I had been one of the longest walks she had ever taken. Not in terms of distance. She had walked further before, on his particular day and the following, as well as another two in the very year the war had ended. Also she had walked up to the castle before. But on this day, it had felt as though she had marched for a century, never reaching the gates to the actual castle grounds. Today they stood open. A pair of Aurors was flanking it, but after thoroughly looking at her, they must have recognised her. They didn’t even check her ID. Yes, they didn’t even greet. It confused her as much as it upset her, but she walked on, dismissing it eventually when she reached across the long viaduct bridge, panting from climbing the road uphill and the breeze hitting her from the lake felt good.
She had to confess that the castle had not lost any of its striking appearance. Pompous but humble, grand and yet like a little home it stood there, calm and peaceful. Finally she arrived at the front courtyard, memories flooding her. With a weary smile she looked at one of the stone benches in distance, where she had sat, a book on her lap, shortly after Voldemort’s return. For a second she could even really see herself sitting there, surrounded by her friends. A look to the right, to one of the stone arches, revealed Ginny running towards her, asking what Viktor had wanted. The look ahead, to the closed front gates, showed a limping black figure disappearing and the moment she passed the high sharp memorial obelisk of black stone, she realised that what had happened to him there, had been another thing he and her had never talked about.
Spiralling up on the obelisk were little figures of grey stone, all looking individual but their faces generic. Not only humans but also other beings. Animals too. Magical and non-magical. But mostly humans. All holding on to each other as they were pulled around the obelisk, to its very tip, where the last hand grabbed the ankle of an angel with flowing hair. It didn’t touch the stone, but held one palm high in the air, an iridescent ball of light floating on it like the manifestation of hope.
Carved between the figurines, spiralling in opposite direction in a less steep angle, a star separating each name with its respective date, most of them gilded, those who had fallen in both wars against Voldemort. All who were known. Those whose deaths had never been confirmed, shimmered silver, along with their date of disappearance. All were on the stone, in alphabetical order from top to bottom. No matter on which side they had been in hearts and minds or any at all. There were names without a family name too and she could have sworn, very far up, to have spotted the name Hedwig, the death date she could barely decipher, matching that of Harry’s owl. Other golden names didn’t have a date. It were those who had died in the final battle.
A certain Eloise Margret Tessmond a little above Hermione’s head too caught her attention. The date to her name was June seventh, nineteen ninety-eight. She must have died from irreversible injuries she had caught in a fight before the end of the war. Lips trembling, her eyes searched higher – in vain. Where his name could have been, was one of the figurines, blocking her view on the name that stood before it. She could only read a number of people with the name Smith, and after the figurine, was a Thomas Sotherham-Fowler. Chuckling about the irony, she decided to walk on.
Suddenly, a distant song hit her ears. She had a feeling that it came through the open roof windows of the Great Hall and her feeling was confirmed when she opened the door embedded in the huge front gates. The gilded doors wide open, the school choir’s chant filled the ancient halls and she approached the source of the obvious lament, the door closing behind her. Bagpipes accompanied the voices. Careful not to attract any attention, she peeked into the Great Hall.
The usual tables and benches were gone. Instead the hall was filled with neatly lined up benches, all facing the front end and filled to the last possible seat. Flitwick, standing on a stool, conducted his choir up on the podium. The walls by it were also lined with benches, but it was a single row, hosting obviously, the Hogwarts staff; Hagrid took in the biggest space; people from the Order of the Phoenix, the DA, some Healers and a good number she knew from the Ministry, including all department Heads. Blocked from her view by the choir, she could nevertheless spot a hat she knew to be Kingsley’s, and one that was unmistakably Minerva’s. They sat next to each other.
The rest of what was the VIP bench was not sorted by their role in the society. Everyone sat where they wanted to, or probably been forced to by others who had come earlier than them. Madam Hooch was visibly uncomfortable with having Arnold Peasegood to her left, just as though she feared he might clear her memory entirely out of boredom any second. There was a distinct gap between the two, while Professor Vector to her right looked appalled by her closeness. But she couldn’t move any further to the right, as that would have meant she would have to sit on Percy’s lap. To his respective right, was another familiar face. Head lowered, a brown t-shirt under his unbuttoned unusual white Healer’s robe, he listened to the lament in thoughts. All of a sudden, as though he had felt her stare, his head zoomed up, the catfish beard jumping. He must have indeed felt it. Only a few seconds of searching later, his amber eyes gazed across all the heads of students and families and many more, straight into hers. With blink that was meant as nothing else but a greet and an accompanying smirk, he turned his head to the choir then.
