Dust fell from the destroyed roof, glittering in the early morning sun shining into the Great Hall. Ginevra stood in the middle of the staff podium, only feet away from Fred’s dead body. Hermione had left her there when she had followed Harry and Ron to wherever in the demolished castle, not much later chased by McGonagall. She had left her alone with a message. Suddenly Fred’s body seemed miles away. Hollow-eyed, she looked across the hall, only her mother seeming to see her. On the other side, Madam Pomfrey and some Healers that had arrived from St Mungo’s, had given up on Padma’s backbones.
“What’s legs.”, her sister, Katie, Leanne and Cho were more in tears than herself. “The war’s over. Who needs legs.”, she smiled up from the stretcher, apparently painless.
Ginevra felt some knot in her throat, but decided to ignore it. She had a message to tell. Holding tight to a special cup of tea she had asked a Houseelf to bring her, she curled her lips, swallowed and raised her shaking voice.
“Listen everyone!”, she shouted, some heads were turning to her, people whispering and pointing. “I said, listen!”
The hall fell silent. Many stared at her with confusion, others tried to see her through their tears or past friends. Padma sat up; that much she could still feel her hips. But the other girls supported her nevertheless.
“Everyone knows, we’ve had a terrible year. We’ve been scared, kept locked in, tortured – ”, the reactions among some first-years were the strongest, “Or worse, climaxing into last night’s battle. Finally, this horrible war is over.”
There were murmurs of agreement, but also heads shaking, as if willing to stop her from reminding them. As if meaning to stop her from what she was doing before she had even started.
“I’m not done yet. Last night, many people died. People we knew – people we didn’t know – for the one or other reason – but they died for something. Because, they had something worth dying for. Without them, we wouldn’t be here. Without our friends, brothers,”, her tears were back, “Sisters, even p-parents – without all those, we wouldn’t be here now, without those who fought. And there is one person, I would like to say my special thanks to, though I don’t know whether he’ll hear me.”, Neville was slackly struggling against some Essence of Dittany that was dripped onto his wounds by Professor Sprout. “We all had our differences with him. But that was only, because he had played his part so well, that not even the person considered to be the best Legilimens of all time, could get the truth out of his head. For years he’s fooled us all, making us believe in the end that he was Voldemort’s man. But in fact he fooled Voldemort. In fact, he was Dumbledore’s man through and through.”
“Get to the point!”, someone chuckled grimly.
“Shut up!”, she cried back. “If you don’t have time for this, why did you even fight? The man I’m talking about, is Severus Snape.”, whispers filled the hall again; Draco raised his head. “Keep that for later. I don’t know how long I can stand this, okay?”, she silenced the mass.
“But he killed Dumbledore!”, Justin noted, while Neville was already crawling across the floor, past dumbfounded students, ignoring Madam Sprouts muttered protest.
“Yes, that’s true. But it was really Dumbledore’s wish, just like Harry said. Dumbledore was already dying from a curse. Severus only relieved him on his own will. And trust me, that is the truth. Severus dedicated almost twenty years of his life to the downfall of Voldemort. And last night, he’s brought a small army of defected Death Eaters here, to fight among us and for us. Some of you might have seen them. Each and everyone of them saved many lives, not few of them, letting their own by doing so. Severus himself, wasn’t the coward that has fled through a window.”, she exemplary pointed on the shattered glass behind. “He’d left to call his warriors.”, at least she hoped that last bit was right as well. “Because he knew that it would be the night that would change our world forever. Severus Snape, was one of us!”
Heavy tears fell from her brown eyes. Draco’s head sank, not shaking anymore, not crying anymore. He knew now, what he had to do with his life, though her words seemed too far away to him – he could hardly understand why he even heard them, why he even listened. Neville had crawled up to the podium where he halted sitting sideways, but Ginevra didn’t bother him.
“He fought for us! He fought for our lives! For our future!”, she paused, biting her lip. “He was prepared to do everything for us, to give everything. He was ready to kill for us! And some of my friends and I have witnessed that. He killed many Death Eaters last night. Many people that didn’t bother murdering helpless children. If it wasn’t for him – I think none of us would be here anymore. He saved our lives as much as Harry did.”, she swallowed, shaking, “He fought for something good. He fought for friendship, for love – and – he – gave his life for it – eventually.”
There wasn’t a single sound left in the hall. Everyone except Draco; who now closed his eyes to hold back more tears he didn’t want to cry; only stared at Ginevra, whose washed face was stern and even a little proud. Behind her closed lips, she pressed her teeth together for the moment she took a deep breath through her blocked nose. Narcissa took her son’s hands with her right. It was even. No marks, no lines, could be seen in her skin. By discovering that, Draco knew that Ginevra was telling the truth, just like Harry had.
