“It was delicious as always, Molly.”, smiled Arthur, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Why, thank you, darling.”
“You know it, Mum.”, chuckled George, “You could cook the Ghoul’s toenails and Dad would call it delic-”, and received a swipe of a dish towel. “But it’s true!”, and another right on the back of his head, bearing it with a brighter laugh.
“Be careful, son.”, Arthur grinned into everyone else’s laughter. “While you may be right, I cannot guarantee I will be quick enough to save your life if she turns into the real lion she is.”
“Shut it. Both of you.”, Molly snickered, shaking her head and summoned the empty dishes to the sink. “But you are right. You cannot even save your own life, for all that you are capable of.”, Hermione didn’t miss that his smile froze for a second before he shrugged it off.
“Is she talking about the Auror that lost her arm when saving your life once? Back in the first Wizarding War?”
Not only his smile, again, was gone. In fact the entire room fell silent, curious eyes on the oldest man in the room. All were staring at him. All but Ron and Molly, who stared at her.
“You really had to bring that up, did you?”, Arthur huffed grim to his wife, yet looking at Hermione now too.
“How do you know – ”, was her aspirated answer. “Hermione, dear. Who told you about this? We all swore never to talk about it ag– it was Severus, wasn’t it?”
“What?”, her head jerked up in confusion. “No! I mean – no – it wasn’t Severus. I – I met her – earlier this year – she – ”
“Now did you?”, Arthur’s smile was back, but it was forced and painful to look at. “I am delighted to hear she is still alive. I don’t want to know how you possibly met an Auror who has gone into hiding right after the war by, as it must have been, feigning her own death; that is her business, but still I thank you for letting me know. Though please let us drop the topic now, for everyone’s sanity.”
“You know you made her even more curious now, darling.”
“I think, in fact, you made all of us curious now, Dad.”, meant Percy.
“It is nothing any of you need to know, really.”, he sighed. “She saved my life, end of story. If you excuse me now; I need to fix a microwave that I turned into a distiller and I need to do that before I go to bed, or it’ll give me a sleepless night of worry. Even more than Harry’s close escape will.”
~~#~~
The grass needed to be mown again before the first snow would fall, she considered, when digging her way through the blades hanging over the narrow path, towards the light like a moth. Music reached her ears and became louder the closer she was to the crooked door of the barn. It was a lively boogie, but no other sound came from within. Not even when she knocked on the door. No answer. Nonetheless she dared to enter the crammed place.
It was hard to distinguish any object from another. All of it was a chaotic construct, tangled, much like the storage layout of the Room of Requirement, but by far smaller and less magical appearing. Way in the back she did eventually spot a patch of greyish white, identifying it as Arthur’s shirt. He had taken off his robe and thrown it over a pile of TVs, making it look more like a rug than clothing. What he was doing, looked far from fixing a modified microwave. There was a peculiarly modified microwave in front of him, yes, but he had crossed his arms on the limited space of table between it and him, staring through the tarnished lid as if he hoped it to turn into the gates of Heaven.
“I expected no less of you.”, he said just loud enough for her to hear it over the music, startling her and stopping her in place.
“You only – ”, Hermione gargled, “Sought for an excuse to escape – ”
“Of course. Come here.”, his words were so calm it surprised her. “Take a chair and sit down.”, she walked over and did as told without him taking his look off the microwave.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have poked into the matter.”
“Hermione. What I wanted to ask you – before I refuse to read the theories in the Daily Prophet tomorrow – is there anything you’d like to tell me about what happened in the cafeteria today?”
“How do you – of course you must have met someone who – ”
“Actually, it was Ronald who told me everything about it. He believed, the Order needed to know, and sought me as his most trusted member.”
“So you know.”, she aspirated.
“Yes, I do know that someone tried to kill Harry, twice in a row.”, Arthur took a brief pause to sort his words. “What Ron also told me, is Harry’s theory about why he survived. It is rather interesting, I must say.”
“Mildly said, yes.”
“And I can actually comprehend it very much. We all know of a case in which sacrifice has managed to save lives. In fact, it has happened to Harry before.”
“If you’re talking about his mother,”
“Inter alia, yes. Knowing of it, and as it seems, earnestly believing in it, I can see how Draco could indeed have created a protection strong enough to suffice.”
“So you think as well that he re-produced what Lily did?”
“If he did or not, can of course not be said for sure.”
“No.”, Hermione huffed.
“What do you believe, happened?”
“Me? I have no idea, to be honest.”, she lightly shook her head, frowning at the distillers attached to the microwave in thoughts.
“Of course there is also another possibility. Can you think of any?”
“I – ”
There was something. Something deep inside her brain that flared in an endless dark. But it wasn’t a flame. Its shine was cold and it shimmered in a hall of remarkable scale. Just one among many. And she heard the voice of a woman she had needed a long time to think at least decent of.
