Chapter Text
Hermione was exhausted. The war had ended two days ago, and yet the Order hadn’t truly had a chance to rest. There was still so much to do. She had been in the midst of reviewing trial records to give to Kingsley—a good starting point as they tried to free some of the poor Muggle-born who had been imprisoned in Azkaban—when McGonagall’s silvery cat Patronus interrupted to call her to an Order meeting.
Now she sat at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, looking around at the other surviving members of the Order, who all looked equally as exhausted as she, and wondered what was going on.
Kingsley was the first to ask. “Minerva, what’s this all about? We all have quite enough to be getting on with at the moment.”
McGonagall’s lips were thin, and her bun wobbled precariously as she said, “I did not call this meeting, and he is clearly being suitably—”
The door flung open, revealing Professor Dumbledore, his white beard gleaming in the flickering firelight, wearing canary yellow robes and beaming at them all.
“—dramatic.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating as Dumbledore entered the room. When he stepped to the side, he revealed three wizards.
Wizards who were also supposed to be dead.
Her wand was in her hand before she’d decided to draw it.
Severus Snape, his expression completely unreadable, stepped past Dumbledore quickly and took his usual seat in the far, shadowy corner, as if returning from the dead were an everyday occurrence.
Remus Lupin, looking bone-tired, slowly loped into the room.
Then Sirius Black entered, smiling eagerly. “Harry! Did you miss me?”
Harry’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at his godfather.
Sirius’ eyes swept over the room. When they landed on Hermione, he winked. Hermione only stared back, bewildered. He was supposed to be dead–they all were.
The room erupted in a clamor of scraping chairs, the setting down of teacups, and a handful of soft gasps. No one said a word. They had all been rendered speechless at the appearance of the four dead men.
“Nobody move.” Kingsley’s voice filled the room. He levelled his wand at Remus’ chest. “You. Answer me exactly. The last words you said to me.”
Remus stood very still, hands open at his sides. Whatever he replied was quiet enough that Hermione missed it, but Kingsley lowered his wand.
“How touching,” Snape drawled. “Note the instincts. The moment Lupin spoke, every wand in the room dropped—except one.” His black eyes flicked to Hermione. “Miss Granger appears to be the only person present who considers me the greater risk. A reasonable assessment, as it happens. If I intended to infiltrate this gathering, I would of course arrive as Lupin. No one ever points a wand at him for long.”
Heat crept up Hermione’s neck as every eye in the room turned to her, and to the wand she still held levelled at Snape’s shadowy figure.
“As much as I would relish watching you attempt to use that, Miss Granger,” Snape continued silkily, “do lower your wand. I can assure you I have no immediate plans to murder anyone at the breakfast table.”
Hermione lowered her wand, wishing she could fade into the furniture.
Dumbledore said, quietly pleased, “Your caution does you credit. Now. I believe Kingsley has questions.”
Kingsley took his seat, still watching them all cautiously. “How are you all alive?”
Dumbledore smiled. “It’s quite a tale. Before we get into that though,” he paused, looking at Harry, and then briefly at her and Ron. “I could not be more proud.”
Hermione knew it was addressed towards Harry more than to her, but she still blushed slightly at the compliment.
Harry looked pained. He had been angry at Dumbledore for so long, and even though he’d seemed to forgive him in the end, it was quite a different thing now that he was alive again, somehow.
Molly whimpered, “F-Fred?”
Dumbledore’s expression turned sympathetic. “I’m so sorry Molly, but no. Just the four of us.”
Hermione looked at George, watching as the little shine of hope faded from his eyes. She felt sick.
Harry repeated Kingsley’s question, “How?”
Dumbledore took a seat, gesturing for the others to sit as well. “It all began on that fateful day two years ago when Sirius fell through the Veil in the Death Chamber. He was not quite as lost to us as I led you all to believe. The Veil itself straddles the line between life and death, and we could, if we chose to, push him further through, or pull him back out. Instead, we chose to keep him there, in the in-between.”
“Why?” asked Harry, his fists clenching. “You told me he was dead!”
The air in the room filled with pressure, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks. It took her a heartbeat to parse what was strange about it. She had felt Harry’s magic slip its leash before, and it always had a jagged edge to it. A wrongness underneath. But it was clear now, clean, still furious but whole. The horcrux was gone, she realised. She pressed her lips against a smile. It was like hearing a song she’d known all her life finally played in tune.
“For all intents and purposes,” Dumbledore was saying, “He was. He certainly wasn’t in the land of the living any longer. Keeping him there enabled me to do this,” he gestured to himself and the other three dead wizards. “With assistance from the Department of Mysteries, we were able to tie some of our lives to his. When we died, we did not pass on. Instead, we joined him in the in-between, and when he was pulled out, he brought all of us with him.”
Lupin opened his mouth and asked croakily, “Tell me again why couldn’t you save Tonks?”
George’s wet blue eyes asked the same question about Fred.