Ginevra continued crying heavier than she had ever had, her voice thronging out towards the students and staff of Hogwarts, the Aurors, the volunteers, the Houseelves, the Ghosts, Grawp looking into the hall from a shattered window, all the families and friends that were gathered there.
“Last night, Professor Severus Amalius Snape died for all of us! He fought for all of us! And he did that until his very last breath! He was a great man! A brave man! A man of joy, regardless of the dark and – difficult – path he’d chosen for himself! But if anyone has ever seen him smiling just once the way I had seen him do, they’ll know now that I’m right! He was a man full of life and had a very enthusiastic will to support life! So, no matter how much you detested this mask of his he had put on every day so properly, you should accept that he laid it down at the end of all things and showed his true self! And it would be wonderful if we; should it be on today’s anniversaries, or the ninth of January, which was indeed his birthday; raised a cup of his favourite spearmint tea and said `thank you´!”
Only then, she lifted the cup filled with said tea, raised it to the hall and drank half of it in one go. Neville had stood up, but she left the podium marching, determined through the rows of people covered in blood and dirt, clutching her cup tightly as she went with more tears splashing. Where she went once she turned for the front courtyard, no one would get to see, but they were not supposed to know that she picked up an abandoned broom, swung herself on it and flew down to the destroyed stands of the Quidditch pitch, those black ruins, half burnt down, collapsed like her insides.
And she braked feet before the only hoop that was left, drained the cup and threw it through the ring while she already flew for the back of it, where she easily caught the cup quicker than it had fallen lower than her flying level.
She did that a couple of times. Thirty-eight times, to be precise. Then she rushed for the ground, sat down smoothly on the singed grass and sunk to her knees.
At the nearest edge of the forests, a crow that had just calmed down for some sleep, was flushed by a terrible scream.
~~#~~
“I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”, Harry said, Dumbledore’s portrait smirking behind.
“Yeah. Still – ”, Ron wanted to argue again.
“It’s not the wand.”, Hermione breathed sadly. “It’s never about the wand. Well, it is, in this case maybe, but in general, it’s really not about the wand. As a great man once told me, `A wand is none other than a piece of wood filled with a magical creature’s token, concentrating the power of a mind to a bound beam. If the mind is weak, the wand is useless.´ Think about it, Ron.”, she secretly loved herself for her memory.
“Hermione, you really should learn to control that quirk of yours.”, laughed Harry. “Even after seven years, it’s scary. But not as scary as the thought that there are still people out there, who might be ready for slaughter, just for the mere chance of finding this wand. Perhaps we were too quick. We should have waited for all Death Eaters to be dead. Now they’re crawling around hell only knows where, probably already trying to figure out a way to regain power.”
“That’s a cruel thing to say, Harry.”, muttered Hermione.
“Perhaps. But I just wish the loyal ones to be found and justice to be prevailed as soon as possible.”
“A great man?”, Dumbledore asked, before she could start arguing on it.
“Who had a favour for – “, she blushed, “Dark chocolate and spearmint.”, she then hushed, turning away from the chuckling Dumbledore who understood, logically.
“Wait – Snape?”, Ron frowned. “Oh – I see – what about that stupid rule now?”
“He’s involved, okay?”, she bellowed with unexpected fury, pointing fiercely at Dumbledore’s portrait. “Or – rather – had been.”, she paused, but raged on. “He knows and I don’t care about the rest of paint hanging in here. So yes, from now on the rule applies again.”, her arms crossed, she threw him a definite look. “If you don’t want to be my shortest relationship, stick to it.”
“At last?”, Dumbledore smiled?
“Yes. At last.”, Hermione huffed.
“Hang on, Hermione – shortest relationship? You had like – one, remember? Vicky?”
“Vicky?”, Hermione moaned, her mouth standing wide open with indignation. “Vicky?”, she laughed, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. “Now, change of topic – if you remember, we still have a fallen soldier out there.”, that moment, McGonagall entered the office, receiving a similar cheer to the one the trio had found themselves presented with.
“Enough, you old baboons.”, she smiled, visibly charmed. “What a nice party you have here. Miss Granger, may I have a word with – Potter?”, she had been the only one to see him wince; his friends spun around at her worried stare and all eyes were directed at him once again, as he searched the office in panic, for something that didn’t seem to be in the same place.
“Harry?”, he vaguely heard Hermione’s voice, all thoughts of warm beds or sandwiches eradicated. “Harry!”, but all he cared for was –
“Did you hear that?”, Hermione looked frightened as well.
