Severus was walking through the Great Hall at Hogwarts, weaving
his way through the chattering clusters of senior students decked
out in their best robes and finery. The Hall decorations were
extremely over-the-top as usual, causing him to roll his eyes for a
second as he took it all in. The house tables had been removed and
smaller round tables dotted the edge of the room leaving a large
cleared area for dancing. The music was buoyant and cheerful and was
the cause of the scowl now plastered across his face.
He hated large scale celebrations like this with a passion and
decided to go outside to patrol the gardens to ensure no-one got
carried away in the heat of the moment. A sly smile quirked the
corners of his mouth - it was the only thing he enjoyed at these
parties. As he was about to step through the door to the gardens he
caught sight of a familiar face and frowned. Across the room, a
young man with messy black hair and round-framed spectacles was
surrounded by a crowd of laughing girls all waving their dance cards
at him. What was Harry Potter doing here at Hogwarts and where was
the ever-present Miss Patil? Shouldn't he be in hiding with the rest
of the resistance members? Come to think of it, why was there a
party at Hogwarts at all? There had been no reason to celebrate
since Voldemort had come into power six months ago.
He strode across the room determined to speak to Harry but found
the more he walked in that direction, the farther away Potter and
his adoring bevy of fans seemed to get. He stopped and glanced over
his shoulder in the direction he had come and was surprised to see
St. Patrick's Isle and the brothel jutting up out of the shadows of
the Forbidden Forest.
He was dreaming.
The realisation upset him and a string of earnest, yet clipped,
staccato curses escaped his lips. He hated the surreal and
uncontrollable nature of dreams. He despised how they tended to play
on your weaknesses. Had he forgotten to take his Dreamless Sleep
potion?
The ground beneath him changed from stone to grass, wet with dew,
and he found himself walking towards the mocking cliffs of the
island as the Forbidden Forest parted to either side of him and
flocks of menacing looking birds took to wing in dark, meandering
clouds from their roosts amid the branches. Soon he found himself
standing on the sandy, grass-tufted dunes staring up at the manor on
the island across the bay, his eyes fixed on the window where he
supposed (hoped) Miss Granger lay sleeping. After a few minutes he
turned, intent on making his way back through the dream world to
Hogwarts, but the flicker of something just out of the corner of his
eye made him turn back.
A boat was cutting its way across the bay towards him--a silent,
cloaked figure standing unmoving in the prow. He fought the urge to
bolt, suddenly paranoid about waiting for the boat to reach the
shore in front of him. He closed his eyes and listened as the bottom
of the boat scraped its way onto the beach and came to a stop.
"Thank you for waiting for me, Professor." His eyes snapped open
at the comment and he found Hermione Granger standing in front of
him, a smile pulling up one corner of her mouth as she dropped the
hood of the cloak.
"What's so amusing, Miss Granger?" He had to ask--the look on her
face invited the question.
"I never thought I'd ever say this but you look positively
dashing, sir," her smile grew wider and even a little impish, "green
suits you… you should wear it more often."
"Green?" He looked down at himself to see he was wearing a formal
outfit of deep green velvet. The cut was perfect, rich yet simple.
It was then he realised his hair wasn't in his face as it usually
was. He reached up a hand to find it was tied back in a neat queue.
"Why am I dressed like this?" He wondered, surprised by her
answer before realising he'd said it out loud.
"I'm not sure," she replied, "but I'm all dressed up too." She
unfastened the cloak and studied the empire-waist gown she was
wearing. A frown creased her brow.
Minuet
"What?" Snape asked as they turned their backs to the shore and
began to walk in the opposite direction.
"This dress is the one my mum liked at Madam Malkin's." Snape
looked puzzled so she elaborated, "For the leaving ball… when I went
home for Christmas Mum and I went shopping in Diagon Alley. We
fought the whole day over what I should wear. This is the dress she
thought looked best on me but I didn't like it at all and wanted a
different one. I'm not too fond of the colour… she swept her hand
down dismissively over the dusty pink material. "…Truth be known, it
sets my teeth on edge. The one I liked was midnight blue, shot
through with silver threads. Mum hated it, she thought it was too
revealing."
"Ah," Snape commented, a little at a loss at what else to say.