No applause when the lament was over. The choir simply dispersed to seats in the front area and Flitwick’s stool floated away after he had hopped onto a free space of the VIP bench, on the far right end. Hermione used it to slip into the hall, immediately spotting a very familiar head on the rightern side, at the last bench’s door-side edge. As if she had heard her, Ginevra twisted her neck up, and upon recognising her, shifted a little to the right, causing everyone on the bench to do so. Somehow they managed to quietly make enough space Hermione could sit down left of her.
“Hey.”, she whispered to her. “Why are you in the back row?”
“You know I’m not an attention whore.”
“So you say, the rest of your family are attention whores?”, Hermione giggled under her breath.
“Heck no. They’re just up there because McGonagall picked Mum this year. She’s one of the three chosen survivors.”
“Uh – ”
“You’ll hear soon enough. I just hope she doesn’t collapse. Cho ran off last year when it was her turn. But Seamus stepped in. At least that way we had a little comic relief. Usually the stories are really depressing. Be glad you’re late. It’s hard listening to the reading of names. Not as in boring. It’s just – it’s hard.”
“I bet.”
Hermione sighed when Kingsley left the bench to stand where the choir had, in the middle of the podium, clearing his throat to the very quiet hall, with his hands behind his back. His struggle for words was obvious, even after so many years.
“Once a year, we come here, to acknowledge. To remind ourselves. Every year anew, that we must not forget, that peace is nothing that should be taken for granted easily. We come here to celebrate subtly, the victory of rightfulness, of friendship, of love. We pay respect to people who died for the world we live in today. No matter if voluntarily, or torn out of our middle by spite. We acknowledge both sides alike, as there cannot be peace if we forget to be aware of threats to it. And every year anew, I cannot emphasise enough, while I stand here as your assigned Minister, that this is not what I am today. On this very day, be reminded that we are all equal. This day unites us all, in both bad and good ways, individually. Today, we come together to not forget how fragile the world is that we live in and that we can only prevent harm if we care listening to the warnings of those who have experienced it.”
With a firm nod, he returned to his seat and from a gap in the long bench, a wheelchair rolled on its own, to where he had had his say. Eyes travelling for a few seconds, the woman composed herself.
“My name is Padma Patil, and I’m a survivor.”
Even from her position, Hermione could spot Neville’s weary smirk. Making her wince, there was some weight on her right thigh. Ginny had laid her hand there, offering. With a faint chuckle, she decided to lay her own hand in hers, fingers entwining.
“I take it, from how you’ve been craning your necks, you all can see that I cannot walk anymore. It has been here, in this very castle, that I learned to walk, as an independent witch. I learned to walk as a human. I learned to walk with my mind, as my legs couldn’t anymore. Yes, I was paralysed in the battle on these grounds. But that doesn’t mean I’m a lesser person. Half of my body may be useless for doing human things, according to society. And yet, within the past sixteen years, I turned this fact into my greatest weapon.”
Hermione was eager to hear what kind of weapon she meant. All she knew of Padma was that she had gone to India to teach. Never had she spoken a word with her since.
“Not a weapon to force sympathy, as some of you clearly thought now. No. As a weapon of awareness and a spur for others. Because, if someone like me can, everyone can. While many of you and your families here tried desperately to regain what was lost, I looked elsewhere. It first started as a try to get away from everything, yes. I wanted to find out who I really am. So I followed my own family’s roots, to India. But after some time, I was forced to notice, that there are regions in this world, where it isn’t natural that young witches and wizards receive a letter invitation to be granted access to a place where they can be themselves, no matter where they come from.”
Real curiosity filled the hall now. She could feel it. Only guessing, naturally, she considered it to be the same smack in the face she had received when she had first learned of the many differences in the educational system of other wizarding schools. Until that point, she remembered, she had not given it any thought at all and therefore it had come as a shock, what those other students had considered normal.
“There are places where this is a privilege.”, Padma said. “In Europe, witch-hunts are vastly ancient history. In other parts of the world they have become even more common again. I was shocked to find it confirmed by – ”, she briefly looked over her shoulder, “Minister Shacklebolt, that India is in the top fifteen of a list that registers discovered Obscurials per country. That is, to those of you who might not be familiar with the term, young witches and wizards whose magical powers were forced into hiding so much, suppressed by people in their surrounding, that their genome mutates like a tumour. It takes over their bodies to a point where they aren’t human anymore, but a sole source of uncontrollable magic, mostly evil shapes of Dark Magic, as nothing good is left in them anymore by the hate they received. If the process cannot be reversed by granting them a space to be comfortable with what they are, most of these children die before they see their tenth birthday.”
There were known Obscurials that had lived much longer, but generally, Padma’s description was correct. It was actually a surprise that not more of them existed in Britain and Ireland as well, when Hogwarts sent out the letters at around the eleventh birthday of any magical child.
