sev and flung him into Nagini's open mouth. "Engorgio!"
The giant snake reflexively bit down, her heavy coils slamming so hard into the floor that Neville could feel the vibration from where he lay.
"Engorgio." He tossed another spell at Lil' Sev and watched as the doll grew man-sized, its body filling the snake's jaws.
As Nagini struggled to dislodge the doll, Neville finally lurched up to his feet and pulled the Sword from its sheath. With both hands, he swung the sword, and with a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake's head, the force of his blow embedding the magical sword into the marble tiles beneath Nagini. Sinking to the floor, his body shaking with adrenaline, Neville thought he heard a shout behind him, but he couldn't be sure over the roaring of his own blood in his ears.
Gulping in great lungfulls of air, Neville realized that there really was singing. Someone, several someones, were singing. Grabbing hold of the glittering ruby in the sword's hilt, Neville leveraged himself up and followed the song.
Albus watched Bellatrix, eyes alight with madness, advance on him. The woman had been heading towards Harry, and Albus couldn't allow Bellatrix to distract Harry from his mission. "Oh, Miss Black, the world has not been kind to you."
She snarled, almost feral in her madness, as she flung another spell at him as she advanced. "My name is Lestrange," she hissed.
Albus easily deflected her spell, leading her off to the side, away from the crowd. "To me, you will always be that sweet little girl I first met at Hogwarts. What happened to her, Bellatrix? What happened to that trusting and loving child?"
"I trust and love my Master."
"He will not love you in return, my dear. He can't. Don't you see? It doesn't have to come to this. Break your ties to him."
"You know nothing," she screeched, flinging another spell. "My Master is everything. Through me, he shall prevail. He–"
She shuddered, her wand dropping from suddenly lax fingers. Eyes wide, she whipped her head around, seeking her fellow Death Eaters, seeing many of them fall.
"No!" she screamed. "No!" She staggered forward, only to go to her knees in front of Albus. "What have you done, old man?" She was fighting the spell, trying to throw off its hold.
He reached for her, holding her upright. "I'm sorry, Bellatrix."
Panting, she struggled to keep her eyes open. Grabbing his robes, she let her weight pull them to the ground. "Hate you," she ground out, even as her eyelids fluttered. "Hate . . . " Her right hand, her wand hand, released his robe to flatten against his chest over his heart.
"For my Master," she hissed. "Avada Kedavra."
Arrosa saw Bellatrix Lestrange pull Albus to the ground. Fear swept through her when neither moved as they hit the floor. Merlin damn you old man if you've– She didn't finish the thought as she dodged amongst the fighters and the flashing coloured lights of spells to fall to her knees beside the two prone bodies.
Turning Albus over, she ran her wand over him and the Lestrange woman. Dead. They were both dead, Albus with a peaceful look on his face while the Lestrange woman wore a frozen grimace of hate.
"Stubborn old goat," she muttered, as she closed the eyes on one of her oldest friends. Hardening her heart, knowing that she couldn't do anything here, she climbed back to her feet and flung a hex into a woman currently fighting the Weasley girl. Blinking back tears, she took off for the next downed Order member, hoping this time her skills would be needed.
Fred and George were in their element, darting and weaving amongst the crowd. They had been assigned to help the Order members fighting against non-Death Eaters. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes were being used to confuse, distract and mark those fighting for Voldemort until designated Order members could take them down. The twins were chaos incarnate, and they revelled in it.
Yells, shouts and the unmistakable noises of duelling drew their attention. Percy and one of the Order members were flinging desperate curses at Thorfin Rowle, who blocked their efforts easily, an amused grin on his face.
Fred and George exchanged wicked grins and ran forward to help: Jets of light flew in every direction, and one of the men duelling Rowle went down clawing at his midsection, apparently in awful discomfort.
Fred and George both threw Stunning Spells, which Rowle deflected, but it was enough to distract Rowle as Percy dragged the downed man behind him for what little protection that offered.
Suddenly, Rowle wavered, swaying on his feet. His eyes went wide as he realized that something was wrong. "What did you– " He shook his head, fighting off what Percy knew to be Snape and Hermione's spell.
Rowle's lips pulled back in a snarl of rage, and his wand flicked outward in a non-verbal spell. Percy lunged forward. Too far away. He was too far away.
The very air seemed to explode. Percy felt himself lifted, flying through the air, as the force of the spell hit him. He could only curl in tight and hold on to his wand and wait for the fall. He hit the floor with a sickening crunch that he knew to be breaking bone. He opened his mouth to scream only to have the sound stolen from him. Someone else was screaming, a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed an agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he surged upwards to his knees, ignoring his useless left arm, ignoring everything but the sound of that terrible, terrible scream. He stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had ever been in his life.
He'd been blown sideways, off to the side of where Rowle stood. "No-no-no!" Someone was shouting. "No! Fred! No!" George on his knees, blood running down his face, as he shook Fred who lay unmoving on the floor.
"George," he screamed. Or thought he screamed. He couldn't tell over the keening wail of misery coming from George. He expected George to turn and fire at Rowle, but George was lost to anything but his twin. He wasn't paying attention to Rowle, who was training his wand on him.
"Avada K– "
"No." Raising his own wand, Percy stepped between Rowle and his brothers. To Percy's surprise, Rowle stopped his curse. His head cocked, he ignored the chaos around them as he studied Percy as if he'd never seen him before. "Percy Weasley."