“Hear what?”
“Someone – someone screamed – ”, hurrying to the still intact window, he barely saw them exchanging concerned looks in the corner of his eye.
“Harry,”, Dumbledore said softly, but he was already searching the devastated grounds for any sign of a source, for another to follow, so he could locate her. “No one screamed, and I am sure, my ears are as functioning as ever. It is merely all the horror you have seen, which is now pouring down onto you.”
“No – I’m sure that was Ginny – ”
“Ginny?”, Ron murmured panicking as well, but Hermione silenced him with a gesture.
“Harry,”, she now addressed him as softly as the old man’s painting had, though not nearly as calming, and he slowly turned to her, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”, he aspirated to the window again.
“Did – did that happen before?”, their eyes met for a second, but he then pondered seriously.
“I – ”, he didn’t know whether to tell –
“I’m sure she just let her frustration out,”, that made him look at her again and let go of the windowsill.
“Hermione – what’re you – ”, Ron started but was cut off another time.
“Don’t scare yourself too much, Harry. That might just happen again.”
“What do you mean – ”, he studied her exhausted but certain expression.
“You’d better get used to it.”
“Hermione – ”
“Professor McGonagall. Whatever word you meant to be having with me, that can wait. I have a duty to attend to.”, Hermione said and took a deep breath. “If you care or not, Ron, I will go to the Shrieking Shack.”
“The – the Shrieking Shack, Miss Granger?”, McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “What business would you have to do there?”
“Retrieving a fallen soldier.”, Harry answered.
“So you come with me?”, Hermione looked at him, pleading.
“Rather not. I – don’t know – why – but – I don’t – think I can – ”, having seen his memories, knowing all these things about him, the thought of seeing his dead body again, gave him creeps, and Hermione knew.
“Okay.”, she nodded sadly, understanding far better than he could probably imagine. “Professor McGonagall, if you though still insist on that word, you could join me. But only if you feel strong enough to take the walk.”
“Miss Granger, it is a quite long walk to the Shrieking Shack,”
“Oh – yeah – Seamus bombed the bridge.”, she squinted her eyes. “Damn.”
“But a short flight on a broom.”
“No, thanks, Professor. I’d rather take a Thestral then.”
“Very well, but those have hidden deep in the forest, as far as I am concerned.”
“Harry?”, she held out her arm with a snort, “Give me the map, please.”
“The map doesn’t change, when a passage collapses.”, Harry said.
“I know.”, she hissed. “They are all down anyway. Even Aberforth’s, I assume, after that hellfire. I saw the Whomping Willow burning as well some time after we left. I don’t think anyone can ever pass that tunnel again either. All I want to know is whether Luna’s still in the Great Hall.”
With interest, everyone around watched her flipping over the many layers of the Marauder’s Map, looking for the name. She wasn’t in the Great Hall. There were many names moving around, overlapping even, but Luna’s was not one of them. Hermione continued searching. Two more layers down, she found her – at the field where the flying lessons normally had been held. There was another lone name a little further away, but she did not dare mentioning it. Yet she noticed Harry had spotted it.
“She’s off to the Quidditch pitch, Madam.”
“But what would she do there?”
“She’s Luna. She has her own way of thinking. If she feels the need to go somewhere, she simply does.”, Hermione smiled sadly with her wand pointed on the map. “Mischief managed.”, she said, handing back the cleared, folded mass of parchment. “I believe, the Thestrals could be there.”
The early sunlight fell through the holes everywhere in the castle, making the dust glisten like swarms of tiny fairies. Even though nothing seemed intact, it was a beautiful, peaceful scene. Quite ironic. She heard Luna talking in her head. There is beauty in everything, Professor. Even in death. Because, if there is beauty in life, it also has to be in death since they are connected to one another. She was right, Hermione thought, at last. He, like Dumbledore, had actually found some kind of salvation in death. The end of a long journey of suffering. He could be together with Lily now. And she had Ron. Though – it might not be easy. But she loved both of them. Either way was alright for her, as long as everyone would find peace by the outcome of the battle and learn from the pain a war could bring. Thinking about it now, having watched his eyes fall shut after they had looked straight into Harry’s, seemed not such a horrible memory anymore.
Nobody was wandering around the castle. Almost everyone was down in the Great Hall. She heard Peeves singing in the distance. They reached the gilded, singed doors. Those still conscious enough to act, were talking to others or treating the wounded ones. A quiet murmur floated through the hall. The remaining Houseelves had prepared breakfast and people were eating or drinking tea, with them, lastly as equals. Though hungry, and the sight casting a smile on her face, eating would be the last thing Hermione would consider doing now.