"I suppose that spending the last six months in some of the most
ridiculous and revealing costumes ever conceived by man has made me
see the error of my ways." Hermione was smiling but it was
bittersweet. "I'm sure Mum would be proud I chose her gown in the
end, even if only in a dream."
"I think you look rather fetching, your favourite colour
notwithstanding." Hermione arched a brow at his comment. Snape and
flattery together? Unreal. Now she knew she really was dreaming.
"I must have been looking forward to the damn Leaving Ball more
than I thought…"
"I think you might be right." Snape conceded as he took a closer
look at their surroundings. They were crossing the quidditch pitch
at Hogwarts now and looked up to see the 1994 World Cup final
between Bulgaria and Ireland being played out above their heads. The
last Quidditch World Cup series had been cancelled due to the war.
He shook his head to clear the images of Leprechauns capering
maniacally around the pitch and picked up the pace, but not before
folding Hermione's hand into the crook of his arm. They were
dreaming and he didn't want to get separated from her. Dreams were
transient and scenes were apt to change with no notice at all.
Soon they were back in the Great Hall and Severus found his gaze
drawn to the dais where the teacher's table usually sat. There,
talking animatedly to the entertainers--The Weird Sisters, what a
surprise!--was Albus Dumbledore. Snape stopped, smiling as the
old man threw his head back and laughed heartily at something the
tall witch in the middle had said.
"Are you okay, professor? You look like you've just seen a
ghost."
"Yes I'm fine, Miss Granger." Snape confirmed as he let go of her
hand, the hall was crowded and there were many eyes turned in their
direction. "I was just overcome for a moment by the realisation of
just how much I miss the interfering old goat. It's not the same
talking to his portrait."
"His portrait?" Hermione had always suspected the worst, but this
was confirmation.
"He was killed in the battle that enabled Voldemort to take
control. His portrait hangs in my suite of rooms along with the
portrait of Armando Dippett. Neither of them are recognised by the
Dark Lord as past Headmasters of Hogwarts. I keep their portraits in
my personal library because Lord Voldemort thinks I had them
destroyed."
"Why would he have you destroy them?"
"First duty as the new and loyal headmaster, I suppose." he
answered, surprising her.
"You're really Headmaster of Hogwarts?" she queried, knowing he
had spoken the truth even before she asked. "You know, Draco
tormented me with the news of Dumbledore's death but I was never
sure if he was telling the truth or not… he's a twisted bastard and
would tell a tale like that in a second if it got him what he
wanted." She shook her head. "He likes to get me worked up, it turns
him on… I guess I've been prisoner so long our side must have lost.
I wouldn't still be there otherwise, right?" She looked to him for
an answer. He nodded.
"Albus fell in the same battle where you were captured, actually.
Once that happened it was only a matter of days before everything
fell apart. With you and Albus gone, not to mention the overwhelming
losses we suffered, Mr. Potter had a hard time holding it all
together." Severus watched Hermione's face crumple as she digested
the magnitude of what he had just confirmed. The Wizarding World as
they had known it was no more. There were too many good people dead
and gone and too much darkness falling over the land.
"If I could have everyone's attention…" Dumbledore had cast
Sonorus and was addressing the crowd. The murmuring trailed off and
everyone waited for him to continue. "I'm happy to see you all here
on this wonderful occasion. Tomorrow you will all leave Hogwarts and
will take your places as productive members of adult society. Always
remember how proud we are of what you have accomplished." His
remarks were greeted by enthusiastic applause. "Now," he continued,
"if I could have the Head Boy and Head Girl take the floor with
their partners, we can get this celebration truly under way."
Hermione watched, a little panicked, as Blaise Zabini led Ginny
Weasley onto the dance floor and turned to look expectantly in her
direction. Snape nudged her out of her seeming stupor.
"Miss Granger, they're waiting."
"But I don't have a partner…" Hermione didn't like the way this
was going. She had the feeling it was going to suddenly turn into
one of those hated dreams where you ended up naked and a laughing
stock in the centre of a crowd. And this time the crowd wouldn't be
faceless, either.
Snape didn't know why--maybe it was the wistful tone of her
voice?--but he held out his hand to her, "Then allow me the
pleasure." He was rewarded with a blush.
"But everyone will talk."
"Let them. This is a dream, remember."