Percy raised up his chin. Bloodied, beaten, but still himself. "Thorfinn Rowle," he rasped out.
Rowle chuckled in response, as if he was pleased at Percy's audacity. "Step aside, Percy."
"I can't do that."
"Percy, Percy."
It was said with such a mocking paternal air that Percy's stomach roiled. How could he have ever been so blind to not see what this man really was?
"You were always the smartest of the Weasleys, Percy. Ambitious. A striver. Others may have scoffed, but we recognized your talents straight away. You always knew who was on the winning side. Whatever little trick you just tried, it didn't work on me. Don't make a mistake now and throw away everything we can give you."
Percy tilted his head to indicate the room around them, never taking his eyes off Rowle. "You call this winning? It's chaos." He choked down a rising sob. "People are dying." Already dead, a part of him whispered in despair.
Rowle's stance relaxed. "Change is never easy. Some people always resist. But we'll prevail, Percy. The Wizarding World will, OUR WORLD, will take its rightful place. We won't hide amongst the Muggles like scared mice. We are the powerful ones, and we will take what is rightfully ours."
"But it's not yours."
Rowle continued as if he hadn't heard Percy's words, lost in his own righteous fanaticism. "Join us now. It doesn't have to be this way. We have great and wonderful plans for the world. The Dark Lord will reward you greatly. Anything you desire. It could be yours. Think about it."
"You're right," Percy said. "I do know the winning side." Percy dipped his wand tip, and Rowle's smile grew wider in anticipation.
Thanks to the Pensieve memories, Percy remembered Snape's dealings with the Death Eaters. He knew the tortures he'd endured. He knew things he wished he could unknow. But most of all, he knew the curses that Snape had used. He knew the sound and the shape and feel of the words in his mouth. He knew the hate needed to generate them. He knew the cost.
Percy dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. "Avada Kedavra." Rowle's startled return curse sailed harmlessly over Percy's head in the place where he had been standing.
Clenching his teeth against his heaving stomach, Percy crawled over to Rowle to make sure the man was dead. Wide eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. Dead.
"For Fred," he whispered to the empty shell of Rowle. "For my parents." He swallowed hard. "For making me almost believe."
Percy lost the battle with his stomach.
Ron was good at tactics. He always had been. He also had a temper and a tendency to ignore his own good sense of tactics and simply leap into the fray without thought or care. If this last year of playing chess with Snape had taught him anything, it was that he needed to go with his strengths. Life, he'd discovered, often mirrored the chessboard if one had the eyes and patience to see the patterns.
He wasn't all that comfortable with the extension of that thought – that once you understood the patterns of the people around you, it was just an easy step to manipulate them into moving across the board of life to your desires. It was all too easy to start thinking you knew what was best and arranging things accordingly.
But, now he needed that very skill. He'd wanted to stay by Harry's side, but he'd finally conceded that position to Ginny and hoped that his sister and best friend stayed safe. It wasn't his job. His, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt's, was to direct the battle – to move the pieces across the chessboard of this fight as needed, shifting their forces against Voldemort's supporters and giving Harry the time he needed.
Apparating into the Ministry Ballroom, Ron had almost laughed. The floor, marble polished until it gleamed under the thousands of fairly lights encircling the room, was laid out in an enormous black and white checkerboard pattern. Chess it was, then. Nodding at Shacklebolt, Ron stepped away to take up his position. Ignoring what was going on between the Headmaster and Voldemort, Ron deliberately turned away from Harry and his sister and concentrated on his task and the changing landscape of the ballroom.
As expected, the crowd had shifted, unsure and confused by the Order's sudden appearance in their midst. Scanning the crowd, he made out several of their targets and others that they had suspicions about. Motioning to those assigned to him, he sent them fanning out to find their targets and move into place. They only had a small window of opportunity to get everyone ready before Voldemort called his Death Eaters to him. Because Voldemort would call the Death Eaters to join him here, not that there weren't already enough of them scattered through the crowd already. Not to mention those followers who wore no Mark, but were following simply from loyalty or ideology.
Watching his teams head out, each to their assignments, he felt a sense of pride and dread. His directions could get any one of them killed, and it terrified him. Move the pieces, he thought. Pieces on a board. He pointed out a strategic vantage point to Professor Vector. They'd discovered that she wasn't a powerful duelist, but she had an impeccable aim. She would cover the crowd in general and pick off combatants from afar.
He saw Luna Lovegood dart into the crowd after the Goyles, her assigned targets.
One of their Slytherins gave him a nod as he took his assigned position at one of the doorways leading further into the Ministry building. There would be no escaping from this place once Percy raised the anti-Apparation wards so long as they had the exits covered.
He caught a glimpse of red hair and spared only a thought for Ginny. Ginny was strong. She'd keep herself and Harry safe.
Then the atmosphere shifted, something felt more than heard. Heart beginning to pound, he looked up to the small stage where Voldemort stood, just his head visible to Ron at this distance. He was just in time to see him proclaim his rightful identity and call his faithful to him.
For one brief moment, the crowd seemed to hold its breath, and then chaos erupted as friend turned on supposed friend, and men and women in hooded robes began Apparating into the room. Do it now, Hermione, he thought, just before he flung a curse at a black-robed figure that appeared at the edge of the crowd.