Filch was pushing dust aside with a broom. It cost her another smile. Irony, yes. He just seemed to do it to do – anything but sitting around, being stared at. But when she looked closer, at the direction of his movement, she found him shovelling the heaps at a certain point: vaguely visible in the cloud of dust, only due to his ghostly skin, he laid among a number of his former followers. Lifeless. Beaten. Remains of a human existence. This was the proof that he had been human, in the end, but in spite of his hunger for power; or rather due to that; too powerless to find his way to humanity.
If Filch buried him there with this knowledge, or just to get him away from everyone’s sight, get him away so nobody would have to look at him anymore, she didn’t know. But she understood that Severus might have buried him, probably in Little Hangleton. Severus would have, she was sure. But she would never witness that moment. He was gone. Half of his life he had only lived for that moment, to see Tom Riddle lie there, dead, released, and Harry alive. But he wouldn’t. That had been the price. A life for a life. The Cloak had passed on.
But what was that? In that heap of dust, right there by Voldemort’s body, as though it had fallen out of his pocket, something very small, something golden glistened. Curious, Hermione stepped closer, fixating the object as good as she could, trying to keep herself from looking at the corpse. Close enough, she briefly crouched down and picked up the object, blowing the dust off it: it was a golden ring, small enough to have fitted a woman’s toe. At its inside, the dust had made some engraving more visible. Squinting, she tried to decipher the delicate lines, unintentionally reading them in a whisper. Part of it was a date.
“Nineteenth of October – nineteen ninety-six? Ch- what? Charity Elisabeth – and – ”
Before she could read the second name, her whispers got killed by a shriek. Something had just snatched the ring from her fingers. Baffled, she stared after the bird that flew out through the front gate and away with the piece of jewellery.
“Bernard!”, she snorted.
“What?”, McGonagall gasped.
“That bloody bird! Why the – never mind.”
“I could send Mrs Norris for it – ”
“Too kind of you, Mr Filch, but no. Spare your cat the heart attack. Let’s move on, Madam.”
An endless appearing silent time later, they walked down the burnt grass, her anger having faded on the way. Rubble everywhere, dead bodies everywhere, all wearing black robes. No one left to care for them. Whether they had been following him by will or force, it didn’t matter. The friends were more important than the enemies. Corpses – rubble – it all seemed so familiar – like a dead cesspool. Glowing morning fog, not water. Instead of dirty cupboards and tiles, ghostly ruins in whitely shimmering smoke. This time, the dead moved no more. None left to slap her. The one who had done so ages ago, was staggering by her side, breathing unsteady at what they were forced to look at and the terrible smell. There was also the one or other dead body with purple robes. Robes like –
“Professor – ”, Hermione gargled, not taking her eyes off one of them while walking, the shining white ponytail alarming her. “Is that – no!”, McGonagall turned, pushed the body onto his back and checked some vital functions, confirming Hermione’s horrid assumption.
“Oh goodness – ”, she could see tears trailing down from the woman’s eyes as she bent down to close the lids on Igor Karkaroff’s light blue crystals that had lost their shine to cold emptiness, his lips shut over the yellow teeth that would never be bared for a lively grin again. “He has – saved my life – quite a number of times tonight – he – he had been Severus’ friend til death – Severus – have you seen him, Miss Granger? Or is it true, what Potter said?”
“Where do you think, we are going?”, Hermione’s lips were trembling and even thicker tears flowed down her cheeks when she pointed her wand at Igor’s body, making it turn into a bone, impregnated it and levitated it into her pouch.
“What are you doing?”
“He deserves a proper funeral.”, she mumbled, pulling the strings of her pouch. “As well. I think I should bury him – with – with his – best friend – ”
Hermione couldn’t stand it any longer. Her knees gave in. Breaking into heavy tears, she sank to the ground. McGonagall went over to her and knelt down, putting a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. Understanding, she pulled her into her arms, both sobbing quietly for several minutes.
When the two parted slightly at last, Hermione reached into the pouch around her shoulder again. It was right on top, as though it had been waiting for her. She pulled it out, hands shaking. A white cotton handkerchief. Closing her washed eyes, she clutched it with all fingers after she had put her wand away. McGonagall’s hand enclosed hers, trembling as much.
Someone came walking towards them, looking unnaturally untouched – just as if she hadn’t been there that night. No dirt, no torn clothes, no tears, no wounds. Just she, wearing her self knitted, sparkling and colour changing woollen skirt, socks and hat, along with a light blue, very old looking cardigan. No shoes. Her long blond hair waving in the soft morning breeze, she came striding out of dust, fog and settling smoke, like a strange fairy, flanked by two Thestrals.