"Well, when you put it that way, how can a girl resist." She
accepted his hand and let him lead her to the centre of the floor to
stand next to Blaise and Ginny. Ginny cocked an inquiring eyebrow at
her and Hermione answered it with a Mona Lisa smile as the music
began.
As they waltzed, Hermione listened to the comments chasing their
way around the Great Hall.
"Is that Snape?"
"What the hell is she doing with him?"
"Is she nuts?"
"What's Snape doing with that Mudblood?" Hermione flinched at
Pansy Parkinson's comment and Snape waltzed her to the opposite side
of the floor from the belligerent cluster of Slytherin students
without missing a beat. Hermione was pleasantly surprised by his
skill and ease.
"Now you've got me wondering if you can dance this well in real
life."
"It's a skill I possess but rarely use and I'd appreciate you not
divulging the fact to anyone else."
She grinned wickedly at him. "Your secret is safe with me." There
was a glint in her eyes that promised otherwise, but he didn't
dispute her answer. "Who'd believe me anyway when you always just
stalk around looking like you've got a pole stuck up your arse." She
realised that her mouth had run away with itself and clapped the
hand that had been resting on his shoulder over it, her cheeks
colouring. Her heart sank as she braced herself for a dressing-down.
She was surprised when he burst out laughing. It was a deep, rich
sound and heads all around the Great Hall turned and zeroed in on
the source. Students all around stood staring, their mouths wide
open at the sight of Professor Snape enjoying a belly laugh as he
danced with the Head Girl. The world must have come to an end. Hell
must have frozen over. There could be no other explanation for his
behaviour. The crowd goggled even more when the song ended and Snape
bent down to plant a kiss on the back of Hermione's hand.
"Now that we've given them something out of the ordinary to talk
about, can we leave?" He pleaded softly as he straightened up.
"Let's, please," she replied. He grabbed her hand and pulled her
through the crowd and off the dance floor, ignoring the crush of
stunned students moving aside to let them through.
"So, do you think we'll both remember this when I wake up?"
Hermione asked as they stepped out into the manicured lawns that led
down to the lake.
"We remembered the last time, didn't we? Chances are we'll
remember this. Is there anything you want to tell me, Miss Granger?"
Severus had seen the shadows flit behind her eyes. She was worried
about something - he ventured it was probably Miss Brown from the
memory of her emotions earlier. She was silent for a moment.
"It's Lavender--she's not in good shape. I mean, Voldemort
repaired the awful physical damage he inflicted on her, but she's
hollow and brittle. I don't know if she'll be able to take another
visit from him. She told me she wishes he'd killed her tonight
because she can't stand the thought of him touching her again and I
really think she'll shatter if he does."
"It was that bad?" he asked, chuckling mirthlessly when she
looked up at him, stricken. "What am I saying? Look who we're
talking about here, Severus, of course it was bad!" he chastised
himself aloud and Hermione's eyes widened.
"It's okay, I know what you meant," she laid a hand on his
forearm, "I just wish there was something I could tell her to make
us both feel better. I'm so scared for her and I feel like I'm being
selfish because I'm thinking of what it will be like for me when
she's not there any more."
"You're not being selfish, Hermione, your reaction is very human.
It's our nature to think how events around us will effect us." He
laid one of his hands over the one she had placed on his forearm. He
wasn't very good at issuing reassurances, especially not in a
situation like this but he hoped by using her given name instead of
calling her Miss Granger she understood he was trying to comfort
her. He watched her blink back tears from the corners of her eyes
and gave her a much needed moment to compose herself. "When is he
coming back next?" There was no need to elaborate on who the 'he' in
question was.
"Probably the night after tomorrow at about 9:00 and I feel so
bloody hopeless."
"Well, I think it's tomorrow already, so we've got about 40
hours."
"We?!?" Hermione looked up at him again, puzzled by his comment.
"Let's just say a few mutual acquaintances and I are working on
something. I don't want to get your hopes up, but we'll see what we
can do and I'm going to try and come see you again before the Dark
Lord's next visit."
Hermione's countenance brightened at his words and somehow it
felt as if he'd just lifted a huge weight off her shoulders. She
opened her mouth to thank him but was wrenched from their strange
dream bond before she had a chance to say anything.