“Deniers may see this as a sign of enhanced connectivity in Wizardkind, or the increase of human population in general, but to me this is nothing more than evidence of increased oppression and denial. Children who aren’t locked away to hide their strangeness from the world, are forced to do hard work and are beaten terribly if they show any flicker of magic. Sometimes, families kill the children, should they indeed get notified by a school. Or even earlier already. No matter if they show signs of an Obscurus within or not.”
From the shifting on the benches all around it was clear that the subject made people uncomfortable. Whispers were hushed. Whispers from confused students. Padma however was focused enough on her story that she blocked it all out.
“I went to India so that I can hold my nose high, in the country I call my home, that the country my family calls their origin, is just as live-worthy. I was proven wrong. Though instead of going back into the cave I came from, pittying myself, I decided to prove the world wrong. I got in touch with governments and, while it may have taken years to somewhat implement what I hoped for, we managed to enhance the means of tracking underage magic. I went into the regions and talked to our kind. With collective effort, we expanded the existing schools as well as medical care for magical ones. Volunteers are contacting the families of tracked children, convincing them that they didn’t give birth to something abnormal. We could gain the ears – and financial means of the wealthier wizard families, to support those who couldn’t afford sending their children away from farms and alike. More teachers have been found. Many of them are working for a minimum wage, if any at all, but children are being taught to handle their magic and that is all that matters for now. It will take more years of hard work to reach an acceptable standard, but I can claim we made it.”
There was a single way too eager clap. It caused a murmur, of course. But Padma knew to speak over it.
“Though mind”, she implored, “That I will never claim this for myself. I had the spark, and the will. But if I had nobody on my side, I couldn’t have done that much. What I’m really trying to tell you is that it doesn’t matter who you are or what you think you can do. Think out of the box. Think grand and work your way towards it. Yes, some of the older ones may see my words as a danger. But I’m not preaching world domination of wizards. I only wish that we grant ourselves a future in harmony. And we cannot gain it if we lock ourselves away in a comfort zone.”, she took a very deep breath before she continued. “Many of the people I was working with, got arrested for at least a little while, not only once, by independent wizarding authorities of a government that isn’t as unified as the British.”
It disgusted Hermione to find most officials on the VIP bench to straighten with something like pride. She was sure if Harry had been there, he may have had his say on that later.
“But we didn’t give up. Never give up. And most of all, trust each other. Trust to achieve things together, instead of lazily dropping our dreams. Four hands can carry more than two. Two synchronised wands can balance a levitating house better than a single. No single brain can significantly broaden horizons if it doesn’t connect with others and exchange ideas and rudiments. Find the right balance of listening to others and making them listen to you. Only that way you can successfully overcome any hardship. You need to care as much as you need to want it. Don’t let others limit you, and don’t limit them yourself. Thank you for listening.”
Waiting a little to allow the hall giving her polite applause, her eyes continued to scan the rows she could see from her position. The person on Hermione’s left, on the edge of the bench on the other side of the corridor, clapped so loud and slow it downright hurt her ear and she winced of it as well as the sudden lack of touch to her hand, when Ginny retrieved hers to clap. Looking at her, she joined in though, waiting then, if she would return her hand. When she didn’t, Hermione made her the same offer, her hand on the other’s thigh now. With a limp but honest chuckle, she accepted.
“My name is – ”, another familiar voice croaked, but broke off.
Padma had magically rolled her wheelchair back into the long u-shaped bench’s gap and another woman had taken in her place, supported by one of her sons who was more than a head taller than her. Assuring, he brushed her right shoulder, his arm laid around her back and she cleared her throat.
“My name is Molly Weasley, and I – I am – a survivor.”
“And my name is George Weasley. Don’t mind me. I’m just here to catch my mum, in case she faints.”, that managed to fill the hall with subtle laughs.
“Oh shut it.”, she too smiled, but the smile was gone within seconds. “Goodness, how to start. S-sixteen years ago – I – I lost one of my sons. A precious soul I have carried in me for months – brought to this world – tried my best to tame his temper, and make him a decent man.”, Hermione could feel the increased pressure to her own hand. “Having been raised myself with the message that you can only achieve something if you work hard and can show proof of it, I was quickly blasted down by having to do the hardest thing – the hardest job – in the world. Being a mother.”
Many women around nodded visibly. Hermione agreed as well. It wasn’t always easy pleasing two children, especially when coming home from a long working day, during which they had enough time to make up a plan how to convince her best to do their bidding, abusing the state of exhaustion. Still she loved them both.