The whole scene had something odd, funny, totally absurd and yet beautiful and powerful to it. Hermione couldn’t help laughing a little. Luna came to halt in front of the two, so did the Thestrals, as if on her silent command. One of them however walked over to a woman, nudged the body in purple. Hermione’s heart nearly stopped. The woman stirred. With a quiet moan, she returned to consciousness. Eerily hollow, echoing through the morning air, the Thestral sent a call. From further away, another two came flying, sat down gently.
They could do nothing but watch. Carefully, the two Thestrals heaved the woman to her feet, though she could not stand on her own. They supported her, helped her up on the back of the Thestral that had called and made sure she wouldn’t fall off. One stayed while the other escorted the carrier, walking away over the field, towards the castle. For a while, Hermione looked after them, stunned. But eventually she turned her head on Luna. The girl’s face looked empty, yet with a faint smile. A single tear trickled from her right eye now.
“He is gone, isn’t he?”, she said in her usual dreamy voice, but somehow lofty now. “Don’t cry, Hermione, Professor McGonagall.”, she spoke on, ignoring her own tears coming like from a different body than hers. “He will be fine. Is that something he gave to you?”, she briefly looked down at the handkerchief and Hermione nodded. “That is wonderful. So you have something to reawaken your memory, should it ever fade. The vest I’m wearing – it was my mother’s. She loved it when she was at school. You surely know, Professor.”
“Luna? Would you mind coming with us?”, Hermione composed herself and helped McGonagall up. “I was going to bury him. In Godric’s Hollow.”
“That is where Harry’s mother died.”, noticed Luna; Hermione shivered.
“Yes. I think he would have wanted to be buried along with her and James.”
“But he was enemies with James – ”, McGonagall began.
“Not as much as he showed. In fact, he had a deep bond to him – and he loved Lily. Lily was his reason. She always was. It – it just seems right – ”
“You loved him, didn’t you?”, Luna said, making McGonagall gasp. “I – I think he loved you too, in ways. You see – the Patronus – and – he was wearing the scarf, you know? On your birthday, and all last winter. When the Carrows complained about the stars, he would just walk off, with a smile they didn’t see.”, Hermione dropped her shoulders, lips curling. “Where has he left?”, she found it wonderful that Luna named it `leaving´, rather than `dying´.
“The Shrieking Shack.”, Hermione said flat.
“Now that’s a rather funny place to go to for meeting the dead, don’t you think?”
“Voldemort summoned him there, to kill him for a reason that wasn’t a reason, rather than the reason that would have been one.”, she said it so fast, she wasn’t even sure whether she had circumscribed it right.
“Is that what he meant before he left?”, McGonagall asked, obviously being curious. “Severus said that Voldemort didn’t know – that, but something else. That – left you pretty much colliding with walls in the dark – ”, she mumbled. “He wasn’t killed for having betrayed him – ”
“Yes, and no.”, Hermione smirked. “The reason he killed him for was part of the betrayal, but Voldemort didn’t know it was, nor do I think, he understood what Harry told him.”
“Which would be – ”
“Something Severus was ready to die for.”, all her tears had stopped running. “He was ready. Like Lily, like Dumbledore – like Harry – ”, she broke off.
“I take it, you will not be telling me the full story, Miss Granger? He said you would speak in riddles.”
“That’s right, Professor. I – must speak to no one.”, the teacher startled at the familiar phrase. “Let’s go.”
Luna stroke the Thestral’s mane, looking straight into its eyes. It gave a call like the other before, and two more rose from the herd that was out of their sight, gently landing by them and trotting in position to be mounted. In silence, they climbed the Thestrals. Luna flew ahead, leading the other two creatures behind. The cool morning air was exactly the rush Hermione had needed. Knowing that it wouldn’t be necessary for her to look down on the dead lands around the castle, she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply. She felt him close – as if she was flying with him. And Ronald, take care of Hermione. He had wanted it this way. He had known he wouldn’t survive the night and had wanted to make sure she had someone who was there for her.
A heavy thrust. Her eyes jumped open. They had landed, directly on the path that led to the shack, having been built to give the impression the shack was meant as a home to someone. A hole had been bombed into the door-less wall of the house. They dismounted and entered carefully.
There were footprints in the dust all the way up. Sliding tracks from the snake and cloaks. The three of them reached the topmost room. A hole in the door as well, where Peter Pettigrew had tried to escape four years ago. Paper hanging from the walls, torn. Blood. A lot of blood on the floor. None of them dared to enter. Shocked, they just looked at all the blood. His blood. Hermione’s stomach crumpled. McGonagall held a hand to her heart, breathing heavily. Nevertheless, Hermione stepped in first.