“`And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.´”
“It is of course a well known secret to those close to Harry, and naturally, Albus Dumbledore, that a certain tale is not just fiction.”
“I don’t quite understand – ”
“Oh I think you do, Hermione. Yes, Harry was killed by Voldemort, yet miraculously survived. He voluntarily walked into death, and by it, as he himself stated, if you too recall, provided the same protection of pure selflessness for all of us that his mother once had given. He went to die but didn’t.”
“Because he was protected by Severus’ sacrifice.”
“Perhaps. Yes.”
“So the curse only killed the weaker soul in the shell. The piece of Voldemort’s.”
“True. Well, at least, that is the theory that Harry had shared with all of us, years ago. But think like Dumbledore would think.”
“Harry was the owner of all three Hallows.”, Hermione thought aloud. “So he couldn’t be harmed by the wand’s power. He said that too.”
“Yes.”
“And still the prophecy said – but Harry didn’t kill Voldemort – ”
“Now didn’t he?”, something about Arthur’s smirk troubled her.
“He – did. If you spin it further. If you say that the curse was cast by the wand he was the master of,”
“I do say that, yes.”
“But if you combine that with the theory that Voldemort could not actually kill Harry,”
“I do combine that.”
“So,”, Hermione chuckled, “You think that either of them would have had to kill the other? In a mutual way? Is that how you treat the prophecy’s words?”
“Prophecies are always as vague as they are exact. `Either´ could of course mean `one of them´, but it could just as well mean `both of them´. And in that case,”
“Seeing as Harry is alive and Voldemort isn’t, you therefore think nobody else is capable of killing Harry? That’s, well, yes, interesting. But also makes no sense. Nobody is immortal. Nothing is forever.”
“But you cannot deny that there are entities that are very close to being considered immortal or at least indestructible in their state. Like Poltergeists or Obscurials, for example. While it has been proven that they can be harmed in ways, they are – ”
“They aren’t human.”
“No, they are not. Or not anymore, depending on the case. But with this statement you are contradicting yourself. The term `nothing´ includes, well, everything. Also I would like to point out, that immortality itself, as all other things considered by humans, can and will never be objective.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you think, Albus wanted Severus to kill him?”, she knew Arthur was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, yes, but never had it occurred to her, that he would have given any of the events in the late second war such thorough thoughts.
“Severus told me, long before he let Harry know through his memories, of the plan Albus had had. To take one last advantage of his backfired attempt to destroy the ring of Voldemort’s mother.”
“Yes. Albus owned, what Voldemort was seeking. But that is exactly the point. Perhaps you aren’t aware, but the Deathly Hallows are like poison. They are, in ways, cursed, if not already voluntarily by their creators. They are designed to corrupt the hearts of all those who don’t have a pure heart and soul. They will never bring anything but attract Death himself to those who seek them for mere power.”
“Now you’re talking like Severus.”
“Perhaps. Though, ask yourself, Hermione, knowing him so well, didn’t he have a reason to think so?”
“Yes. The tale is his family’s. He should have known it best.”
“Of course he had. But this is not what I was referring to. Why do you really think, Albus wanted him to do the final strike?”
“Well, to prevent Draco from becoming a murderer and also, this way, the wand would return to the family it belonged to.”
“This is what Severus told you, isn’t it?”
“This is what he originally told me, yes. But I still don’t have the slightest clue what you want from me.
“Well, then let me give you hint.”, something clicked, before the hint came however.
“It’s true!”, Hermione aspirated. “He – he sought for the Hallows all his life, but in the end, one of them killed him.”
“Not quite like this, no.”, she narrowed her brows in confusion. “If you actually count one and one together, you will see that the end of his hunt, wasn’t his death.”
“Not his death?”
“After all,”, Arthur sang hollow, almost dazzled, as if he had unriddled one of the greatest mysteries of all time, “He’s still here, isn’t he?”
“He’s – well. His corpse bones are still here. They haven’t rotten. Or so I think.”
“I wasn’t talking about his body,”
“His portrait!”, Hermione gasped. “His – his memory remains! Walking the castle, in ways! Seemingly living remains of his! You’re right! Immortality is subjective! By his death, he permitted the release of his portrait to the public! Remains of his that couldn’t even be destroyed when the castle laid in ashes, as there are enough frames to find shelter! Actively thinking remains! By accepting death, he actually became a master of death! He went with him gladly, and yet stayed in this world, without having to become a spectre! He could move on, while at the same time, stay!”
“Now you understand.”, Arthur smiled.
“What a cunning bastard!”
“Oh yes. And if I may say so, by this, he had finally won a competition he had had going on ever since his youth.”
“The competition with Grindelwald. Who would become immortal first.”
“Yes.”