“But with all the grief and frustration it brought me, it also brought me the biggest joy, beyond things my younger self ever dared to imagine. I grew and learned with every of my children. If there is one lesson they all told me over and over, it is that you can give them on their way whatever you think they need. But in the end everyone makes their own fate.”, clearing her throat again, Molly sighed to one of the big windows to her left, while her son wearily smiled down on her. “When Fred and George decided to drop the chance of working hard for a good job to fund their lives, I thought my world broke apart. They dropped out of school to open a joke shop. I was devastated. Though not because they ruined their chances. I was devastated because they did exactly what I had told them to. To work hard for their dreams. They worked harder than anyone. They had worked hard for it since they had been mere boys. Children. They followed their dream all along, years in the making, and eventually they had everything ready to throw all their work into one box that they presented the world.”, her head turned back to the audience. “And the world liked it!”
She had almost sang the last words, astonished by the awareness she had been forced to accept years ago. Naturally, she couldn’t help laughing with everyone who managed. But then her smile froze. Slid off. Thrown overboard by another awareness that had been haunting her ever since it had happened.
“And then, they were torn apart. Sixteen years. The mirroring smiles were cut in half that night. The mirror broken, its shards wiped under the earth. Or so I thought for a long time. And I am ashamed to have claimed being a mother, still. Ashamed that I failed to see for several years, that the smile hadn’t been decimated, but actually merged. My son Fred isn’t gone. His twin brother is living his legacy. His dream. The dream they both had. A dream that is necessary in a world that is constantly losing the ability to value a true hearty smile.”, exactly such, she now returned up to him. “Never judge the people you love. Support them to the best you can. And cherish every moment you have with them. As from one second to the next they can be gone.”, nodding, he then placed a soft kiss on his mother’s forehead before he addressed the hall himself.
“Very well. My name is George Weasley, and I am here because; as you just heard; my one and only better half gave his life to save mine. Only half of me is a survivor. I will never be whole again, but that doesn’t mean I cannot fill the empty glass shell with joy and happiness. Yes, I am a survivor. I am double the survivor, because I decided to live for my twin brother, who wasn’t granted the chance. We had plans. So many plans. But in a flash, they were blasted away. If though Fred’s absence has cut my world apart, it would be the biggest disgrace to his memory, if I stopped being cheerful. Joy is our biggest weapon against grief, sadness and despair.”
The sniffing to her right pained her so much she too wanted to take Ginny in her arms. Instead however, she laid her second hand on hers and allowed her friend’s head leaning to her shoulder.
“No matter what you go through, there is always one thing sitting in this vast world, waiting for you to stumble over it and enjoy having found it. Don’t bother that it might be hard to find. That’s its challenge. It wants you challenged. Just don’t give up going looking for things that can make you smile. They’re there. Waiting. Find them. Embrace them.”, the way George spoke, Hermione considered, he would have also done well helping people who wanted to commit suicide. “And hold them high to show the world you found them, so everyone can laugh with you. Every emotion is contagious. But only happiness has proven to prolong lifespans. Laughing at a funeral isn’t a crime. But mentally dying from someone’s death is killing them twice. In person and in memory. Therefore smile that you’ve been allowed to know them. Any smile counts if you want the world to be a happier place. And at this point,”, George took a very deep breath, “Fred would have asked you all to come to Diagon Alley and buy our entire stock.”
While he could only smirk upon it, the whole hall burst into laughter. Even his mother smiled to her own feet, nodding. If anyone was honest with themselves, he had achieved nothing less than he should have. Causing awareness wasn’t necessarily meant to be a cold process of chucking a bucket of ice water into people’s faces. The best way to tell people laughing was the way to beat grief, was by actually making them laugh.
This time Ginny didn’t clap. She merely laughed and cried at the same time, nodding, with her eyes pressed shut. Feeling it the only right thing to do, Hermione reached over with her free hand and pulled her head closer, comforting her. But she managed to twist herself from it and wiped away her tears, looking at her from the side now. A depleted sigh left Hermione, when she found a sisterly kiss being placed on her cheek, trembling words of gratitude whispered into her ear when the applause died.
“Thanks for listening t-to Luna. I wouldn’t h-have survived that wit-without you.”
“Whow.”, a man aspirated up on the podium, drawing their attention to the hall’s front again. “I guess, I’m the – third in the row, this year. So. Uh – when – when Minerva approached me, asking whether I would do it, I wasn’t sure first. I didn’t know what to tell you all, you see. What message to deliver. How to prevent another war from coming.”, nervous to the bone, he finally ended up deciding it was best to stick his trembling hands into the pockets of his white trousers. “If we’re honest to ourselves, this memorial feast, has been a political event ever since its inception. Survivors telling stories to make younger generations aware, so they don’t make the mistake to risk peace for their own ideals. Uh – and I hate that, to be honest. But maybe that is why I agreed – in the end, you know. Every war is political, in a way. So is the aftermath. Ideas clashing, people being unwilling to discuss. But I also know why she asked me. So far, only people on the so-called winning side had their say. And you just heard how long it’s been. Sure. I can understand and comprehend. This is after all, our party to celebrate having opposed the other side.”