“I am sorry. Would that I could have saved everyone. We bound the life-force of those closest to Sirius in specific emotional or familial configurations. You, as his brother. Myself, as a father figure. Had Harry died, he would have returned in the role of a son. Minerva and Miss Granger both could have been saved, had they died, but at some point the relationship is stretched too far and would no longer work. This was the best I could do, and without knowing who would die, at least in some cases, it was difficult to plan for.”
“But Snape?” Lupin asked, with clearly reluctant curiosity.
“Fulfilled the role of a rival quite perfectly—”
“You ruddy bastard,” Sirius spat suddenly. His fist pounded the table, jolting all of them. “You held me in that—that place, to save Snivellus?”
“Sirius—”
“NO! Don’t tell me to be calm! How dare you?”
He rounded on Snape then, who was sitting back, dark eyes glittering with malicious amusement, smirking.
Sirius spluttered incoherently.
“Sit down, Sirius,” Dumbledore said with quiet authority.
He looked over towards her and Harry, then he paused, taking a deep breath.
“We come to the difficult part now. I knew that I would die, and had some idea of when. I was able to complete the appropriate return-to-life paperwork in advance. I could not do so for Sirius, as he is still a wanted criminal. He, Remus, and Severus are still legally dead. I have convinced the Ministry not to send them all to Azkaban, which means house arrest until this can all be sorted out. Harry, at least for now, Grimmauld remains yours. Might we borrow the use of it, once again?”
“Of course,” Harry said easily, though his eyes kept darting around the room, as if he couldn’t believe any of their former Professors were alive.
“Excellent news, particularly considering I had already promised the Ministry that you would agree. Now, on to the next bit of sticky business. Miss Granger.”
Hermione looked around nervously, surprised she was being singled out.
“The Ministry has caught wind of you wiping your parents’ memories. In an overreaction to their previously anti-Muggle sentiments, they are now attempting to punish anyone for actions taken against Muggles, and plan to arrest you for misuse of magic.”
“But, sir, I did that to protect them.”
“I know, and you did well, my dear. This is simply some bureaucratic nonsense. It will take some time to sort out, however, and until then, it will be safest for you to remain here, under house arrest also.”
Hermione stared at him, unsure what to say. The war was over. She was supposed to be free. She had things to do. She was supposed to help free the Muggle-borns in Azkaban. She had a follow-up appointment at St Mungo’s for her cursed wound, after which she could finally plan a trip to Australia to bring her parents back. All of which had to be done before the new term started so she could–finally–get her N.E.W.T.s.
McGonagall cut in. “Albus, this is poppycock. Hermione acted to save her own parents, and surely her actions are covered under the Order’s dispensation. Many of us committed far worse crimes that we aren’t being punished for.”
Ron blurted, “Yeah, we bloody robbed Gringotts and we aren’t in trouble for that, but ‘Mione is for saving some Muggles?”
Hermione smiled at Ron.
Dumbledore sighed unhappily. “I agree, it is absurd. As to the dispensation, everything the three of you did was covered, as I had given Harry his mission and asked the two of you to assist him. However, you were not formally part of the Order, and there was no command issued to protect the Grangers. Unfortunately, the Ministry is set on proceeding with the case, eager to show they are even-handed.”
“I don’t understand,” Hermione said weakly.
Professor Snape sniffed. “Did you think defeating the Dark Lord would stamp out blood prejudice? The only thing the current Ministry hates more than Muggles are the witches and wizards who were born to them, and you are a likely target for their pathetic attempts at vengeance.”
Sirius snapped, “Shut up, Snape. Mione did nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve to be arrested.”
“I did not say she did.” Snape shot Sirius the sort of look he often gave poor Neville. “If you’d rather stick your head in the sand than see the world how it really is, then go ahead, dog.”
“Enough, both of you,” Dumbledore said sternly. The candles flickered all at once. “Miss Granger, I am quite confident that we can get this sorted out. But for now, I think you’ll agree that staying here is a better alternative than Azkaban.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have memory-charmed them,” she said pensively.
“I’m sure you did what you thought best at the time,” Dumbledore said kindly.
“Spare her the platitudes, Albus,” Snape scoffed. “Anything less than Obliviation would certainly have resulted in her parents’ deaths.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. He had said it flatly, without softness, and it left no room for doubt. She felt the weight she had been carrying shift. It was not comforting, to hear that the danger to her parents had been so real. But it was absolution, of a sort, to know that what she had done to protect them had been necessary.
“They were targeted then?” asked McGonagall.
“Miss Granger’s parents were highly sought after. The Dark Lord wished to acquire them for many reasons, and their deaths would have been far from quick or painless. Despite my constant insistence that she was merely parroting textbooks and lacked even a scrap of original thought, her compulsive need to wave her hand about and correct everyone in the room rather undermined my assessments.”
Sirius spat, “Shut up, Snape. You bastard. She’s a brilliant witch, and you know it.”
“Whether she is or not is irrelevant, but I should think a truly brilliant witch would have grasped that making a spectacle of herself in front of the children of Death Eaters was an invitation, and not an achievement.”
Sirius continued, adamant. “It wasn’t her fault. She was just a kid. She shouldn’t have to keep her head down just to avoid the attention of scum like you.”