“The only portraits that remain of him, are snippets, right? Photos, in the remaining books of Rita Skeeter, or possible articles lying somewhere in a dusty box. Perhaps, some, attached to crime record, buried in archives.”
“Possibly, yes. But certainly no lifelike portraits that can still fully consciously communicate with the world or even influence people. That is safe to say. Of course I wasn’t born yet when Grindelwald had been beaten and imprisoned, but both Albus and his brother revealed enough about him that he was, while full of himself, even more full of the cause that drove him, full of his motives. So full he didn’t even think about gaining immortality in an alternate way to preserving his body.”
“Why would Molly think it was Severus who told me about the incident?”, was all she could ask before her own thoughts would go to far.
The thought was troubling, as she finally understood why Harry had actually insisted on having Severus painted as well. Not to torture Dumbledore’s remains mentally, but to prevent him from falling victim to his own greed once more. The last thing the world would need, was a portrait ruling over it like a puppet master. He had deliberately placed a memorial, as a weapon against Dumbledore’s megalomania that had survived beyond physical death. The mere thought of someone being willing to go this far was so troubling, she had found herself forced to, in the span of a second, change the topic to what she had actually hoped to get answers on, as a last resort, as she was quite sick of having to talk about theories around those Deathly Hallows again. Luckily, Arthur accepted with a sigh.
“Because it was due to Severus’ fortunate arrival, that merely an arm was lost that night. Well, naturally, that isn’t true. Much was lost that night. Other lives, dignity, a lot of faith – and the loss was laid to rest, never again spoken of. We pretended it hadn’t happened. That was our only way to remain trusting ourselves, each other, our judgement. Mostly, our leader. We decided not to risk the few friendships we had remained, over things that weren’t on us to direct.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I assume, you still have your Pensieve in that bag you even take to bed with you?”
“Who said I t-”, she tried to protest but his head turning to her gagged it. “Yes. Why?”
“You are an intelligent woman, Hermione.”
“You swore not to talk about it.”
Both nodded and Arthur loosened his crossed arms to raise his wand’s tip to his temple while Hermione pulled the small bowl from her bag and opened its lid as it stayed floating over her lap. Very careful, Arthur dripped the memory into the solution and leant back with a sigh. One deep breath later, he was gone from her sight.
The room she landed in, was alarmingly familiar. Dark, dusty, old wood, windows that wouldn’t even fully let daylight in, although it was dark outside anyway and the only source of light was the crackling fire. A long table had been put into the space between door and counter. Behind it, stood a much younger Aberforth Dumbledore than what he had been when she had met him for the first time. Drying glasses manually, he studied the chatting people around the table. Many of them Hermione recognised. Most of those she hadn’t met in her life, she knew at least from one photograph that Harry had received from Sirius many years ago. Among them was also the former Auror she had gotten to meet on her last trip to Ukraine, both her arms still intact. So was a lot of Arthur’s hair still existing, as she spotted when she found him sitting not far from her standing place by the door. Out of the group, not only due to sitting in the middle of the table’s long side, stuck of course, the barman’s older brother, assuring them all they needn’t worry about a certain matter.
“Shut your traps, everyone.”, growled Moody from one end of the table, his arms crossed and his wooden leg elevated on a stool by his chair.
“Thank you, Alastor. As I was saying, before your panic raised all your voices, I am very close to unravelling Voldemort’s biggest secret. Of course it is still mere assumptions, but I find them underpinned more and more by the day. If his secret truly is what I believe, it will not be easy to bring him down. However, I am in possession of something that might help.”
“Tz.”, grunted his brother behind him, but was ignored.
“And what’s that?”, asked Remus.
“A weapon.”, Aberforth sneered. “Designed to murder what cannot be murdered. But most of all and instead of anything else, it murders the innocent.”, Albus sighed and took off his glasses, pinching his eyes more with annoyance than his fingers.
“What weapon?”, wanted Minerva to know. “What is he talking about.”
“Ignore him and his grudge.”
“Ignore me?”, Aberforth spat. “Ig- abusing my bar for your tiny little secret society meetings but telling them to blend me out like I was a spider under the attic? I’m your brother, in case you forgot.”
“And nobody forced you to agree with me having our meetings here, or even to stay during them. If you are here against your own liking, you are a fool. Being part of the Order means you agree with me.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”, he did, but very cold. “I’m not here because you gained my sympathy or loyalty. You’re not the Queen of Britain. I’m here because these people are my friends and I want to help them save their families. But you’re right. I am a fool. But because I honestly believed you would have put an end to this years ago and gotten rid of it. I’m a fool because I had faith in your sanity.”
“Tell me. Brother.”, Albus raised, very slow, with his chair moving aside on its own as he turned around and Hermione quickly walked over to still be able to see his face. “Seeing as you believe you are more in your right mind than I am. What would you do? In my stead?”