He needed a significant pause, but the audience was so eager he swallowed it down. Cracking his neck and relaxing his shoulders, upon which some of the blond strands slid out of his low ponytail, he somewhat composed himself.
“You all know my name is Draco Malfoy, and that I was on that other side for a while. Lead there by a try to make my father proud. But I didn’t understand why he had gotten there in the first place. He had gotten there, because he had already made the mistake I then had. He had wanted to live up to his family’s expectations. A never ending chain, where every link followed the one before it, without realising the one before never wanted anything to hook to it, actually. I learned that the hard way, when I got to realise that by my attempt, I had brought us all in danger. I played with the wrong fire, so to say. And here I stand, already delivering a message I actually didn’t mean to deliver. A message none of you wanted to hear. For years my students; and they still do; wanted to know what it was like on – the other side.”
Sitting not far from Flitwick, a free space on her one and her sister on her other side, his mother straightened. Hermione craned her neck and could actually spot Teddy’s turquoise hair in the front row, but there was no telling whether Astoria or Scorpius were in the hall. She may not have wanted the boy to spend the day having to witness a ceremony he might not understand anyway.
“The truth is,”, said Scorpius’ father, “With someone like Voldemort, being with him was as dangerous as opposing him. Every twitch of an eye could have been the last, had he interpreted it against you. Many stayed for the sake of it, bearing the danger as they saw it to be the only way to get their own ideology spread. There were brave people on both sides. But I can rightfully say that the mental ones had a tendency to join his ranks preferably.”, approving nods travelled around. “Yes. I wasn’t in my right mind either when I did. Others never were. And even others, were brazen enough to astonish him to a point he tolerated them against all logic.”
She noticed, barely, when she pulled her hand off and Ginny straightened, that she had sucked in her own lips. Now it was the other again to squeeze her hand and she knew why. Of course it was only logical that Draco would talk about Severus. But she was also eager to hear how he would. She had noticed that he hadn’t said his name even just a single time in her presence, ever since the war had ended. Now she wondered if it had been because of her, or if it was personal. Or maybe, he hadn’t even refrained deliberately.
“I know you want to hear stories of what it is like to be on the side that goes out there, captures innocent people and torments them to their liking. I wouldn’t know, actually. I never was sent on a hunt.”, he said honest. “After I failed to accomplish the task he had given me, I was nothing but a target, frowned upon. Only still living because there was someone who constantly risked his neck to vouch for everyone who wasn’t insane enough to do every of Voldemort’s bidding without question. His name’s been mentioned a few times during the past memorial celebrations, and I thank everyone who paid respect to what he did, but I don’t think many people really are fully aware of what an arse he actually was.”
The snickers he caused were quite fascinating to behold. Most had come from students, being surprised that their teacher had used that word. The others had solely been dropped by members of what had been the DA. Many on the VIP bench frowned or blinked heavily. Minerva’s brows disappeared inside her hat, but her thin-lipped smirk spoke volumes. She, among many, knew Draco had dared speaking a word of truth.
“We call him a hero. Which he was, no doubt. But he would have never been that hero, hadn’t he been a ruthless swine, not giving a damn what Voldemort thought of him. Well, partly. He gave it all thought he could, stressing that guy’s patience to a dangerous breaking point many many times. And that is actually, why he was one of the very few people I can claim Voldemort actually cared about, apart from himself. He had found a dangerous, unique way to impress. Not by absolute loyalty, but by obnoxious brazenness.”
“It is true!”, Narcissa threw in, but didn’t leave her seat. “He didn’t respect Severus for his loyalty, but because he stood up against him without blinking, telling him where he was wrong, without actually giving him orders in return. If there is one thing you cannot survive in social interaction, it is walking up to a tyrant, rubbing a mirror in their face. You cannot survive that unless you gained enough respect. And Severus Snape had gained his respect, by proving his skills as a wizard, as well as that he didn’t bother. He took the wind out of Voldemort’s sails many times, by making it clear that he didn’t fear him, but saw him as an equal, in being a man of principle and conviction.”, she explained. “Goodness, I think he even openly called him an idiot once. Phrased well so it could have been interpreted in three ways, but still.”
“Oh he called him more than that, Mum.”, Draco chuckled. “But yeah. I can still see that none of you really understand what I’m driving at. So perhaps I should give you the storytime you’re waiting for.”
“Draco. Please.”
“What, Mum.”
“I don’t think that – ”
“That what.”, he murmured. “What d’you think I want to talk about?”
“The organ.”, she moaned, but Draco’s face changed with surprise.
“Oh. Actually, I wanted to – but now that you say, yeah. Maybe I should really tell them that.”
“Oh please! No!”