The bed was still as shattered as she remembered it. She took a deep breath and looked down to the left, where –
“Miss Granger?”, McGonagall aspirated from outside the door. “What is it?”
Hermione was frozen. Though differently than the others might have expected her to be. Luna went in, curious, following her bewildered eyes. So did McGonagall, at last. Then Luna started giggling.
“How funny, life is.”, she grinned. “Sometimes it’s just funny, isn’t it?”
“He – ”, Hermione aspirated, “He’s gone! He – left!”
Where his body was supposed to lie, was only an empty space and a blood-smeared wall behind. Some bloody handprints and other traces on the wooden floor, leading away from the slightly dried red puddles. Letters written with blood on the dusty floor boards, a small object lying below the text. Hermione hesitantly stepped towards it and picked it up. It was a silver locket on a thin silver chain, blood on it as well. She shut her eyes, snorting, and held the locket close to her heart. He had learnt from his enemy. The thought of him actually having been capable of – she couldn’t deny she shortly felt some need to vomit. But other than that –
“What is this?”, McGonagall wondered, reading the message aloud. “`Talking heads are speaking in tongues, asking the third to consider the first first-hand.. Enjoy the cream; the paradise is yours. Remember the rule..And destroy the paper..´ huh? What does this last line mean? What kind of signs are these? What does – Miss Granger?”
“That paper too? Kidding, are you?”, Hermione chuckled quietly. “Never.”
“It is a riddle!”, Luna beamed. “Talking Heads – I’ve heard about a Muggle band with that name. They’re quite famous, I think.”
“Now don’t be ridiculous, Miss Lovegood. Why would – ”
“No. She’s right.”, Hermione considered, wheels of connections clicking in her mind. “`Speaking in Tongues´ was one of their albums. `Asking the third to consider the first first-hand´ – he surely means the tracks. What was that?”, she closed her eyes, thinking for a few moments. “Oh.”, Hermione laughed. “Oh! Goodness sake – you’re getting old, Severus. Your puzzles used to be far more challenging. Never mind – I think, we should respect his last will. Let’s get out of here.”, she smiled. “I’ll tell you when we’re back outside.”
She wiped the blood off the locket, knowing he wouldn’t want it to be there. Done, she put it around her neck, stowed it beneath her clothes and went back downstairs, a big ironic smile on her face.
The sun was high enough already to give off some warmth to that morning of May second. In the distance, the ruins of the castle throned on their high rocks. No fire was burning anymore. It would be a long process to rebuild it, but who cared? Many people had died last night. For the one and the other cause. Now in death, they were equals. As equal as the people in the Great Hall, no longer divided in Houses; for the remaining time of the school year; but sitting there as one Hogwarts.
Up high on the half destroyed Astronomy Tower, two young men stood in a soft breeze, their eyes drifting over the ruins and the beautiful landscape beyond, too far away for her to catch, especially considering her current state.
Hermione stepped out of the Shrieking Shack and asked Luna to bring the Thestrals a little further away. Standing in some distance now, they studied the distorted building. Then Hermione raised her wand, pointing up at the middle of the house.
“Miss Granger – will you tell us now what this all is about? What were those runes?”
“No runes, Professor. That was Cyrillic. Russian letters. He’s just got a terrible handwriting when he’s nervous, you should know that.”
“And what did they read?”
“`I love you´”, she believed that was what they meant; he hadn’t taught her how to read or write Russian.
“Oh – he – now don’t look at me, pulling such a face, Miss Granger! What is this here? What does he mean with all that? Why are you directing your wand at the shack?”
“I’m just following his – last will.”
“By doing what?”
“Tracks number three and one on side one. Three, `Girlfriend is Better´, one, `Burning Down the House´.”, Hermione smiled. “Remus is dead. The tunnel has collapsed. The Wolfsbane Potion has been perfected. If there should ever be a Werewolf at Hogwarts, they should be fine as long as there is a great Potions Master around.”
“Is it a Horcrux, the locket?”, Luna asked.
“He said, he’d retire. Well, I grant him his peace.”, Hermione smirked. “And if he really wants a nice blast for his symbolic funeral, he shall have it.”
“A Horcrux, Miss Lovegood?”
“You know what a Horcrux is, Professor?”