“I’d have snapped that thing in two and thrown it into Nutscale Reservoir or something. Or the sea. Anywhere nobody’d go looking.”
“If that is what you deem wise over using it to stop an evil man and his followers, why yes, prove me wrong.”, remaining calm, he actually pulled his wand and pointed it at Aberforth, almost inviting him to climb over the counter and take it. “Prove to me that you are the worthier carrier and that your idea is for – ”
“An even greater good? Still not sick of that pathetic line?”
“Whatever this is about,”, sighed Arthur, got up as well and walked around the table, right through Hermione who shuddered, “I suggest you take it elsewhere. This isn’t bringing us any closer to – ”
“Come on,”, nodded Albus, looking straight into his brother’s eyes, their blue as cold as the flames in the Hogwarts Dungeons. “Climb off your horse and take it, you wisest of all men.”
“One punch wasn’t enough, eh?”
Furious, Aberforth smacked the dish towel onto the wood before him and walked around the counter. The wand followed every step he took, until it pointed directly at Hermione, who stepped aside again to see both men.
“For all I care, wipe out your entire family.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Aberforth. I have no intention to – ”
“Then why are you pointing that thing at me!”
“Because I’d like to see you take it and try to snap it in two.”
“The hell I will!”
There was only a flail and the sound of something small and clattering hitting the wall on the other side of the room.
“Goodness sake!”, panicked Arthur, placing himself between the two, both arms raised. “Pull yourselves together! No need to duel in here! None of us is interested in your dispute! We’re here to try end a war, not start one amongst ourselves!”
“I asked you to come here and take it from me.”, gnarled Albus, restrained, but still visibly as angry as Aberforth. “Not to try and win it from me.”
“I didn’t try to disarm you because I want that BLOODY thing for myself! I just don’t want to die unarmed, if I already must!”
“Nobody is going to kill anyone here!”, Arthur warned, but also others had raised and drawn their wands just to be prepared for the worst.
“OH TRUST ME! HE’D LIKE TO HAVE ME OUT OF THE WAY! KILLING OUR SISTER WASN’T ENOUGH!”
“Aberforth,”, Albus too warned.
“I have no idea what is going through your mind right now, but if you really find it necessary to kill your own brother in a room full of people who look up to you as a trustworthy leader, you will have to kill us all.”
“Don’t be the same conceited dolt as he is, Arthur.”, but he had already pointed his own wand at the much older man, and Hermione barely caught that the front door was opened and closed behind by a black cloaked figure.
“I’M A CONCEITED DOLT? I DIDN’T FALL IN LOVE WITH A PSYCHOP-”
What happened then, happened so quick she wouldn’t have been able to perceive, if she herself hadn’t been prudent enough to freeze the memory scene in place. Every crack in the room was lit green. The bright jet of the curse itself halted in mid air, long silver hair swept back by the force it had been cast with and a woman hanging in suspense, as she had launched herself over. Before her, between her held out wand, its tip glowing red from the stunner it was about to unleash and the fatal stream of magic, a shimmering, translucent disc, more than obvious due to a still connecting thread to the black wand, cast by the man who had just joined the party.
With her heart beating wildly against her chest, she dreaded unfreezing the scenery, knowing what would come. Swallowing down the knowledge as it had happened long in the past and couldn’t be undone anymore, she prepared herself for the following. But unlike she had expected, there wasn’t a single scream. Not from the heroine, not any from the audience. She simply fell with a loud thud, and a swooshing sound as the shield had absorbed all it could have. Then there was heavy breathing, only. From all, and shining blood hit by the few rays of firelight that shone past Albus Dumbledore’s long robe, starting to trickle over the dusty floor. Hermione looked at him now, his shocked face when he tried to figure out what exactly had happened, not noticing that it too had been sprinkled with blood by the explosion.
Nobody moved. Nobody was able to move. Nobody but one man who flung his wand blindly at the door while he stumbled towards the injured woman on the floor, a bluish silvery creature rushing off for aid. Hasty but not clumsy, his hands pulled the scarf from his neck and he tried his best to wrap it around the gash while muttering words that sounded like tries of an incantation.
The door was burst open again and in hurried a very young man, not much different in age to Severus, someone she only recognised by the colour of his hair and the eyes shining even more like ambers in the light of the flames. Very composed as if he did something like that every single day of his life, he ignored the distraught people around and took the woman from Severus’ care, dissolving to white smoke-like fog with her and left as quick as he had come. Panting his lungs out, a mere flick of Severus’ wrist slammed the door shut behind and Hermione, not knowing how she managed to, walked around again, to look at the fury in his shimmering black marbles piercing the blue pair above him. As if he himself was ready to die, he raised, not breaking eye contact. Albus lastly lowered his wand.
“Fantastic.”, said Severus into the silence, very quiet and hollow, losing his anger to disbelief.