“No, really. I should actually. That’s a perfect examples, yes.”, he smirked, and would keep that smirk throughout the narration. “Better, even. Yes. So. In case you don’t know, there was this – okay, it is still there, yeah, but whatever.”, he turned to the hall again, ignoring his mother’s muttered protest. “In the – former – salon of Malfoy Manor, there is a balcony on one end. A hidden staircase leads up to it. And on it, there is this big organ.”, Narcissa only sighed, crouched up, burying her eyes in her hand. “So, one evening, we had a meeting. One of many, naturally. Voldemort was particularly unnerved because things weren’t going as he wished. We were all really tense, trying not to make any move that could trigger him. You need to know, there was this one guy among us, Peter Pettigrew, who solely became a Death Eater because he found that to be the only way he could belong anywhere. Scared little fella, completely fine with serving, as long as he wasn’t asked to prove he could do something, although he wanted nothing more than to prove himself. Whatever. Pettigrew was an Animagus. Meaning, he could turn himself into an animal. Much like Professor McGonagall can.”
“Please mind that I am a registered Animagus, rather like he was, yes?”, the woman in question threw in, her lips almost gone from sight like her eyebrows earlier.
“Of course. And he could turn himself into a rat. That’s why he was better known as Wormtail. So, Wormtail, had again failed to follow a very simple order. Naturally, Voldemort scolded him for it. There were only two ways he would do that. He would either throw a fierce tantrum in which all you could do was duck from his curses and pray for the best, or he was utterly composed. That evening, he had decided to contain his fury. But when he just – er – casually – pointed his wand at Wormtail to emphasise something, Wormtail was so frightened that he turned into a rat on the spot and ran away. And somehow, he managed to squeeze himself through a gap under the hidden door in his panic, run up the staircase and end up, well, inside the organ.”
“For real.”, chuckled Neville with a disbelieving frown.
“Yeah. I don’t know if anyone knows how an organ works – I don’t really, but basically there’s a ton of wooden levers and other mechanisms operating bellows that blow air into the pipes. That’s how I understood it. And Wormtail, in his panic, of course also tried to get back out of the organ. Surely you can imagine what happens if a rat jumps around inside something like that.”, the laughter in the hall confirmed that. “So there we were, all scared to death, because Voldemort was on the verge of exploding. Nobody dared to say a word. Nobody dared to even cough, let alone, laugh. Which was the hardest thing, actually. The random sounds from the organ. The way he twitched at every tone, glaring up to the balcony. We all did have the urge to laugh, but we also knew it would have been the last thing we’d do.”
“And then Severus got up.”, continued Narcissa, sitting straight and stiff again. “He said he would handle – that.”
“Yes. He just went through the secret passage, up to that organ. We all expected him to shoo Wormtail out magically from the hidden room. But instead, he walked through the second door, out onto the balcony and simply sat down in front of the organ.”
“He played organ as well?”, asked Professor Flitwick as though he had missed the parts where Draco had mentioned that Voldemort had been there.
“No. He told me later that he had given that thing a few tries, but that he was still more comfortable with a piano. Well, so he sat down and started playing; I assume, with the settings the organ had been left in. It wasn’t really that classical sound you’d expect from an organ. It was a slight mix of that and the soft flute like – uh – damper? No idea. Though he just played something completely random, possibly mostly improvised, but it was stunning regardless. Not only for us, but Voldemort was struck as well. Confused, very much, but struck. And still we tried not to laugh at the occasional clearly wrong notes. After all, Wormtail was still jumping about, possibly half deaf at that point.”, he too tried not to laugh while he spoke. “After two minutes or so, we didn’t notice any more weird sounds. Later we of course learned that he had managed to get out at last.”
“Which didn’t stop Severus from playing though.”, Narcissa noted. “He played for at least another ten minutes, completely disregarding everything around.”
“At one point Voldemort leant back and crossed his arms even, staring up there with such an extremely human expression, it was surreal. It was a disbelieving frown I hadn’t seen on him up until then, and never again after. He – he was simply astonished. And he was blinking in a very exaggerating way. It was as frightening as it was humbling, really. He didn’t even change when the music was over and he was presented with cold indifference, claiming that this may have been enough to do the trick.”
“Actually,”, clarified Narcissa, “His words were, and I recall them as clearly as though he had said them yesterday, `I presume, this did the trick at least for a little while? Oh forgive me; I was lingering under the delusion that he may have gone.´”, it was clear from the gasps that almost everyone immediately understood what Severus had actually meant back then.
“What did he say?”, asked Kingsley what everyone wondered.
“Who? The Dark Lord?”, Narcissa wondered, failing to notice what her way of calling him caused in the audience.
“Yes?”
“Well, nothing!”, chuckled Draco to the enchanted ceiling. “He got up and left.”, the following silence in the hall was spooky.
“Jus’ like tha’.”, frowned Seamus after some seconds.