Ron knew immediately when Hermione launched her spell as the Death Eater facing him started to sway. They'd never known exactly how the spell would affect the Death Eaters. That question was answered as first one and then another known Death Eater collapsed. The spell was spreading outward, moving from one to the next, but even Ron could see that it was losing strength as it spread. It was their second to worst case scenario: the first, of course, being that it didn't work at all.
It made his job harder, but not impossible. They'd talked about this. Planned for this. Ten moves ahead in the game. Then it was all about reading the shifting of the crowd, moving people and resources where they were needed, trying to herd those deemed on their side to the side of the fighting and way from their people.
A scream jerked his attention to a knot of fighters. Colin was down, a bloody twisted stump where his right hand used to be. Agnes was kneeling beside him and literally spitting at Lucius Malfoy. With a curse, Ron took off running, but he wasn't going to make it. Too late. Too late, pounded through his brain with each step. Then, even as he was coming up on them, Malfoy wavered before going down onto one knee. It was with a small grin of satisfaction that he watched Malfoy Senior topple over as Mrs Malfoy gave a short scream and rushed to his side.
Putting on a last burst of speed, Ron slid across the floor, grabbing up Colin as he went. Hauling the younger and lighter boy to his feet, he shoved him at Agnes. "Get to the edges," he yelled before turning to confront Draco Malfoy, who now stood over his father's body, his wand swinging from side to side in a protective motion. Ron watched for another heartbeat to see if Draco would go down.
Huh. Guess Harry owed him five Galleons since it didn't look like the Ferret had taken the Mark.
"Malfoy, drop your wand."
"Weasel," he snarled out.
"Listen to me, Malfoy, it's your only chance. Drop your wand and be a non-combantant or keep it and be branded as one of Voldemort's followers."
Draco's eyes were darting around in panic. "What did you do to my father?"
"He's not hurt. But I can't guarantee the same for you or your mother if you don't drop your wand."
"You think I'm going to believe you?"
"You don't have a choice, Malfoy."
"No. Confringo!
Ron threw up a Shield Charm to block Malfoy's spell. "Damn it, Malfoy. Listen to me."
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell hit Ron square, and he went down in an ungainly tangle of arms and legs, his momentum sliding him along the smooth surface of the marble floor. When he finally came to a stop, he rolled onto his side and looked up into the down-pointed wand of Draco Malfoy.
"Stupefy." A woman's voice.
Ron stared in shock as Malfoy stiffened and then fell over. Ron looked over to find Narcissa Malfoy standing between her downed husband and her son, her wand clasped loosely in her hand. A few shaky steps carried her to Draco where she reached down to scoop up his wand. She held out her's and Draco's wands as Ron scrambled to his feet. Blonde head held high, she declared. "We are non-combatants."
Ron gave her a shaky nod and directed her to a small room that they'd designated as a safe haven for civilians. Ron noted that even as Narcissa pulled Draco up to his feet, she never once looked at the stunned body of her husband lying a few feet away.
Hermione and Severus appeared behind Voldemort and off to his left. There was a small cloak room there that had been designated for their use. Hermione was grateful to see that it had already been secured. Mills, loud, obstinate and cantankerous was standing vigilant guard outside the arched doorway.
Time was of the essence so it was only a quick nod of greeting she gave the other Order member as they stepped into the dimly lit room.
It took only a few seconds for Hermione to kneel down next to Severus, who was already stretched out on the floor, his sleeve pushed up to his elbow. Centering herself, she gathered her magic and began the spell. Pillows. It's just like all the practice with the Dark Pillows.
Hermione felt her magic mesh together with Severus'. She almost expected to hear a click as they locked together. As the first tendrils of her magic slid into the Dark Mark, Severus stiffened. She wanted to look at him, to reassure herself that he was okay. She couldn't though, couldn't stop the spell now.
Swish. Flick. Flick. Loop.
She was through the first few strata of the spell, the deeper layers of the Dark Mark an ephemeral oily touch against her magical senses. She shuddered in revulsion as she slid beneath the last layer and touched something so vile, so dark, that her stomach heaved.
This was the moment.
She wanted to tell Severus she loved him.
The words to the spell tumbled from her lips instead.
She wanted to reach out to him, but instead her hand stayed steady on her wand.
Gathering her magic, Hermione channelled the Stunning Spell that Professor Flitwick had crafted straight into the heart of the Dark Mark, straight into the nexus of magic that linked all of Voldemort's Death Eaters together.
As the Stunning Spell, deliberately crafted to be stronger than any normal spell, released, Severus screamed.
She couldn't stop it, couldn't call back the magic once released. Severus writhed on the floor, his body arching as power flooded his magical pathways, diving down straight into the Dark Mark, and the magic there fought back. Then he stilled.
"Severus?"
When he didn't answer, she shook him. "Severus?"
He was still. "No. Please, Severus, no."
The matrix flashed before her eyes. Severus' line entwined with hers. His line ending, and only hers emerging from the nexus point of the battle.
Severus wasn't breathing.
Healer Alvarez was out there, she knew. Maybe. But, magic had killed him. She'd felt the overload, felt as the Stunning Spell had burned through Severus, ripping through the chakra points backwards in a way that magic had never been intended to flow. Would adding even more magic now help or hurt, even if it was healing magic?