“I – ”
“Of course.”
“I – I beg your pardon?
“Of course you. It’s been ever about you.”
“Severus – ”
“How many more have to die.”
“Severus I – I didn’t mean – ”
“Gimme tha wand.”
“Excuse me?”, Albus breathed barely over the sudden ten-o’clock-announcement of the cuckoo clock on the wall by the cupboards, eyes widening.
“I said, give me, the wand.”
“Why.”, his determination was back, so was Severus’.
“Because your brother is right. It has to be destroyed.”
“It cannot be destroyed.”
“It can.”
“And how?”, chuckled Albus.
“For someone who has devoted his life to the matter, you know little of its lore.”
“And you know more, Severus?”
“It can be destroyed by any legitimate owner or a living relative of Antioch Peverell. Since you refuse to destroy it,”
“You know of a living relative?”
“Albus, I beg you – ”
“Ah, you beg me. Is this becoming a habit of yours now?”, the frown not only upset his opponent.
“Spare us your jokes for when the time to laugh has come.”
“Knowing you, that will never be.”, huffed the elder.
“Albus I – I employ you to see reason. I know you aren’t a monster.”
“Being a little naïve, boy?”, laughed Aberforth spitefully. “You just saw what – ”
“Neither of us needed to happen what just happened. You know as well as I the history of this wand. It is written in blood and hunger for power and it ever will be unless someone who actually can, finally puts an end to it. It was created to take lives and no matter the cause, it will take lives. It was designed to create nothing but dichotomy and grief. But what you really want is unity. Please give me that wand and let me put an end to it all.”, Albus nodded upon it, grim, but still. “It is the only way.”
“Very well, Severus. I have put my trust in you. I tried my best to interpret your motives as selfless. But if you seek to kill me, you must do so with your own wand.”
“Kill you.”, a deflated chuckle left his lungs. “You know it will be my greatest pleasure to kill you, old man.”, either ignored the shocked gasps around.
“And so I believed.”
“But not unless you come begging me on your knees to end your life. I am not killing someone who thinks so low of me that they believe I don’t have the balls for it. I’m not giving you the satisfaction. You want me to kill you? Fine. But first you need to comprehend your own failure in life. Speaking of which.”, Severus gently swapped his own wand into his left hand to raise his right, unclear if he was demanding or offering something.
“I thought I told you I will not give you the wand.”
“And I understood.”, Severus huffed.
“Then what now, do you demand from me?”
“I demand from you, to give back what isn’t yours.”, understanding, Hermione’s lips drifted apart.
“And what would this be?”
“Don’t take me for a mug. You don’t need it. Your skills are superior to it.”
“But you do?”
“No. I merely wish to hand it back to its rightful heir.”
“Ah yes, of course you know who that is too, just as much as you know of a living relative of Antioch.”
“Quite, yes. Seeing as the three were brothers, any living relative of one, is also a relative of the other two.”
“I daresay, you amuse me, Severus.”
“You’re welcome.”, the subtle sideways nod of his caused a snicker to escape Hermione. “Now give me the cloak.”
“What ensures me that you will actually give it back to – the person I borrowed it from?”
“Me acknowledging that while you try to deny your family, James tries to save what he knows is left of his.”, now it was Albus’ lips that parted and he reached into his left front pocket that was more than obviously enchanted, as he slowly pulled out the massive shiny cloak Hermione had seen so often before.
“You say, James needs it.”, there was both hesitation and curiosity in his voice.
“Yes.”
“But he isn’t here.”
“Because you told him to lock himself in, instead of staying protected in the middle of his friends.”
“He is very well protected where he is.”
“We both know that is an illusion.”, Severus moaned.
“What is it to you. What has changed between James Potter and you, that you suddenly believe you have to give him back his invisibility cloak? Why do you think he needs it? Why does his life suddenly matter so much to you?”, Hermione’s eyes flicked over to Sirius who crossed his arms, surprised he hadn’t said a single word so far. “Tell me, and I will allow you to take the cloak. You say you know the lore.”
“I do.”
“Then tell me, or be foolish enough to try and touch the cloak.”
Everyone around them seemed to hold their breath, when Albus stretched out his arm, the fabric only inches away from Severus’ fingers that had remained in their demanding pose. Not taking his eyes off the other’s, he reached out just a little further, turned his palm upside down and the long pale fingers enclosed some of the soft material. With ease, no change in his expression, or any other reaction – none, but surprise drifting into Albus Dumbledore’s features, as he looked down and back at Severus.
“When has he allowed you – ”
“There is much more that connects James Potter and me than you are willing to see, wise old man. And you – ”
He broke off, all of a sudden, inexplicable shock owning him and let go of the cloak, yes, even his wand he nearly dropped, but could just prevent it from falling, probably not even noticing he had. The panic in his eyes was unreal. Arthur’s words from the actual present echoed in Hermione’s mind. That there were lives that had been lost that night and she realised what night it was. What had just happened. What Severus had felt, why his lips started to quiver, why nothing but horror owned him, why he backed away.