“Yes, unfortunately I do, Miss Granger. But – ”
“Alright. Well, he said he’ll be fine. That I needn’t worry. That they would always be with him. When he said it, he was pointing on the locket hidden under his clothes. I thought he would refer to the people on the photos inside, rather than the locket itself. Now I know he meant both. He knew it was going to be me who would find it. If Harry and Ron were with me, I wouldn’t have said a thing. Ron got to find out that Severus and I – are – friends, you know? But he doesn’t need to discover that – ”
“You were really dating each other, were you?”, McGonagall gasped. “Of all students I ever had, you respected teachers the most! And then it should be you who is dating one of us?”
“That is not a nice word to describe such obviously deep love, Professor.”, Luna murmured.
“All the same.”, she brandished her off.
“No, it isn’t.”, Luna defended very convincing, but not enough to not be ignored by McGonagall.
“If I hadn’t seen you kissing, I would wait for you to shout `Belated April Fool´. Now tell me, when? Since when have you been together? Was it – ”
“Christmas, last school year.”, said Hermione, her wand still pointed at the building.
“But that would mean – ”
“Oh yes, that would mean a lot.”, Hermione grinned. “Though in short, Lily loved James and Severus, Severus loves Lily and me, I love Severus and Ron. Life is beautiful. Incendio Maxima Horribilis!”
“Hermione – ”, Ron aspirated with shock, his and Harry’s eyes on the gigantic fire column in the distance; three black, skinny, winged, horse-like creatures rose from the place and flew back to the castle grounds.
“Yeah. Hermione.”, Harry chuckled. “Seems, she just gave him a bombastic cremation.”
“Bombastic – ”
A choir singing in his head. One voice above all. People are to raise their hand in my class.. words echoing in a big empty cave that was his head among the flames. Umbridge’s distorted face. So yes, your version of the story is what an uninformed person would believe.. What I was going to say before you decided to possess enough ignorance again as to be able to interrupt me, is that you were obviously not informed thoroughly.. As if you could stop me.. You know what they did to your father.. What had they done to Lucius Malfoy that he had fallen so deep?
No, it is a warning that you should finally grow up and think before you act.. And take that way there.. that way there.. everything you have seen and heard.. stays between you and me.. and us alone.. Hermione’s voice drifted in.. Why don’t all of you show some humanity and let our teacher rest? You can see that he obviously hasn’t slept a minute over the weekend?.. Ten points off Gryffindor for ignoring my order to dress properly, Miss Granger.. Fifty points off the staff for you seem to have forgotten the words I said at New Year’s Eve.. What had she said there? He had never asked..
Three Thestrals landed on the devastated grounds below.
There are also some not so bad Slytherins, you know?.. Yes, he knew now.. descendants of a very talented family of druids.. but unfortunately they died out then.. They mixed with the Peverells.. the.. Peverells.. the only woman left of those, married the member of another Pure-Blood family.. Then Grindelwald came and killed most of the rest. Only one; again; survived at last. But that one married a Muggle. End of story.. Was it? He wasn’t sure.. Dumbledore had.. Does it make any difference, being Muggle-born?.. No. It doesn’t make any difference.. the Half-Blood Prince.. druids.. Peverells.. family.. comfort.. warming arms..
Harry tried to shake it off.. fought it again, like a year ago.. ever since.. intends to flee.. I am not such a coward.. You have been raising him like a pig for slaughter.. pig-headed.. Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?.. don’t act as if you cared for that mouse – or – or Sirius – or even me.. And take that way there.. It is different if you stand up, shout out your opinion and get crushed, or obey silently, infest the system like a virus and crush it when it is most vulnerable.. Don’t worry.. I have a plan.. always..
The way the memories of all those words flowed into Harry’s mind troubled him. He didn’t want them to connect like this. But somehow it fitted. It all fitted. And some things fitted in a way he didn’t like them to do at all. We thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before, and it turned out he was saving Harry’s life, remember?
Yes, he remembered. And if he was honest, now it actually didn’t hurt him anymore to admit she had been right all the time. She had trusted the right man.. ever since then.. always..
He didn’t bother Ron’s look. He didn’t care about the expression his best friend had on. It was enough. After all this time, he couldn’t anymore. The fire was so hot he wanted to just melt. He didn’t want to fight it. Not anymore. There was no need to.. It’s over.. words that had echoed from the very tower they stood on. It’s over.
Tears, each the weight of a fully grown Manticore and feeling as poisonous as its venom, fell from Harry’s eyes that only saw a pair of dark ones before them, and trickled down his empty face, staring over the foggy lands, glowing silvery golden in the morning sun, but he could vaguely perceive the scenery. Under distant rumbling, the high shack collapsed. Dust smothered the flames, left only a smouldering ruin, in between which he lay, buried. Nature would request his body back one day. But for now, there was this enormous gravestone, a gleaming monument, like a volcano, a symbol of life, and Harry’s warm tears were unable to quench the fireworks of emotions that boiled inside him and erupted with a tremendous cry that made his knees give in to the weight.