She didn't know, and there wasn't time. Muggle means, then. Her mind was frantic, casting about for solutions, knowing that every second counted now.
"Rink!"
From the day that Pauline Granger had discovered her daughter was a witch, she'd known things were going to change. Her view of the world had shifted. Things that had once belonged to the realm of fairy tales – vampires, giants, witches, had all became real. She'd gained a new vocabulary and new friends. Sometime in Hermione's second year at Hogwarts, Pauline had asked Hermione for the names of some of her classmates that had, like her, been born to non-magical parents. With the help of her husband, Pauline had started a small support group for other parents of magical children.
It was hard for her and the other parents to see their precious children slowly slipping away from them, into a world and a culture they couldn't themselves participate in. Yet none of them wanted to hold their children back.
When she'd been given the title of Line Matriarch for the House of Granger, and three elves had been given into her care, she'd been both terrified and thrilled. He was terrified because, well, she was being given responsibility for another species and thrilled because it let her into her daughter's world in a small way, a way that she otherwise wouldn't have had.
Then she'd received Hermione's' confessional letter. She'd known her daughter wasn't telling her everything. After all, talk and comparing notes and information was exactly what the parents' group did. But she'd not really known the extent of it. She hadn't known that her daughter had given her heart to Severus Snape, a man she'd heard of repeatedly from the other parents' stories.
And tonight, New Year's Eve, her daughter was going to war. It sounded completely ridiculous and yet . . . Pauline glanced at the crumpled letter on the coffee table and shook her head.
She pulled her robe tighter around her waist and glanced again at the clock. It was happening now.
With a crack of sound louder than any she'd heard before, Rink appeared before her. The elf's ears were laid down flat against his skull and his eyes were filled with terror.
"Hermio-"
She didn't finish her word as her hand was grabbed and she pulled elsewhere. She found herself in an ordinary looking cloakroom with Hermione, who was kneeling beside a black-clad man, eyes red-rimmed and tear filled.
"Mum! He's not breathing."
For one moment, Pauline remembers: "Mum, it's broken." "Mum. They laughed at me." "Mum, why am I different?" A thousand times in a thousand ways her daughter had come to her asking her to fix what was broken.
"I-"
"Please."
Right. As a dental surgeon in a clinic that dealt with anesthesia, Pauline and her husband Stewart were both required to be CPR certified, but she'd never had to do this, not outside the classroom.
"No beat."
Hermione made a sound at Rink's words that tore at her heart.
She could do this. Falling to her knees, she titled his head back, checked his airways and settled her hands in proper position.
"Breath for him when I tell you, Hermione."
Ignoring every horror story she'd heard of CPR gone wrong – broken ribs, punctured lungs, internal damage to the heart – Pauline performed her first compression.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "Breathe."
Compress.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "Breathe."
Maintaining the count in her head, she barely heard the running litany of entreatments from Hermione. "Please Severus. Don't do this. Please."
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "Breathe."
"You've done everything they've wanted. You don't have to do this."
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. "Breathe."
"Sev-" Hermione's voice cracked. "Please," she finally whispered.
One. Two. Three.
"Beat."
Her first thought was that Rink was adding his own demands for life to Hermione's. But a swift glance at the elf stayed her next compression. Rink was tilted forward, both bat-winged ears focused downward.
"Beat," he said again.
"Come on," she whispered. "Come on. Breathe."
The still chest rose a tiny fraction. Grabbing her daughter's shoulder, she got her attention.
"Beat." Rink was looking at her wide-eyed and crazy even for the elf as he bowed low to her, his long pointy nose just touching the ground. "Line Matriarch."
She just caught her daughter as Hermione threw herself into her arms. "Thank you. Thank you," she sobbed. "I don't . . . I didn't . . .Line Matriarch," she finally choked out.
Blinking back her own tears, she fell back on her own practical nature. "Hermione, he needs medical attention. And what is going on? Where are we? Who is this?"
Hermione's head came up as the sound of singing penetrated the small room. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the comatose man – Severus, Pauline was guessing. "Mum, I'll explain, but not right, not right now. I have to . . . Stay here with him. Rink, don't let anyone in here. Don't let anyone do anything stupid to my mum."
"Hermione?"
"I can't, Mum." Her head turned towards the sound of the singing. "Later. I promise."
Hermione scrubbed away the marks of her tears with the heel of her hand. "I'm sorry." As Pauline watched, her daughter slipped through the doorway and back into that other mysterious world.
Pauline sat back with a sigh. Her knees hurt from kneeling on the marble. Her back hurt from being hunched over. She was wearing a housecoat that was as old as Hermione and slippers that might once have been blue. She had no doubt that this was how she was going to meet her daughter's world.
She glanced over at Rink, whose ears were still firmly focused on Severus Snape, a man her daughter quite obviously loved.
Outside the room, the singing was getting louder. Now that she was listening, she realized she knew the song. It was an old lullaby. Pausing to catch the next phrase, she started to hum along.
Harry ignored everything going on around him, trusting the Order to handle Voldemort's supporters and Ginny to handle anyone that tried to attack him. They were hoping that Voldemort's standing order that he wasn't to be killed would protect them until they were ready. So far, their luck was holding. Ginny and Harry stood like a small spot of calm in a room that was swirling chaos, but it was necessary. Hermione's spell had to begin before Harry made his move on Voldemort. The Death Eaters had to be incapacitated so that Voldemort couldn't siphon their magic and strength for his own use.