Hermione felt her stomach churn. She suddenly felt ridiculous. She’d always tried so hard to prove herself, desperate for the approval of her teachers, and it had only put her parents in danger. Snape’s words reached her out of order and stuck in her ears. Far from quick. Aquire them.
Harry’s warm hand covered her arm. “It’s okay, Hermione. They’re okay.”
The fear drained out of her all at once, replaced by a hollow relief. Harry was right. Her parents were safe. Whatever trouble she might be in with the Ministry now was worth that.
Dumbledore said softly. “Thank you, Severus, I am sure your information will be helpful in Miss Granger’s defence.”
Snape scowled slightly.
“I don’t suppose you could persuade the Ministry that the memory charm was necessary, as her parents would not have been safe simply hiding in the Muggle world? That is their current argument, that the Death Eaters would not have been familiar enough with the Muggle world to track them down.”
“Considering I was eventually assigned the task, yes, it would be safe to argue that they could not have relied on the idiocy of Purebloods with no concept of how the Muggle world works,” he said darkly.
Hermione bit her lip.
“Torture a few Muggles, did you?” asked Sirius scathingly.
“Not personally, no. I did track down her grandmother and supervise Bellatrix’s attempt to extract anything useful from her, however.”
“Oh god,” said Hermione weakly. “Is she okay?”
“Hardly. She was obliviated afterwards, but an eighty-year-old Muggle woman is ill-equipped to handle the Cruciatus.”
Hermione’s stomach churned with horror. The idea of Gran writhing under the wand of one of those psychopaths, of going through what Hermione had, was sickening. A sharp pain shot through her left arm and she curled it protectively towards her chest, the wound she hadn’t dared look at since a Healer at St Mungo’s had bandaged it up suddenly throbbing with phantom pain.
Tears burned her eyes as she realised how badly she had failed to protect her family. They had all been made targets because of her, and she had not done enough.
Sirius snarled, “And you just stood by and watched it? You supervised that?”
Snape, looking supremely uninterested, said, “I was hardly going to risk my cover for a random old Muggle.” His eyes caught hers briefly. “I did what I could. I was tasked with ensuring there would be no further casualties, on that occasion.”
“Who was killed?” Hermione asked dully.
“Your neighbour’s youngest child did not survive Crabbe’s first attempt to locate your parents.”
Hermione’s stomach turned, and she felt herself tremble. “They killed the baby? Why would they…?”
“They did not intend to. Prolonged Cruciatus can cause heart failure, even in healthy adults. Its use on small children is certainly not recommended.”
“Not recommended?” Sirius repeated, horrified. “You heartless bastard.”
Hermione asked, “But why...? It’s a baby, clearly it doesn’t know anything.”
Snape looked even more annoyed. “How many mothers will watch their baby being tortured and not stop it? It is a common tactic, and is likely the reason Longbottom is so close to brain-dead.”
“Gods,” whispered Hermione, sick with guilt. She had focused entirely on protecting her parents and had incorrectly assumed the Death Eaters would not be capable of tracking down her extended family. She hadn’t even spared a thought for the neighbours. “It’s my fault. I should have done more.”
McGonagall said, “Severus.”
He looked up at her. “What?”
“Tell Miss Granger that it would have been impossible to protect everyone.”
“Miss Granger, it would have been impossible to protect everyone,” he delivered dully.
Despite herself, Hermione smiled slightly.
McGonagall nudged him.
He said wearily, “Very well. There is nothing you could have done. If they could not find your neighbours they would have looked for the neighbours’ neighbours. If the whole street was gone, they’d have sought out colleagues, families, anyone. You do not report back to the Dark Lord that you have failed a mission without at least having attempted something. You would have had to hide everyone in Britain, and if you were capable of that, I would have taken a holiday and left you to deal with the war.”
Hermione smiled slightly, despite the sarcasm. “Thank you, sir.”
The rest of the meeting had passed in a blur. Despite asking what Professor Snape had called an ‘inordinate number of irritating questions,’ she still didn’t really understand what was going on, or why she was here. She had said tearful goodbyes to her friends, and then everyone had left, and she had stayed.
With Sirius, Remus, and Professor Snape.
Sirius had promised jovially to ‘take good care of her,’ and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He had meant it to be comforting, but Hermione had only felt stifled. She’d stuck a smile on her face regardless, though, not wanting to worry Harry and Ron.
They were headed back to the Burrow, to assist the Order with all the work of unravelling the mess that was still leftover at the end of the war. And she was here, ordered to sit around in Grimmauld Place and do nothing. It felt ridiculously unfair.
Snape had disappeared up the stairs as everyone else was leaving, and she found herself alone with Sirius and Remus in the kitchen.
Sirius had summoned Kreacher to make tea for them, his attitude no kinder than it was toward Snape, and her heart had gone out to the little elf. She’d scolded Sirius and risen to do it herself, and he’d ordered Kreacher to go upstairs and clean something instead.
“Stop speaking to him like that,” she said seriously. “Haven’t you learned from what happened last time?”