“Just like that.”, Draco confirmed, calm now, no smirk on his face anymore, but his eyes directed to the gilded doors.
“Man, he really had balls,”
Many chuckled or giggled, but there was one particular laugh, sticking out, and all heads turned on its brightness, trying to figure who was laughing in the back row. Sitting closest to the gilded doors, as though he had taken in the last possible seat before Hermione had found another, he was brushing his hand over his beard with a broad grin, his eyes closing as he shook his head once then. She hadn’t even noticed him there, although she sat exactly to his right, just the corridor between. Even despite the fact that he must have been the one who had clapped so loudly upon Padma’s speech. The person who sat to his left, only shook her head too, but with no joy at all. Inama Massad had done well to hide his presence from the rest of the bench. When both men leaned slightly to the side to make eye contact, an embarrassed smile laid itself on Draco’s face.
Whispers began to spread in the hall like a wildfire, and seconds later, almost everyone knew who was here, among them all, without their notice. Calming, the grin faded into an ironic smirk when he raised and turned to leave.
“Where’re you going, Harry?”, he narrowed his brows like Draco did.
“Me? I’m not going anywhere. I mean, how could I leave, if I’m not here anyway?”
He shrugged, winked, and walked out through the open gates. But not without letting his eyes brush over Hermione, giving her to understand that he had indeed noticed her. Paralysed for a moment, she just sat there, but then her legs won the battle and she hurtled after him, stumbling and staggering, out through the little door in the front gates, she was certain he had left open on purpose, even mentally persuading the castle to do so. Nearly toppling over when she ran down the stairs and past the memorial stone, she spotted him walking towards the viaduct. Why he was walking, she could only guess.
“Harry!”, she called after him, but he walked on.
It wasn’t until she was almost out of breath that she caught up with his wondrously fast pace, that was not fast at all, all of a sudden. Dismissing whatever illusion that had been, she walked along now, but he kept looking straight ahead.
“Why – ”, Hermione coughed when she stopped him at last, by placing herself in his way, “Why are you here.”
“Why are you?”, he responded softly, but seemingly curious.
“I – ”
“Where’s Luna?”
“Luna?”, she had almost forgotten. “Oh! Busy. Yes.”
“So you thought, it would be nice to come here for once, I see.”
“Harry – I – why are you really here.”
“But I am not here,”, he sang.
“Stop it, okay?”, Hermione puffed, but was shocked to see that he vanished right before her. “Harry?”, the sound of shoes meeting with stone told her that he did walk past her and she turned after. “Harry!”
“I said, he isn’t here.”, the air told her with his voice, when the sound of more shoes clacking became louder.
“Where – where did he go – ”, panted Inama, skidding to halt a few feet away from her.
“He – he just left – ”, Hermione aspirated, turning to her. “Do you – ”
“No idea. He just asked me to come with him. He didn’t even say where until I saw it when we Apparated to the edge of the school grounds. We walked up here, sat down in the hall, listened, and then this happened. I have not the slightest clue what’s – what’s going on – ”
Seemingly out of nowhere, a falcon had landed on the viaduct’s battlements, to Hermione’s left, looking at the women alternately. It was strange to behold, as where his right eye should be, was only a furrowed scar and he was balancing on his left leg as the right one was missing too. But to his remaining leg a tiny scroll was bound.
“What the heck – ”
“Bernard!”, Hermione gasped.
“What – you know that bird?”
“Yes. It belonged to – oh well, I don’t even know if it was really his bird; we never talked about it; but Severus used to send him instead of owls. I first met that little fellow when I was in my fifth year. In January ninety-six, that was. I had no idea falcons can get that old.”
“They can. My uncle is breeding delivery falcons in Morocco. If you say he already lived then, he’s very old for a falcon, yes. But actually – uh – I don’t know how to say – ”
“Say what?”, Hermione frowned when unbinding the scroll and with a screech, Bernard flew off over the lake. “Uh – ”
“Yes?”, Inama slightly stretched as though she wanted to read the message from afar without walking over.
“That’s Harry’s handwriting. `Make sure she doesn’t melt to the bridge. It’s Friday, not Sunday, and work doesn’t do itself. P.S., tell her to shut up.´ How the – ”
“For real.”, grunted Inama.
“How did he write that, roll it up, bind it to a bird’s leg and that all while walking away invisibly. How.”
“What? Oh, no, he might have written that a while ago, already.”, she chuckled. “He’s a bit spooky sometimes.”
“A bit.”, snorted Hermione, slouching her arms. “He can make about ten puppet copies of himself and you call him `spooky´.”