“Yes?”, Albus however did not understand.
“You – you – jus’ – no – ”
“No?”
“Dun’ – dun’ le’ it be ter late – ”
“Too late for what, Severus?”
The fog she saw then was neither white nor black. It was grey and it rushed right through her, out when the door opened for him and she felt her actual neck being forced to retrieve her head from watching the past. The present hadn’t changed. Arthur was still sitting there, staring at the microwave, bald, much older, and tired. Very tired. But not because he needed sleep, that much she knew. Curling his lips with his arms crossed, he refused looking at her.
“Thirty-two years, as of last night.”, he said into a music deprived silence she noticed just now. “Many things happened that night. Many things, nobody ever talked about again. And if we did, it took a lot to make us talk.”, Hermione nodded. “It was the night that changed everything, and still we tried to carry on as we had. Living our lives to the best we could. She wasn’t the only Auror that abandoned her job after that night. Also I assure you, none of them did so because they believed Voldemort defeated.”
Arthur took a deep breath before he continued.
“I don’t even know if Darya Novotnova is her real name. She was an undercover Auror that joined the Order of the Phoenix on Alastor’s behalf. Painful enough that she had to lose her arm because she shielded one of us from being killed by our leader. But you and I know the truth, Hermione. It wasn’t her who saved mine and Aberforth’s lives that night. It was Severus.”
“Yes.”, she could merely gargle.
“And nobody has ever spoken about it, until this very moment. I never even thanked him. He saved us all and received no gratitude.”
“I – I don’t think he would have accepted the gratitude. He – ”
“I know,”, meant Arthur, finally looking at her, but not only looking – it was a straight connection of eyes. “We all were aware of what he was capable of. And if we hadn’t known then, those of us that are still alive, should know by now. And still, he was ever the humblest, not even wishing us to know he was indeed one of us. Doing everything he could to veil his true mission so it wouldn’t fail. But what do I tell you. You are his self-proclaimed preacher. Though there is one thing that happened, that night. And none of us ever talked about it. I – I don’t think many even bothered, in light of the sudden series of events, to think thoroughly what happened.”
“But you did?”, she didn’t know how much he actually still remembered of what he had just shown her.
“Then, I didn’t know what I had seen. But I never forgot the look on his face. It was there all the time, and I did not know where to sort it. So I never talked about it. Not even once I knew.”
“Knew what.”, Hermione pushed further although understanding she didn’t have to.
“You are an intelligent woman, Hermione Jean. Nor am I blind. You and him shared many things. Good and bad. He entrusted you with knowledge and information he wouldn’t easily have shared with anyone. He trusted you. Your judgement. Your secrecy. And I respect that. And, there is no need for you to confirm to me. I have raised seven children. I have seen them grow up and live their lives; do their own things, develop their own minds. But when I realised – when – when I comprehended, that Fred had been torn out of his life – that he was no more – and I looked at his still face – I didn’t see him. I saw the horror I had seen in Severus’ face that night. I felt that my own heart projected the same horror onto my face.”
“You – ”
“I know why he hadn’t needed James’ permission to touch Death’s Cloak of Invisibility. I know whose son Harry really is. And Hermione, let me tell you one thing. I cannot request you to change the way you are. But, and only if,”, he fully turned to her, retrieving his arms to be placed on his thighs, “You truly, after so many years, still love Severus, please stop trying to – beat him out of one of the best – things – he left our world.”
She wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the strength. Not this time. All she could was let him raise and drag his clothes off the TVs.
“If you excuse me now, I am tired. It has been a long day and tomorrow will be as long. Good night.”
“Night – ”, she couldn’t believe she had even managed to produce a sound.
“Oh and you don’t need to turn off the lights when you leave or lock the door. That will happen automatically.”
~~#~~
“The house will never really be empty, right?”, Hermione sighed from the kitchen table, over to the large decorated tree, barely visible from her position.
It was the last Christmas little Freddie would spend at home for seven years. He had already announced it, boasting broadly that in a few months he would finally prove once again, that all Weasleys belonged in Gryffindor and that he would not fail to make the family proud with his bravery. For that, he had stood on the sofa, his feet stuck in very colourful new socks made by his grandmother, and a striking red jumper from the same over his possibly forty years old t-shirt, the holes artistically closed with non-matching thread. Like a modern king he had stood there, hands on his hips, resembling much the creator of his attire, pride in the pale eyes that contrasted his coffee skin even more than the foxy afro. Though his speech had ended in a high pitched squeal and a panicking flight upstairs, when his little sister had thrown a plush spider at him, laughing manically.