“Yes. I’ve learned not to give him ambiguous orders, or he’ll betray me to my death.”
“That isn’t fair. He only did that because you were cruel to him before—”
“So that’s justification for him trying to kill me?” he asked.
“No, that isn’t what I’m saying. Obviously not.”
Remus said tiredly, “Give it a rest, you two.”
Hermione looked at him and asked, concerned, “Are you alright, Remus?”
He gave her a flat look. “One moment I was fighting for my life and had just watched my wife die, and the next I was in the Department of Mysteries with Dumbledore and some Unspeakable who refused to tell us anything. My wife is dead, and I’m stuck in this stupid house for Merlin only knows how long. Of course I am not alright.”
Sirius stepped over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa, Moony. Calm down.”
Remus slumped.
They sat in a dull silence, each going over everything that had led to this point, lost in their thoughts.
Sirius said, “Well, ‘Mione, why don’t you tell us what happened after we died?”
She startled, having thought Dumbledore might have at least filled them in. “Oh. So many things. Well, after you fell through the veil, You-Know-Who was—”
“Voldemort,” he corrected.
“Yes, right. There was a taboo, and I’ve grown used to not saying it. V-Voldemort,” she trembled slightly over the name despite herself, “was exposed. Fudge was ousted in disgrace, and Scrimgeour became Minister. Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater—”
“No surprises there,” Sirius interjected rudely.
She shrugged. “He was ordered to kill Dumbledore. Do you know about that?” she asked hesitantly.
“No,” he said, looking amused. “Tell me that little cockroach didn’t succeed.”
“No.” She scratched her head. “Professor Snape killed him.”
“That bastard did what?” Sirius exploded into action, rising angrily, and Hermione cringed back.
Remus grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “I know, but clearly Albus planned it. He wouldn’t have resurrected him otherwise.”
Sirius sat down again, saying grumpily, “Always knew that git was no good.”
Remus looked at Hermione expectantly. “What happened?”
“We didn’t know, but it was planned between them. Dumbledore was already dying, and planned to sacrifice himself for the cause. Though I guess it isn’t that much of a sacrifice if he knew he could resurrect himself,” she mused.
“Are we sure Snape was on our side? If he didn’t know about the resurrection plan, then maybe he killed Dumbledore and is just trying to put a better light on it now,” he said hopefully.
“We would have lost the war a thousand times over if he hadn’t helped us. He lured Harry out into the woods to give him the Sword of Gryffindor, when he could easily have kidnapped him and handed him over instead. He was definitely on our side.”
“Damn. I was so sure he’d betray us.”
Hermione thought Sirius seemed disappointed, and it startled her for a moment. They would have lost the war without Snape, of that she had no doubt, and yet Sirius really seemed as though he would have preferred it if the man had been evil.
Remus prompted her to continue, and she explained about the Horcruxes and everything they had been through on the run. Remus talked briefly about working with the Order to set traps for snatchers, but his stories inevitably revolved around Tonks, and he would trail off sadly.
When she reached Snape’s death in the retelling, she hesitated. It had been horrible to witness, and she’d felt awful, even as she knew there was nothing that could be done for him.
“What were the memories?” Sirius asked eagerly.
“They were rather personal,” Hermione replied carefully. She hadn’t watched them herself, but from what Harry had said she was certain Snape would not want Sirius to know anything about it.
Remus looked at her curiously. “Did it explain why he changed sides? We have always wondered.”
Hermione hesitated. If Sirius had asked her, she wouldn’t have answered, but she didn’t mind telling Remus. She was actually rather curious about it all herself, and wouldn’t dare talk to Snape about it.
And it’s not like it was a secret.
Harry had yelled it out on the battlefield. Everyone had heard. It had even been splashed over that morning’s paper, and she expected they would be rehashing it now that he was known to be alive again.
“He changed sides to protect Harry’s mum.”
“What, Lily?” Sirius asked.
Remus smiled slightly. “I had wondered if it would be that.”
“Did you both know they were friends?”
“They weren’t friends,” Sirius exclaimed. “He was a little creep, totally obsessed with her, and she felt sorry for him, that’s all.”
“But they were,” corrected Remus. “Even before Hogwarts.”
Sirius scoffed. “He lived near her and followed her about during the holidays. She put up with it for a while because she felt bad, what with him being so pathetic and all, but they weren’t really friends. And then he called her a Mudblood, and she had nothing to do with him after that. Even though he pleaded pitifully for her to forgive him.”
“It isn’t pitiful to apologise to someone,” Hermione said angrily.
“Yeah,” he said, completely unruffled. “And he did owe her an apology for that. He should have apologised for being a creepy stalker while he was at it.”
“I hardly think he stalked her,” Hermione hissed. “They were friends.”
“Well, after that.”
“If he’d been stalking her, he would have known she was pregnant, and he never would have handed the prophecy over.”
“Wait, what?” Sirius asked, sitting up, suddenly alert like a dog that had scented prey.
Remus flinched, his brow furrowing.
“Umm… You didn’t know?” asked Hermione.