They were directly opposite Voldemort who still stood on the dais watching Harry with an almost unblinking stare. Occasionally, he would look around as if he was trying to find someone. The third time he glanced around, Harry could see anger and frustration rising in him. It was then that Harry realized who he was looking for.
Harry broke away from Ginny and took a step forward. "He's not coming," he called. "You're looking for Severus Snape, and he's not coming."
Voldemort shook his head. "I would know if he was either dead or did not answer my call."
Harry gave him a grim smile. "I didn't say that he didn't answer your call. Just that he's not coming to aid you. You've been deceived."
"Then the traitor will die. Just like you will." Voldemort flicked his wand, a non-verbal spell sent in Harry's direction.
Harry ducked reflexively as the acid green light of the Killing Curse splashed harmlessly against his Shield Charm. "It won't work. You can't kill me with the Curse."
Voldemort lost his façade of calm. "Then, boy, I will kill you with my bare hands."
Harry stood his ground as Voldemort leapt from the dais to stalk towards him, the area around them now devoid of combatants – a sea of people and there was just the two of them. "You still don't get it, do you?"
"The only thing I need to get," Voldemort snarled, "is that you die today."
Harry shook his head. "Then what?" he asked, weariness sounding in his voice. Sweeping his arm out, he indicated the horrified crowd that surrounded them. "They know who you are now. They know the names and faces of those who follow you."
Voldemort laughed, the sound ugly in the silence that surrounded them. "You think I care about them? They are sheep, and will learn their place within my new order."
"But who will you share your new world with? Where are your friends? Your family? There is no one you love that you can share your vision with."
"Love is a weakness and inconsequential."
"No, you're wrong. It took me a long time to understand it. I went down your path for a while." His eyes swept the room to settle briefly on Ginny, still bravely guarding his back. "But I learned. I understand now."
Voldemort laughed again as he stepped forward. "You know nothing."
As Voldemort drew close, Harry dropped his wand, the sound of wood striking the polished marble floor loud to his ears. From a pocket in his robes, he drew a small silver needle and pricked his finger.
His face stretched in a suddenly triumphant grin, Voldemort reached for Harry, and Harry lunged forward and met him, stepping forward into the monster's embrace. Voldemort wasn't expecting the move, and Harry felt the other's body stiffen in shock as Harry wrapped his arms around Voldemort's ribs, locking his hands together and holding Voldemort's wand down flat between them.
"You created this body, this stolen life, with my blood. My blood, Tom. Did you forget that it's bound to her last gift of love to me? For my protection?" Tightening his grip against the now struggling Voldemort, Harry pricked the back of Voldemort's neck with the needle and placed his own bleeding hand over the wound. "My mum loved me," Harry whispered, and then he began to sing, his voice hesitant and unsure. "Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night, Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night."
As the first words of the spell echoed around them, Voldemort jerked and pulled hard against Harry's hold, but Harry continued to sing, his voice gaining power. Doing as the book had said, Harry put aside his fear and hatred and concentrated on everything good in his life. He remembered the day his first Hogwarts' letter had arrived, his meeting on the train with Hermione and Ron, that first exhilarating ride on a broom. Cho Chang flashed across his memories, and the first time he'd held Ginny's hand and the picture of himself, his mother and father, together, within the Mirror of Erised.
Still singing, he thought about Voldemort and everything Dumbledore had been teaching him about the man who had once been Tom Riddle. Reaching deep within for his compassion, he reached to understand the other - he knew the loneliness of being an orphan. He knew the fear of abuse and hatred. He knew what it felt like to desperately want friends, and acceptance and to be liked by his peers. He even knew the temptation of turning to the Dark Arts to take the easy way forward.
Voldemort was twisting wildly now as he fought to break Harry's hold, screaming his rage as he felt the single thread of pure magic spiral down into his soul, blood to blood. Unable to keep his hold and remain singing, Harry's voice faltered. For one brief horrifying minute, Harry thought all was lost before a cracked and reedy voice picked up the song. Harry's head jerked up as he sought to find the singer.
When the screaming had started, Augusta Longbottom had drawn her wand and taken shelter behind an overturned table with two wizards. As any good duelist knows, it's better to assess the situation before diving into the fight. Seeing her grandson Neville appear, holding the hand of a younger boy, along with many of his friends was surprising, but not as surprising as watching numerous witches and wizards in the crowd fall to the floor. As each fell, they were secured by one of her grandson's friends or others.
Dollort was Voldemort, and the confrontation long feared between Potter and You-Know-Who was happening now. Everyone could hear the words echoing between Voldemort and Potter, but unsure of how best to aid her grandson, whom she'd lost sight of in the crowd, she stayed where she was until Potter began to sing.
Confused, she leveraged herself back to her feet, her cane planted solidly into the ground. Potter knelt on the floor, the wizard, Devrom Dollort - Voldemort - clasped in his arms. Both were struggling, Dollort obviously trying to get away while Potter was just as obviously trying to hold onto him. Even as she watched, the glamours and other spells surrounding Voldemort began fading, revealing the monster's true face.
Augusta Longbottom had lived a long time. She was demanding, stern and uncompromising in many ways. No one had ever accused her of being soft, but neither was she stupid. She was a pureblood witch from a long and distinguished family. She'd borne three children and had made magical sleeping sheets for all of them. She knew the song Potter was singing and knew its significance.