Meanwhile the spider had landed in the fireplace, where her uncle had levitated it into with a lot of disgust on his face, while she hadn’t paid attention. She was now too busy comparing her gifts to Rose’s, both bearing an increasing pout with every comparison. But what was worrying Hermione even more was Hugo’s behaviour: sitting on his father’s lap, his head followed a little light blue toy car as though he was a cat. The car had been flying around in the sitting room like a hornet for half an hour now. Even its sounds reminded her much of a hornet. On top, the actual cat didn’t care. It dozed under the tree, snuggled into torn wrapping paper. And Hugo wasn’t the only human cat either. Rolling on the floor and tossing around a glittering ball to the best of their abilities, were Luna’s and Rolf’s twins. Rolf watched them like in trance.
Trying hard to talk louder than the children, Molly ostentatiously read a Christmas card to the family, written by Bill, who clearly regretted having taken Teddy with him to France to spend the holidays with his wife and children. But he had agreed when Victoire had told him she wouldn’t have accepted any other present than her boyfriend. Percy and his fianceé Audrey had taken their two daughters to Romania, so Charlie; who couldn’t come due to an incident that had badly injured five teen dragons in the colony he was watching; wouldn’t be alone. Molly however suspected that they only sought for an excuse to secretly marry away from everyone to avoid a huge wedding ceremony. And of course there were three other children missing from The Burrow. Like most of the years before.
“Of course it will never be empty. Before this house will be empty, the house will not exist anymore.”
Standing by her favoured counter, but instead of watching the goings-on in the sitting room, the impersonation of Christmas studied lonely snowflakes falling past one of the windows, barely visible against the morning fog. Hermione was surprised there was a Christmas tree at all. They could have spared themselves the effort and just placed the parcels around Luna. More than obviously knitted by herself in what must have been weeks of work, her floor reaching green neck-holder dress looked like a Christmas tree. Woollen twigs and all. Not as stiffly standing as the real tree’s, but still. And glittering woollen garlands were sewn to it, all around, up to her chest. She had even knitted stuffed, shimmering baubles in many bright colours, made from yarn to give them more stability.
To prevent herself from freezing; or probably rather to calm Molly; Luna wore a shimmering white shirt of finest white silk under that dress, the trumpet sleeves covering a number of plastic bangles. The angelic hair was braided into an asymmetric construction up to a flowy ponytail standing off the back of her head and held together by a star shaped golden metal clasp that looked like it was originally meant for tying a curtain. Her left ear was adorned by a lavender tinsel ball on a copper hook, the other was missing its jewellery since a few minutes. What had looked like a tiny piece of branch hooked into the hole, had turned out to be a living Bowtruckle. It now sat on the actual tree.
“I would go as far as to claim that there exist another house this applies on.”, Hermione only blinked heavily, smirking confused at how random and yet logical that statement was. “Oh no, not just any house in the world you will never get to see. It is a house you want to see. But the house does not want you to see it.”
“Let me guess.”, she huffed. “It has been hidden from my eyes successfully for fifteen years. And of course it is my own fault, as I didn’t put enough effort into finding it.”
“It is true!”, Luna sang, not taking her eyes off the window. “You could have searched for it more often. Would you have found it by now? No.”, she then sighed. “You cannot find what doesn’t want to be found, unless something happens that will make it want to be found.”
“And what will that be?”
“Oh I haven’t seen the future,”, and there it was, that smile Hermione now desperately wanted to smack from her face with a frying pan. “But I have seen the present.”
“The present. Don’t come at me with puns now.”, Hermione grunted and got up, turning for the garden door.
“Funny that you think I would,”, Luna stopped her in place.
“What else.”
“You are helpless and you are searching for an advice to make your journey more effective. The only advice I can give you is to not go there next year. There will be additional stars on the nightsky, and they will fall down on you.”
“You just said, you haven’t seen the future.”, Hermione huffed at the door, but a part of her brain told her that Luna feared the riots she had recently heard about, would climax in a war and the stars she referred to, were missiles.
“I haven’t, yes.”, she didn’t turn back to her, but her once again hollow tone worried her. “But something tells me that if I cannot prevent you from going to Crimea next May, your search will not only be in vain, but your last. The visionary mustn’t be proven wrong.”
“What visionary?”
Hermione spun, but Luna was gone. Gone without anybody else’s notice. Something however, laid on the floor now, where she had stood. A little white square. Curious, Hermione walked back over and knelt down to pick the object up. When her fingers touched the soft cotton fabric, she realised, it was a neatly folded handkerchief. Her breath got stuck, with memories flashing up in front of her, of a cold and lonely tower – and of early morning’s gloom, after a terrible night.