“It was him? He’s the one who handed the prophecy to Voldemort? He got James killed! HE RUINED MY LIFE! I’LL RIP HIM FROM LIMB TO LIMB!”
He darted out of the room. Hermione looked at Remus in a panic. “Shouldn’t we stop him?”
Remus was shaking slightly. “Why should we?” he asked coldly.
Hermione hesitated a moment. She had expected Remus to intervene. She looked at him, disappointed. His expression could only be called desolate. She straightened her shoulders and went after Sirius herself.
She found him just down the hallway, suspended by his ankles. His mouth was moving soundlessly. Snape was leaning casually against the open doorway to the cellar, looking at Sirius with a condescending, mocking smile.
“You can do that wandlessly?” she asked, surprised.
“Obviously,” he snarled at her. “Clean up your mess, Miss Granger.”
She looked at him, surprised by the vitriol. “My mess?” she asked.
“You set him on me, did you not?”
“I didn’t expect him to attack you.”
“Naturally. I suppose no one has written a handbook for you on the blindingly obvious.”
She flinched, feeling stung.
“Perhaps you’ll find something in the Grimmauld library on pet training,” he sneered, voice dripping with contempt.
Remus entered the hall a moment later and quickly took in the scene. “Let him down,” he growled.
“What, so he can attack me again? I think not.”
“You deserve it.”
“Try it, wolf. See if Albus can pull you both back from death again.”
Remus clenched his fists.
Hermione pulled her wand and held it in trembling fingers.
“You’re not worth it, Snivellus,” Remus spat.
Snape’s black eyes glittered malevolently in the darkness.
Hermione pointed her wand at Sirius and cast the counter-spell for the silencing charm. She didn’t free him from the Levicorpus, though, not yet. “Sirius. Please do not attack Professor Snape.”
“He killed my best friend!”
“No, he didn’t. Voldemort killed James. Professor Snape tried to save him.”
“He gave that arsehole the prophecy. Made them a target.”
“They were already targets. You know this, Sirius. Think about it. Peter was already reporting to Voldemort. His information decimated the original Order, and he turned before the prophecy. You were all sitting ducks already. If Professor Snape hadn’t heard it, you all probably would have died a lot sooner than you did, and he did everything he could to protect them—”
“TO PROTECT JAMES!?” he roared. “He would never! He’d only have tried to kill him quicker so he could steal Lily and potion her into compliance. I’ll kill you,” he growled, and began trying to swipe at Snape with his arms.
Snape examined his own fingernails, looking bored.
“Release me,” Sirius demanded.
“Not until you calm down,” Hermione said.
He looked at her with an expression of such hurt and betrayal that she instantly felt guilty. “Why are you protecting him? I thought you were on my side.” He swung back towards Snape again. “Letting a girl protect you again, Snivellus?”
He yelped as the spell holding him up dissipated with a flick of Snape’s fingers, and he crashed into a heap on the ground.
“The girl is protecting you, mutt,” Snape drawled.
“Sirius, stop!” Hermione cried.
Sirius flung himself at Snape, only to bounce back off an invisible barrier over the doorway. He crumpled to the ground again.
Remus snarled at Snape, “Are you proud of yourself? It’s just like Hogwarts, except you’re the bully now.”
Snape snorted derisively. “Not quite. Why was it you all attacked me, again? Because I exist?”
Sirius grunted as he rose. “Because you’re an evil git!”
Snape quirked a smile. “It does feel familiar. Except I was doing nothing when you all attacked me, four to one. And now, Black here seems to be attempting to kill me, and after I just returned from the Veil. However ineffective it may be, it’s still attempted murder.”
“I will kill you, you ruddy bastard. Get out of my house.”
“There is nothing I’d like more,” Snape said conversationally. “It’s unfortunate that I can’t manage a scourgify charm wandlessly, to truly lean into the parallels.”
He stared at Sirius. His expression was one of amusement, but his eyes burned with hatred, and Hermione began to feel nervous.
Sirius was trembling with rage.
Hermione said, “Please stop, both of you.”
Sirius looked at her, expression sullen. “Whatever, Snivellus. Hide behind your magical barrier. You aren’t worth it.”
Snape shrugged. “I was doing you a favour, Black. Or are you really so eager to return to Azkaban?”
“They wouldn’t send me to Azkaban for killing scum like you.”
Snape’s thin lips turned up, and the mocking smile was rather terrifying on his gaunt face. “Try it then. I’ll let you get a hit in this time, and we can see what Albus thinks in the morning.”
Sirius took a step towards him.
Hermione shrieked, “Sirius, don’t! You’re on house arrest already. They really will throw you in Azkaban if you assault him, you know that.”
“I’m not stupid,” he snapped back.
Hermione cringed slightly, and his expression instantly softened, clearly apologetic.
Remus cut in. “Perhaps we should return to the kitchen and hear the rest of Hermione’s explanation. She obviously had more to say.”
Snape said coldly, “I think not. A word, Miss Granger.”
“You fucking joker,” Sirius spat. “I’m not going to leave her alone with the likes of you.”
Snape rolled his eyes, but he turned his glare on her.