Magic swirled around Potter, called by the song. Light met Dark. Pure battled against Corruption. With steady steps, Augusta headed toward Potter and planted herself next to him. Closing her eyes, she remembered her children, remembered her grandson Neville's birth, and remembered happier times when her family was whole. When Potter stumbled over the words of the lullaby, she began to sing, funneling the song and her magic to the boy.
Voldemort's body stiffened, a shout of pain rising from him. "Nagini."
Harry followed Vodemort's gaze, but could see nothing past the people encircling them. He could guess what had happened. Someone had killed the giant snake. "She's gone. They're all gone. It's just you and me now, and it's time to rest."
Harry once again took up the song, his voiced joined by more and more people as they understood what was happening, even if they didn't completely understand how or why. It was enough though as each round of the song grew surer and the magic swelled with each repetition.
Voldemort had long since stopped struggling and lay limp in Harry's arms, except for one hand that clutched hard at Harry's arm. Eyes that usually showed nothing but hate and contempt were now filled with a roiling mix of terror and confusion.
The singing continued around them, and Harry could feel the magic thrumming through him. Its purity and intent was a heady mix, and it reminded him of what he felt when he flew high and fast on his broom. Gathering up the magic, he focused it together, twisting the multiple strands together. Gathering up Voldemort, Harry hugged him close. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. But it's time to sleep now. Time to let go."
Voldemort shuddered. "Pot-ter-" The voice lacked strength as the magic transferred from Harry into Voldemort.
Rocking slightly, as if Voldemort were a baby in his arms, Harry said again, "It's okay. Can't you feel it? There's no hate. No fear. There's only love and peace. Go to sleep. Rest. I'll stay with you for a while."
Voldemort shuddered again, his eyes flicking once, then twice before falling closed.
Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Devrom Dollort, terror of the Wizarding World for over twenty years, died with a quiet sigh.
As the body slumped heavy in his arms, Harry felt a confusing mix of emotions well up in him. Joy and relief were there, but so was an almost overwhelming sadness and pity. Harry Potter bowed his head and began to cry, great wracking sobs that sent tears splashing down across Voldemort's face. Due to an enterprising staff photographer that had been assigned to cover the party, and had spent most of the battle hiding behind a potter plant, the image was to become the iconic symbol of the defeat of Voldemort.
He came awake by slow degrees. The pain was the first thing he noticed, both sharp and dull, as if a giant hound had his chest in its jaws and couldn't decide if it wanted to bite or gnaw. Pain, however, was a thing he was long acquainted with, so he ignored it. The light, though, that seared his eyes even through his closed eyelids was an annoyance that had to be taken care of.
Severus had never been a man to suffer the small annoyances well. In the spirit of doing something about the infernal light, he forced his eyes open and found himself staring up at the familiar vaulted ceiling of the Hogwarts' infirmary.
"I should have known this would be my hell." It was, after all, the only explanation for his being here. He was dead.
A soft chuckle drew his attention to an unfamiliar woman sitting in a chair to the side of his bed. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You are not what I would have pictured for my personal devil. Actually, I always rather pictured Albus."
She smiled at him, the curve of her lips and the warmth in her brown eyes familiar and yet not.
"You aren't dead. Well, maybe for a minute or three, but you got better." She was smiling again, as if at some private joke.
He frowned. "I am quite certain I remember dying, and if there is a hell, this is mostly certainly mine." He closed his eyes again. "Begone, she-devil, and leave me be."
She chuckled again, much to his annoyance. Yet, there was again that flash of almost recognition. "I can see why Hermione likes you."
His eyes snapped back open to glare at the woman. "You will not speak of her!"
The woman's face lost all trace of amusement as she leaned forward. Her own eyes narrowed. "Perhaps, I ought to introduce myself. My name is Pauline Granger. I'm Hermione's mother. I saved your life, and you are most assuredly not dead."
"Impossible," he snapped.
The amusement was back as she peered at him. "No, impossible is how I'm going to explain all this to my husband. You, dear, are just improbable. Which for some reason, thrills my daughter no end."
There were too many questions running through his head that needed answers, but the most important needed to be asked. "Hermione is well?"
Clapping her hands together, Pauline Granger stood up. "She is grieving for lost friends, trying to put right this world of yours, and worried sick about you. Now, don't go anywhere. I told everyone that I'd alert them the moment you woke up. Back in a bit."
As soon as Pauline Granger stepped from the room, Severus leveraged himself up in the bed with a groan. His body certainly hurt enough for him to be dead, but if she was to be believed, he was alive. With a hand that shook, he pushed up the sleeve of the infirmary gown that Poppy favored. There was a Muggle style dressing over his arm. Impatiently he pulled at the bandage, heedless of the fine hairs on his arm that were caught in the sticky tape. He sucked in a ragged breath as it finally came free. Where once the Dark Mark had stood out against his pale skin, now there was only a swollen, red, and slightly oozing burn.
So focused was he on his arm that he didn't hear anyone enter until Minerva spoke. "Only yours is a burn."
Severus' gaze snapped up to her. "Only mine?"
"Healer Alverez says it's a spell burn. She said it would heal but you've had so much magic poured through your system that she wants it to heal on its own rather than through magical means. Everyone else who carried the Mark still has theirs although they are faded and grey."