“Ten?”, Inama laughed. “Last month he nearly drove a suspect insane by throwing him into a room with a good thirty copies, before he entered to start the interrogation, carefully leaving one of them lying in a corner, malfunctioning and twitching all the time. I could barely concentrate. But we had six unsuccessful tries of getting answers from that guy without Veritaserum until Harry said that he knows how to make him talk. Trust me, I expected something else, but – yeah. If any – ”, there was a loud screech from above and something fell between them with a thud, “He – uh – he’s predicting – goodness sake, okay!”, she yelled at the tattered dead pigeon that had a notice bound to a fancy red ribbon around its neck, bow and all, reading `YESTERDAY´ in awful scrawl. “Criminy.”
“What – uhm – what were you going to say earlier?”, Hermione blinked heavily at the disfigured bird, blood trickling from its gaping wounds.
“I got to go.”
Becoming white smoke-like fog, the woman took off. Hermione could even see her vanish in a whirl where she knew to be the border of the enchantments, but there was no sound to her Disapparition. Instead, there was a startled gasp, caused by a husky that plodded towards her and the castle and Hermione drew her travelling cloak closer, noticing just now that the air was actually very chilly. She had forgotten what early May mornings in Scotland were like, but the breeze from the lake did its best to remind her now.
Shining mystically in the few rays of sunlight falling past the wandering clouds, the dog’s red and white fur swayed with its leisure movement. For a few seconds, it turned its head to her, fixating her with its blue eyes, before it stopped by the pigeon. Curious, she watched the dog pick it up with its jaws and trot off again. The shriek that rushed through her throat when she turned once more, was so strong it even sucked her hand to her mouth, but she also instantly dropped her arm with indignation when she recognised the entirely white cloaked figure by the mask.
“Holy Hebridean Black!”
“Am I a Dragon now?”, the soft French accent muffled to slight distortion by the mask, her chuckle was audible though.
“No. But you can’t just go startle people like that! Well, yes, of course you can. Not that this was a first.”, Hermione huffed. “That dog – ”, she leaned to the side to see it, but it must either be sitting right behind Jeanne, veiled from her sight by the wide cloak, or it was gone.
“Ees very considerate not to waste any food.”
“Food.”
“’Ave you never ’ad roasted pigeon?”
“No?”, she moaned, her face distorted by a disgusted grimace.
“Alas, neizehr ’ave I, but no matter. Abelarda eats zem in ’ole anyway. Only raw, though. Cooked bird bones are lethal for dogs.”, Hermione could see the languid blinking in the dark behind the eye holes.
“That dog. Was her. Of course.”, equally bored, she blinked back. “So Bernard is in truth – Feng?”
“Bien sûr que oui!”, sang Jeanne.
“That explains the age.”, she wondered something. “Did Severus know the bird’s an Animagus?”
“What do you zink, hmm?”
“Of course he did.”, Hermione sighed. “So he’s known you for ages.”
“Eef I may say so, yieeesss,”
“Feng isn’t her real name, is it?”
“Eet ees as real as any name given to anyone by anozer,”
“And Bernard? Another name to conceal her identity? Her name’s Bernadette, isn’t it?”
“Eef you say eet ees zat easy,”
“I want to hear it from you.”
“And you should know better zan trying to undermine my loyalty.”, her tone became so cold the breeze around the castle was altered by it and Hermione had to wrap herself in the cloak even tighter. “I will not feed you wiz any spark. Zat way I could just as well take off my mask right now.”
“Why don’t you do it?”, she too became stern, but also anxious when the woman staggered closer.
“Because,”, she hissed very quiet, the mask at the same level as Hermione’s head, her voice and the stare right into Hermione’s eyes downright freezing her blood and she feared all of her heart and soul exposed to the darkness of those eyes impaling hers, “I will not, give you, zeh satisfaction, ’Ermione. Not today.”
“Why was Harry here.”, was all she could gurgle, swallowing hard.
“Why don’t you ask eem.”
“I did – ”
“’E was eere, because ’e wanted to see eef you ’ave nozing better to do, now zat you finally listened to your friend Luna.”
“Really.”, Hermione blinked heavily, inexplicably exhausted. “Well, that sounds like something he would do, actually.”
“Zere you ’ave eet.”
“And you? Why are you here? Are you his post owls now? Too? If so, I’d like to complement you. You’ve successfully made it your life, to deliver disgusting messages.”
“Be careful what you say. You zink zat we see Death as a sort of joke.”
“I never – ”
“But eet isn’t. Eet ees a part of Life, and insulting Death, means you insult Life. What matters not is zat we all die one day. What matters is what we chose to do up until zis point. Chose to live, ’Ermione. Eet is ’Arry’s job to ’unt zeh doomed. Not yours.”
Blinding her, she became an even whiter mass of swirls than Inama had, and when Hermione could see again, there was only the long viaduct bridge reaching to the other hill. She knew she would regret forever to not have had the guts to just lift her hand and tear off that mask. But also she knew she may have even more regretted doing so.
~~#~~