She gulped.
“Obviously I believed I was dying when I shared those memories with Potter. I do not appreciate you sharing that information with your…” he looked over at Remus and Sirius, his lip curling. “With your dogs.”
Sirius began cursing at him, calling him a slimy bastard again.
Hermione closed her eyes, irritated by the expected outburst. She could almost feel the magic sparking in her hair.
He cut off suddenly, clearly having been hit with another silencing spell.
Snape’s voice broke through the sudden quiet. “My expectations of you have always been low, but I did not expect you to turn the contents of my dying memories into gossip.”
She bristled at his condescending tone, meeting his eyes bravely. “Sir, it isn’t like that. I’m not telling them anything they won’t find out from other sources. Isn’t it better if they hear it from me, now, than read it in the Prophet tomorrow?”
She felt a chill settle over her as he stared intently at her. His jaw ticked.
“Why would it be in the paper tomorrow, Miss Granger?”
“Oh,” she breathed. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?” he bit out gruffly.
“Harry…” Snape’s onyx eyes seemed to darken. She took a deep breath and continued. “During the final confrontation, Voldemort started gloating about having killed Dumbledore. In response, Harry told him about your memories. He kind of taunted him with it, and everyone overheard him saying that you were Dumbledore’s man all along, and that you… that you loved his mother.”
Snape’s hand wrapped around the doorframe, his already-pale knuckles going bone white. His lip trembled slightly, curling with rage.
Sirius laughed silently beside her, stepping closer to the doorway to gloat.
A moment later Snape’s hand snaked out, grabbed Sirius by the front of his robes, and tugged him forward, smashing his face against the barrier around the doorway. Snape disappeared down the stairs in a flicker of black robes as Sirius howled in pain and attacked the impenetrable doorway.
Hermione stood there, disbelieving. “Why would Dumbledore lock us all in here together? This is ridiculous.”
Remus sighed. “Come on, Sirius. Come and have some tea.”
Hermione made more tea, which was the English thing to do when one wasn’t sure what to feel. They settled in around one end of the kitchen table.
Remus spoke softly. “So, Snape overheard the prophecy and delivered it to You-Know-Who?”
She nodded. “He heard half of it. He didn’t know who it referred to. When he realised, he went to Dumbledore and asked him to protect them.”
“He asked Albus to protect James?” Sirius asked sceptically.
“Of course not. He asked him to protect Lily, but when it came down to it he did promise to do anything in exchange for Dumbledore keeping them all safe.”
“I’m sure he would have preferred to sacrifice James and baby Harry, so long as his precious Lily was protected.”
Hermione was getting tired of Sirius’ petulant tone. She said impatiently, “If that were the case, he wouldn’t have switched sides. Look, I don’t know for sure what it was like then, but he had You-Know-Who’s favour. He asked him to spare Lily. If he really was as evil as you all seem to think, then he would only have pretended to switch sides. He would have tried to make himself as useful as possible so that Voldemort would keep his promise.”
“That’s exactly what he did do, though,” Sirius said emphatically. “Maybe he chose our side later, but that snivelling little coward was just waiting the whole time to see which side would win. He was probably hoping it would be his master, so he’d get Lily, as though she were property to just be handed over. Spoils of war.”
“You’re wrong,” she found herself saying. “I don’t know what he was like when he was younger. I can’t speak to that, but he definitively chose our side. He saved Harry—and Ron and me—more than once. He was actively working against Voldemort even when things were looking pretty hopeless. He did the right thing.”
Sirius stared at her, jaw tight, but visibly restrained himself. His expression turned softer, and he gave a short, dismissive huff. “Course you think that. You want to believe the best of him. You’re a good girl, Hermione. Too decent to see what someone like Snape really is. It’s… sweet, actually. Go on, then. What happened next?”
Hermione blinked at him, taken aback. She wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the energy. “That’s about it, really. He stayed at Hogwarts to protect Harry. He killed Dumbledore to secure his place amongst the Death Eaters. He brought us the sword, and Voldemort killed him in the Shrieking Shack to try and win the allegiance of the Elder Wand.”
“The what?” Sirius asked with interest.
Hermione sighed, still feeling irritated about this part. “The Deathly Hallows are real. Harry’s invisibility cloak is one of them, and Dumbledore’s wand was another. Voldemort took it but couldn’t use it because Draco Malfoy actually had won the allegiance, and not Snape. I honestly thought it was rather cruel of Dumbledore because he must have known Voldemort would kill Snape over it, but I suppose he had a plan to resurrect him the whole time, knowing he would die…”
“At my expense,” Sirius muttered, anger flickering back to life though it was a low, banked glow now, not the blaze it had been earlier. Personally, she thought that anger better directed at Dumbledore, all things considered.
“You know that isn’t true,” she said. She was aiming for a patient tone, but feared she hadn’t quite managed it. “Dumbledore always planned to resurrect you once the war was finished. Remus died less than an hour before Snape did. It didn’t cost you anything you weren’t already paying.”
“I’m still not happy about it,” he whined.
“Were you aware of anything that was happening?” she asked curiously.