"Then he is . . . " Severus could hear his heart pounding in his ears but he forced himself to say the name, "Voldemort is dead."
Minerva's expression went hard and cold. "Dead. His body burned with Fiendfyre and his ashes scattered to the winds."
He sank back a little into the pillows. He was alive and the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was dead. It took him several long moments to think that through. He was alive. Hermione was alive. Albus had told him- "Where's Albus?" The question was sharp. Albus should be here telling him this. And he knew the answer even before Minerva spoke.
"Bellatrix Lestrange. She cast a wandless Avada and caught herself and Albus in the same spell."
Severus closed his eyes, deep sorrow welling up where only moments before there had been a seemingly boundless joy. He and Albus had had such a complicated relationship over the years. But even in those times he'd hated Albus the most, he'd also still loved the old man. To know that he was gone left him feeling empty in a way that he hadn't realized he could feel.
It was too much. Too many emotions were swamping him. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel and Minerva's compassionate gaze was doing nothing but making matters worse. At feeling the uncertainly, he fell back on logic, pulling his Occulmancy Shields in close to cordon off his wildly shifting emotions. He would grieve later. "What has happened? I'm assuming that since we are back in Hogwarts that we were victorious."
Minerva had known him too many years and took his emotional retreat for the protective action it was. Severus was infinitely grateful that she gave him time to compose himself as she settled into the same chair that Mrs Granger had been sitting in earlier. "Victorious, but not without losses, I'm afraid." Taking off her spectacles, she rubbed at her eyes, and Severus thought he could see every one of her seventy-odd years of age. "The list of the dead and injured is . . . We were lucky that Healer Alvarez was there. Many wouldn't have made it without her quick attentions."
"Who?"
"Adrian Puce."
One of his Slytherins.
"He died defending a group of guests from the elder Ephraim Greenway."
"Greenway? I didn't even know he was supporter." He shook his head. "Who else? Tell me all of it."
"Lavender Brown. Moody, we think. We found his magical eye rolling around the ballroom, but found nothing of him. Nymphadora Tonks. Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey lost his hand. Alvarez says that she won't be able to grow a new one, but is working on a magical construct. Mills took some bad spell burns, but should recover. Nevile Longbotton says someone named Sev Little died, but I don't think I knew him." She shook her head. "The rest of our injured, those that haven't already been treated and released, are at St Mungos. We were lucky Severus. The spell from you and Hermione . . . it made all the difference. When the Death Eaters started falling, it was like it sapped the belief of the others. Many simply surrendered their wands." Minerva fell silent, watching him. Then added, "You also died, Severus."
"How exactly did a Muggle bring me back from death? And how is a Muggle even in Hogwarts?"
Minerva chuckled, even if her mirth was tinged with sadness. "I'm afraid I don't understand the means of your resurrection, although Healer Alvarez says that she does. You could ask her, or Mrs Granger or Hermione about it. Although, Mrs Granger says that Rink deserves a lot of the credit as well. Something about better hearing that an EKG, although I have yet to understand what this EKG thing is and why it has ears. As for Mrs Granger's presence in Hogwarts, that seems to be the elves doing. Hermione said something about courtesies due a visiting Line Matriarch."
There was the topic that he was really afraid to ask about, but Minerva was watching him now, a smile playing about her lips. He knew that she'd wait him out and make him outright ask the question. "What of Potter, Weasley, and Hermione?"
"With Voldmort's death, the full extent of the corruption of the Ministry was revealed. Percy Weasley has stepped forward with an admirable strength. He and Kingsley Shacklebolt have been attempting to bring order from the chaos. Their first task was bringing down the wards around Britain that had kept many of our people out and freeing those still falsely imprisoned in Azkaban. Harry's lending his name and backing to Percy to get that sorted out. Ron Weasley is at the Burrow. Charlie and Bill are back home and helping the others, but poor Arthur, he . . ."
"He saw Molly die. You do not get over that."
"No."
They both fell silent for a moment. "And Hermione?" he finally asked, feigning what he hoped was a certain indifference.
The smile Minerva gave him in return caused him to scowl. "She'd be here now, but she's been helping with the prisoners, sorting out the surviving Death Eaters and those that were just supporters. She has been–"
"Headmistress McGonagall?"
A young man Severus vaguely remembered as having left school four or five year ago stuck his head around the door. "Sorry to disturb you, Headmistress, but is there any way you can come to the Great Hall? We're trying to put up the banners for the returning students, and every time we do, they change to Hufflepuff colours as winners of this year's House Cup. We can't get them to change."
"Headmistress?" he asked, as Minerva climbed to her feet with a sigh.
Minerva made a face, her lips pinched tight. "I've wished a thousand times a day that Albus was still here to do this. I don't know if I'm up to it anymore, but our world needed the normalcy of Hogwarts." She leaned over and patted at his blanket covered feet. "Let me take care of whatever is going on with the banners, then I'll come back."
He waited precisely four minutes after she disappeared before throwing back the covers. "Rink!"
When the elf appeared, Severus was already sitting on the side of the bed. "Fetch my clothes and robes." As Rink was bowing his acceptance, Severus added," And then go tell Lonny that I'm accepting you back into my service."