~~#~~
Protesting with loud screeches, a flock of crows shot up from the trees once again. They wouldn’t find peace there. Wise enough lastly, they sailed away, across the even surface of the grand lake and settled down far away from any ruins. Another stand had collapsed and sunken to the burnt ground, to join its kind in a massive oval of destruction.
Farther from the pitch, a number of people with a strong mind that had been forced upon them when they had decided for a specific career in the British Ministry of Magic, walked around with piles of folders floating by, checking, flipping hundreds of pages. Others strolled with them, a sack in each hand, transfiguring corpses into single bones. Those identified, went into the sacks in the right hands, with black strings, the unknown into the left that were laced red. Systematically they walked the grounds – and the ruins of the castle, where they had help from the Hogwarts staff, of which the most had left the Great Hall to expedite the gruesome work that needed to be finished as quick as possible, but thorough.
The scent of Death. It was harsh, yet sweet. Sulphur, sugar, coal, the smell of it all and much more laid in the morning air that became warmer with the fog vanishing and baring the full scale of the catastrophe, while people tried to stuff it into jute sacks with differently coloured strings. Black, brown and purple clothes owned the field between the destroyed castle and Quidditch Pitch, and one by one, the stains became bones that were slipped away from sight. Like a row of cows marching over a meadow, eating up all the flowers, eradicating the remains of life.
Slightly disgusted by the view, a figure above tried to ignore a strangely striking red stain that stood by a tree; oddly enough; stroking a Thestral and clearly looking up, the eyes too small to make out from the distance. But the flyer was sure those eyes followed the broom that rushed on towards the burnt oval of wood, where dirty shoes sat down gently in dirty ground, silent, seemingly unnoticed by another figure that stood in front of one middle ring which hung dangerously askew, high up on its post, the last to still be somewhat in its designated position.
Swaying in the breeze of Death’s sickly satisfied breathing, messed ginger curls shimmered in the silvery golden rays of light that fell through the smoke which rose to the few clouds. As if praying in silence, she moved not even slightly when he approached her from behind, slowly, with as much noise as a cat’s paws would have made when gliding over even ground. Only nine more feet.
Thud.
The dropped broomstick didn’t make her startle. She had felt him coming, and he knew she had. Still as slow, he paced on, stopping eventually by her left. That hand of hers was clutching the handle of an old looking, dirty teacup. The other fingers wrapped the rest, smearing their own fingerprints on the outer surface which could hardly be seen.
A long while passed. The Aurors were nearly done scanning the field above when he walked around her, loosened her fingers and dropped the cup in the singed grass, his almost empty eyes on hers, all tears dried, for the time being. As slow as he had walked, he pulled his wand made of holly, stretched his arm up into the air and quietly spoke a number of incantations. Like a veil, like water running over a bowl of glass, the magic formed a cupola around them and their borrowed brooms and the cup on the ground, hiding them from every eye and ear that could disturb.
His nearly blank stare unbroken on her brown eyes and his breath as controlled as bearable, his wand sank towards the cup, which suddenly spread away from them, as a big, cosy white blanket. She didn’t deign it a look. All she cared for where those green eyes that looked into hers, giving her far more comfort than what he had transfigured the cup into. With an a little more quiet sound than the broom before, the wand fell by the edge of the blanket and a tender hand brushed down over the visible wounds on her face that hurt her no more. A second hand joined it, supporting its slow, faintly clumsy attempt to lift a dirty and here and there torn t-shirt.
Unable to hold back a smirk, she helped him, charming one on his lips and cheeks as well. Conscious enough, she reversed their roles, with an embarrassed giggle as his shirt got caught. But he readjusted his glasses and let the shirt down too when her hands already dedicated to his belt, which was not easy then, as he tried to somehow open the hooks on her back. Kneeling eventually, he helped her out of her pants after he had gotten rid of his own and he offered her hand a, leading her over to lie down by his right. However, a bit unsatisfied with the accommodation, she reached out, pulled her wand from her pocket, snatched a single culm and turned it into a soft pillow, on which she then rested her head and carelessly dropped her wand beside.
A tender hand, the other this time, as his right was busy carrying his weight by her left, brushed over her bruised, freckled cheeks, soft and gentle, and he bent down at last for a mutual kiss under the warming rays of the sun, far away from those bony claws. And Death turned away, unable to see them under their shield of Life, the breath gone, and remaining, only theirs on their skin.
~~#~~