He shuddered, and seemed to shrink in on himself. He had never quite recovered from the emaciation of Azkaban. His time in the veil hadn’t changed him physically, but there was a shadow over him now. He seemed somehow smaller, even though his size had not changed.
“Yes,” he whispered bleakly. “It was a horrible kind of nothingness with… things intruding on it. I was at the edge of awareness, constantly alert. I could hear the Unspeakables talking sometimes, but I couldn’t understand them. I tried so hard to get to them. I kept running and running, but the more I did, the more I became aware that I didn’t have a body anymore…”
He trailed off and held up his arms, as though to check they were still there. He gripped the edge of the table, watching his own fingers clench on the wooden surface.
“I would forget for a while that I was supposed to have one, but every time I got closer to them I would begin to feel as though I should be panting, desperate to breathe, that my legs should be burning from running so far, only I felt nothing. Then I would scream and scream, but I had no throat, and no ears, and there was no one, and nothing, to hear me.”
Remus placed a hand over one of Sirius’ hands, where it rested on the table. Sirius stared at it for a long moment, as though not comprehending the physical sensation, before his expression was suddenly overtaken with desperate longing. He suddenly twisted his hand to grip Remus’, the tendons on the back of his hand standing out sharply, the muscles tensing as though he feared Remus would be ripped away from him.
He turned to look at her then, and she trembled under the intense expression on his face. She reached out to take his other hand.
He looked at her and said with raw need, “When they were quiet, it was worse. The whispers are even louder on the other side of the veil, and they would talk to me sometimes. My parents. James. That was worse than silence. I could never hear them clearly, but every time I tried to get closer, I would grow so cold, and it kept getting darker and darker. Then I would become aware of my body, but it wasn’t a relief, it was a burden. Dragging me and holding me back.”
Hermione looked at him, her heart aching with pity. She could hardly imagine what it must have been like, and after all those years suffering with the Dementors too. It was no surprise he was struggling to contain his temper now.
She asked softly, “Did you know that Dumbledore was there with you?”
“Yes and no. After a while there was… a weight. He was so heavy, and I could feel him, but I didn’t know who or what he was. I could just feel something pressing down on me, holding me in place, and it became even harder for me to move, either way. It was horrible, and I didn’t know what it was, only that I couldn’t shrug it off and it was crushing me.” He paused for a moment and then grimaced and said bitterly, “And Snape did add to that burden.”
Hermione squeezed his hand in sympathy.
They didn’t see Snape again until dinner, which was mandatory. Dumbledore had explained the house rules to them, and they were all required to assemble for breakfast and dinner, where they were to remain in place for an hour in case Professor Dumbledore or a Ministry representative wished to contact them through the Floo.
It had sounded ridiculous to her, but as Dumbledore had pointed out, they were imprisoned.
It didn’t really feel like being in prison, since they were just in a house, left completely to their own devices. But they had been locked in, and they had to follow the rules.
She had gone with Sirius and Remus to inspect the bedrooms. Sirius had wanted her to stay in a room with an adjoining door to his, but she had insisted on keeping the bedroom she used to share with Ginny on the first floor. Sirius and Remus were up on the second, and didn’t seem to know or care where Snape might be sleeping. They had cleared their rooms of any pests that had moved in while the place had been empty and then Hermione had taken a nice long shower to relax and clean the grime off herself.
Now she was sitting in the kitchen with Remus and Sirius, a pot of tea between them, when Snape entered the room. He ignored them all and went to make one for himself.
Sirius scoffed. “Sure, Snape, just walk in like you own the place, don’t mind us.”
Snape did not turn. “I was not aware I needed your approval. Isn’t this Potter’s house now?”
“I brought you back to life, you git. Least you could do is show some bloody gratitude.”
“I did. To Albus. He brought us all back. As I understand it, you were more beast of burden than active participant. One thanks the wizard who leant them the donkey, not the beast itself.”
Sirius’ chair scraped loudly as he rose. “Say that again.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “See, this is why. It’s pointless to thank an animal, since they cannot comprehend speech.”
“I understood you alright,” Sirius said darkly, taking a step across the room.
“Sirius, don’t,” Hermione said softly. “He’s goading you. Just ignore him.”
She glared at Professor Snape, irritated with the man’s pettiness. To her surprise, he looked back at her, smug and triumphant.
He said tauntingly, “That’s right. Be a good dog and listen to Miss Granger. She doesn’t want to see you put down.”
Sirius’ face darkened with humiliation and fury. He snatched up his teacup and hurled it.
At that precise moment, the Floo flashed green, and Dumbledore’s head appeared, along with a tray covered with plates of food.
The sound of the teacup shattering against an invisible barrier in front of Snape, splashing scalding hot tea back at Sirius, was immediately followed by Dumbledore’s voice.
“What is going on here?”
Snape said coolly, “Everyone’s least favourite rabid dog has gone mad again.”
Sirius, half-blind and grunting with pain, scrabbled towards him. Snape flicked a finger and flipped him upside down by the ankle again.