"Master of Potions is-"
"Clothes, Rink," he snapped. Satisfied he'd headed off any soppy declarations of elven gratitude, he climbed to his feet. Wobbly but manageable. A little thing like death wasn't going to keep him in that bed another moment longer.
A few minutes later, upon Rink's return, he was dressed.
"You know, I don't think you're supposed to be up."
Severus turned to find Mrs Granger standing in the doorway. "There are things to do that cannot wait. I have been lying about for days."
"You've been unconscious for days. There is a difference." When he made no comment, she threw up her hands in a gesture of frustration that he'd seen Hermione use. "She said you were stubborn, but good Lord. At least go sit in the chair before you fall over."
He privately conceded she might have a point and went to sit down. He did not miss the sigh of relief when he made it without falling over.
"Thank you." She looked startled. "Minerva informs me that I do indeed owe my life to you."
Mrs Granger pulled up another chair, her expression serious. "My little girl begged me to save you." There was something in the way that she said "my little girl" that set off Severus' finely honed instincts of survival.
"You've spoken with Hermione." He didn't voice the 'about me' part of the sentence but it was understood by them both.
"I have."
"You wish to know my intentions toward your daughter."
She nodded slowly. "Over the last week Hermione has told me a great deal about her intentions towards you. I want to know if you are going to break her heart." Her voiced turned wintry. "And if I'm going to regret saving your life."
"Fair enough. I probably will break Hermione's heart a dozen times." As Mrs Granger's body stiffened, he added, "The age difference between us is not considered extreme by wizarding standards, but I fear her youth is wasted on me."
Pauline studied him with sharp eyes and Severus was tempted to peer into her mind just to see how she viewed him. He had no illusions that he would not be a mother's first choice for her only daughter.
Finally, she asked, "Are you going to ask my daughter to marry you?"
"Today? No. Tomorrow. No, as well."
"No?"
She seemed shocked and Severus sought a way to explain. "Hermione has her whole life in front of her. I have spent most of my life bound to the will of others. I will NOT bind her to me."
"My daughter loves you."
"A fact I do not doubt."
"Yet, you are not asking her to marry you? Don't you love her? Is that your problem?"
He pushed himself up out of the chair. Hermione always had the ability to agitate his emotions. It seemed that even when she wasn't there, she had the ability to discomfit him, even beyond the discipline of Occulmancy. He needed to pace, wobbly as his steps were. "I have loved before. Once. I know what it feels like. I do love Hermione. That is not the problem."
"But, you doubt her love for you?"
"Not . . . doubt. She is very young. Her life thus far has been the Muggle world and these castle walls. Her companions have been known for the past seven years. She has never interacted with those outside of Hogwarts. She's never traveled through the Wizarding World. There are so many more people and things for her to experience. I would let her fly, not clip her wings."
"When?"
Severus whirled around to find Hermione in the doorway behind him. She didn't look angry, just resolute with a determined cast to her features. He swung a quick glance at Pauline, but she just cocked a brow at him.
"When, what?" he finally asked.
"When will I be old enough?"
"Hermione—"
She held up a finger and he stopped. "Today is January the eighth. Will you marry me, Severus?"
He glanced again at Pauline who offered him nothing beyond an enigmatic smile. He shook his head. "I do love you, but in good conscience, I cannot."
Hermione, confusingly, gave him a brilliant smile.
"Will you travel with me and show me all the wondrous places of the Wizarding World?"
He considered her request. "I can do that."
Her smile got impossibly larger. "Will you introduce me to people outside of Hogwarts?"
Severus Snape was not a stupid man. He had no doubt as to what she was offering him. For one moment he considered saying no, but then told himself not to be a fool. He nodded. "It would be my pleasure."
"Good. Then I'll ask you again in a year." She gave him a smile he didn't know how to interpret. "Let me know when it's time." Then she was sprinting across the room, and Severus felt his eyes widen in horror at the idea that she was about to fling herself at him.
Fears of not being able to catch her and falling ignominiously onto his backside were thankfully averted as she skidded to a halt in front of him. Tears were brimming in her eyes and all new fears assailed him. He just resisted the urge to look at Pauline Granger again. "I thought I'd lost you." The words were whispered, and he understood.
Leaning forward, he kissed her.
Somewhere behind him, Pauline Granger was chuckling again. He was really beginning to hate that sound.
Author's Note 2: Bits and pieces of Rowlings' battle are incorporated through this. If you notice words or sentences or paragraphs that seem familiar, they are hers.
Author's Note 3: Just so you know I didn't completely make it up, many dentists and assistants are required to maintain CPR certifications. So, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Hermione's mum would know it. And yes, that was the thing I forgot to add to Hermione "tell all" letter to her mum. Hermione was going to make a comment responding to her mum's upcoming training class. I'm a doofus. As for why Hermione didn't do it herself – I had a chat with professionals – nurse and EMT. If you don't do it right, you'll do more harm than good - like broken ribs and punctured lungs bad.
Author's Note 4: I considered stopping this chapter after Severus' heart stopped. You guys have no idea the internal struggle that went on. But, I figured after eight years and pleas of "Don't kill him" I probably ought not to do that to you. There might have also been a fear or two for my life if I had left it there. But it was close. Really close.
Author's Note 5: Just the epilogue left. *sigh*
Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through the night
Angels watching, e'er around thee,
All through the night
Midnight slumber close surround thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
All through the night