As she meant to close her fingers around it, she felt something hidden inside. Very careful, he searched between the folds, until she found a little piece of parchment. The capital letters on it were crooked, wonky, not really beautiful to behold, and yet she had seen exactly that awful scrawl before, on a paper she had burnt months later. What the word meant, she didn’t know.
“Cuimhnich – ”, she read outloud, to herself.
“Are you alright, Hermione, dear? Shall I bring you a glass of water?”
“What?”, shrieking up from her trance, she stared at Molly.
“You are kneeling on the floor, and you sounded like you were coughing. Is everything – ”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Luna – or – uhm – whoever else – just dropped me a message.”
“A message?”
“Nothing. I’ll riddle it out.”
“Maybe we can help?”, meant Arthur, but it wasn’t him to have raised.
“If you don’t mind, I could give it a try,”, Rolf approached her slowly and she too got back to her feet, holding the scrap towards him.
“I highly suspect it is Scots Gaelic, so unless you – ”
“I speak Irish. But how different are they, really.”
“From what I heard, very.”, Hermione frowned when he took the piece between two fingers as though touching it too much could destroy it.
“Hmm. The word is Irish. Unless it is the same in Scottish. Which could very well be.”, he handed it back.
“And what does it mean?”
“Remember!”, Rolf sang though more calm, almost surprised, just as if it was completely normal to know such and she hadn’t paid attention in life – but he also wasn’t judging, somehow.
“Remember – ”, Hermione breathed, but instantly yelped, when the parchment set itself on fire and deflagrated; even the children had frozen in place to see what was going on. “Very funn-”
Suddenly, the handkerchief felt wet and when she looked at it to see why, her hand dropped it in shock. It was stained red, downright soaked from a spot, and on her left hand was blood as well, like leaking from a massive cut that didn’t exist. At least she felt no pain. Drop after drop her palm overflowed and every drop that fell, burst into a little flame on its way to the floor as well. Then, as if her hand was repelling it, some last drops burnt without leaving ash or any mark on her hand or the floor. The handkerchief crumpled to ashes however. Another shriek escaped her and she almost punched Ron in the face when she rushed about upon his hand on her shoulder.
“Goodness sake!”, she panted at him.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to – you say Luna dropped that?”
“Yes. But – but she dropped it – for – someone.”
“Where is she anyway?”
“She is gone, of course.”, voiced Rolf the obvious. “Before she left, she told me she needed to spread a warning and that I shouldn’t wait for her to come back here.”
“She told you that?”, wondered Hermione. “Into your head?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she left me a warning too.”
“What warning?”, asked Arthur, when Hermione’s face slowly drifted back at the window Luna had looked out and her gasp this time wasn’t alone.
“What the – ”, breathed George who had walked around the couple, coming to halt at Hermione’s left, at least telling her she hadn’t imagined the red velvet framed white mask with crimson lips and markings under the hollow eyes which too looked like running blood.
“Jeanne – ”, whispered Ron.
“I thought it’s Christmas, not Hallowe’en,”, George remarked when the silhouette vanished in steam that laid itself over the old glass, letters appearing on it, in Gaelic again.
“Look under the tree.”, translated Rolf another time, causing everyone to turn at it.
“Where did that come from!”
Ron had been the first to spot the little package that hadn’t been there before, lying right by the still sleeping cat, which apparently had noticed just as much as all others. Very slow but steadily pacing, Hermione tore herself from Ron’s hand and, seemingly a century later, arrived by the tree, kneeling down once more. Although the somewhat loose paper wrapping was bright white, her memory bell rang again, with the sound of clattering chess pieces in a shoulder bag. Biting her lips, she picked up the light-weight soft parcel and, hearing everyone holding their breath, tore the paper open.
Out slid something long and shiny white, made from wool. Lifting it too now, she felt a familiar softness. Clearly alpaca. A shimmering white scarf. Adorned with Byzantium coloured, sewed-on stars. Burying her nose in it, she inhaled. It smelled like spearmint tea with a hint of chocolate and almost brought tears to her eyes. Almost, as they were stopped by Ron pointing something out.
“What’s the paper say?”
“Paper?”, she startled up, and indeed, a plain sheet of paper, folded twice, very neatly, laid in the heap of the scarf’s other end. “For real?”
Huffing, she dropped the wool for unfolding it. Yet unexpectedly, she found herself faced with Dumbledore’s ornate handwriting:
Look in the mirror to find the answer to yourself
Now she was honestly confused. Of course, if she would look in a mirror, she would see herself. But how was that supposed to give her any wisdom? That moment the tricoloured, spotted cat opened her eyes widely, catching the attention of Hermione’s. Shining in the light of the fireplace, they reflected her, very small. But in surprisingly good detail, she could also see Ron’s reflection. Then Hugo came into sight and she felt him too, peeking over her shoulder. Out of mere curiosity or to find something to do, she turned the paper, frowning, when she read a second line in the same font.
It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.
~~#~~