Dumbledore stroked his beard. “Sirius we talked about this. You and Severus need to set aside your issues.”
“Albus,” said Remus, “I think it would be best if you sent Snape elsewhere. This situation is untenable.”
“I cannot,” he said, a little tiredly. “The Ministry is a mess. You must understand. Voldemort was in charge long enough to restructure things. Everyone in a position of power is there because they were active supporters of his ideology, or passive enough to go along with it. I cannot simply snap my fingers and fix it.”
“It’s his fault,” Sirius growled, still dangling in the air.
“Sirius, if you cannot control yourself, I will have to send you to Azkaban. Consider this your final warning. Severus,” he looked at him sternly, “Stop goading him.”
Snape’s lip curled up into a sneer, but he said nothing.
“Let him down. I need to speak to you all.”
Snape’s fingers twitched again, and Sirius crashed to the floor. He stood up and glared at Snape, furious.
Hermione understood her mistake. Her intervention had only made Sirius more determined not to back down. He probably had some ridiculous perception about masculinity and thought it made him look weak.
Snape had known that would happen. He had anticipated that she would try to intervene and that he could use that to further goad Sirius. She also had a sneaky suspicion that he had expected Dumbledore to check on them, and had timed his goading so that Dumbledore would see it.
Part of her was impressed. It was sensible. Sirius was obviously unhinged, and she wouldn’t want to be living in a house with him if he might try to kill her at any moment. It was probably useful getting Dumbledore to issue a warning and put him on notice early. At the same time, she wasn’t very pleased to have been used in his scheme.
Sirius frightened her a little. When he grew truly angry, he was liable to lash out at anyone, even at her and Remus. She understood why he was so volatile, and pitied him, but it didn’t stop her feeling somewhat relieved that she was the only one in the house who still had a wand.
~~~SS~~~
Severus retreated upstairs the moment dinner ended. He reclaimed the room he had always taken when forced to stay at Headquarters and, after clearing out a nest of doxies and one boggart he had no wish to examine, collapsed onto the bed.
He really ought to shower. He was grimy after a day spent cleaning out the Potions lab so he could brew. Of course the others could relax into their house arrest, but not him. No, he was expected to work.
He had a list of Potions to brew for St Mungo’s, as well as the pesky requirement of Wolfsbane for the bloody werewolf he had just been locked into a house with. No rest for the wicked, not even in death, apparently.
A flicker of satisfaction cut through his exhaustion at the thought of the wolf, and the mutt who called him friend. Severus, for once, had not been left bruised and humiliated in a run-in with the so-called Marauders. He was finally powerful enough that his former bullies ought to cower before him. That they didn’t was merely a testament to their own intellectual deficiencies. Too stupid to register the sharp edge of a blade until after it had cut them.
He regretted his own loss of temper, however. He would need to be careful to only harm them in self-defence. Albus’ magnanimity could only be trusted so far when it came to his favourite Gryffindors.
It would not stop him from goading the mutt, however much Albus may disapprove, particularly when he could control the outbursts to his own advantage. The Shield Charm he had utilised, the only one he could cast wandlessly, was static and took time to prepare. It would prove useless for a surprise attack. He would not let Black catch him unawares.
He thought of Granger. She had defended him, which had been surprising, but she was clearly only trying to stop Black from self-destructing. He remembered what she had said, about Potter blabbing about the contents of his memories. Her confidence that it would all be in the paper…
He shuddered, anticipating the inevitable mockery. Black’s voice already curled through his mind, thick with triumph. Severus’ stomach churned. He had carried that secret for nearly two decades, and now it was to become fodder for the masses.
Regret burned through him. He should not have let Potter see. He only had because he had been so certain of his own death. Severus stared up at the ceiling and tried to contemplate the fact that he was alive. He hadn’t expected to survive. Hadn’t wanted to, if he was being honest.
That he had was troubling.
Killing Albus had been difficult. The sense of betrayal lingered. It still stung. He had endured the hatred of his peers. The students too—though that was nothing new. And he had known that Albus must not have intended for him to survive. He had been sacrificed just as surely as Potter had.
That knowledge had not prepared him for how it felt when his snake-faced bastard of a master had decided to kill him, and Severus had realised that Albus had set him up to die. That betrayal had been almost as sharp as Nagini’s fangs on his throat.
He reached up to touch the smooth column of his throat, unmarred by the wound that had killed him. The phantom ache of it seemed to taunt him.
It was difficult to reconcile the sense of betrayal he had nursed since Albus had first set him the task of becoming a murderer with the knowledge that Albus had always planned to save him. He had been so sure that Albus had never truly cared about him, that he was nothing more than a pawn, to be moved across the chessboard to their best advantage. He had been wrong.
If Severus had lived, Albus would have popped back through the veil, hearty and hale as ever, to vouch for his innocence. Instead, Severus had died, and Albus had still reached through to the beyond to drag him back.
The thought that perhaps the old man had cared after all left him feeling unpleasantly raw. He wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he quickly Occluded it away. He rose sharply and made his way into the bathroom to take a shower. If he really must feel sorry for himself, there would be time for that tomorrow.