Severus was startled awake by the suddenness of her disappearance
and the rapidly dissolving landscape of the dream. He lay for a
moment with his eyes closed, feeling the pulse hammer quickly in the
base of his throat. Then he realised his cheek was resting on a
damp, balled up cloak and he wasn't in his bed, in fact, he could
feel water lapping under the boards he was lying on. He opened his
eyes to find Padma Patil kneeling over him, a concerned look on her
face and worried crease on her brow. She looked even more perplexed
when the corners of his mouth curled up into what could only be
called a grin.
"I suppose it's safe to venture I put on quite a show for you,
Miss Patil?" She smiled at his comment and relief replaced worry.
"You could say that," she replied. "You conked out not long after
I started into our last shift of the night. Harry couldn't wake you
so he made you as comfortable as he could. Then after a while you
began to talk in your sleep… well, swear actually and quite
creatively too." He groaned.
"Wonderful! Just bloody wonderful!" he muttered as he remembered
the conversation he'd had with Miss Granger and tried to imagine
what it had sounded like for them to hear just one side of it. He
turned his head to look for Harry and found him standing at the prow
of the boat in just a black jumper and jeans, the chill wind lifting
tendrils of his messy hair and whipping them into his face. Snape
reached for the cloak that he'd been using for a pillow, shaking it
out and offering it back to the dark-haired young man who had been
scanning the night sky, looking for something.
"Thank you for the use of your cloak, Mr. Potter."
"You're welcome," Harry replied as he bent over, took the
proffered garment and shrugged into it. Padma smiled as it struck
her that they were capable of having a normal conversation, after
all. She looked up as he spoke again.
"They're coming." he told them, gesturing to the still-dark
western skyline. Padma and Snape turned to watch three fast
approaching dots on the horizon. The next shift was on their way.
Thank Merlin for small mercies, as it had been a very long night.
Harry put a hand out to Snape who was getting up off the floor of
their small boat, the Mananan MacLir. It had been a little joke on
Bill's behalf--he was hoping to bring luck to their venture by using
a boat named after the ancient Celtic God of the Sea who, according
to legend, had lived on the isle named for him. Snape didn't feel
lucky at all. He felt old and stiff and tired beyond measure. He
took Harry's hand with nary a snide comment and allowed himself to
be helped up.
"Thank you, Mr. Potter." he managed, right before three wizards
on brooms came to hover over them before landing carefully,
one-at-a-time, in the back of the boat.
"How's it going?" Bill asked as he came to stand next to Padma in
the prow.
"Have a look for yourself, you're the best judge when it comes to
these things," she told him, watching expectantly as he cast
Patefacio on himself.
"We've made a lot more progress than I thought we would by now!"
he exclaimed and let out a low whistle of appreciation as he studied
the partially unravelled network of wards, delighted at how far
their work had come in a mere twenty-four hours.
"How far do you think we can get in the next 36 hours or so?"
Snape queried. Bill looked at him.
"Did something happen?"
"Another trance," Harry supplied.
"Bloody Hell!" This time it was Ron who spoke, the look on his
face speaking volumes. "More bad news, I take it?" Snape nodded.
"Hermione is very worried about Miss Brown." Padma noticed the
headmaster had called Hermione by her given name, something he'd
never done before. She glanced over at Harry and the speculative
look on his face told her he'd noticed it too. "She's not holding up
well from being the object of Voldemort's attention and Hermione
thinks Miss Brown might break the next time she is summoned." There,
he'd called her Hermione twice in the span of a minute. They hadn't
imagined it.
"That'll happen in 36 hours?" Blaise joined the conversation,
taking up for Ron, who was looking like he might collapse.
"A little over 39 hours now," Harry answered Blaise. Snape raised
a questioning brow at him and Harry continued, "well, we could hear
what you were saying, even if we hadn't a clue what it was all
about. You weren't exactly whispering, you know."
"Mr. Potter is correct, " Snape told them, "I intended to give us
a few extra hours to play with."
"I don't know if we'll be able to have them all down in 36
hours." Bill studied the remaining wards. "Is there any way we can
buy ourselves some more time?" he asked, tightly gripping the rail
of the boat as his mind worked overtime on their latest problem.
"Can we do something to stop the next visit, or at least put it
back a bit?" Blaise directed the question to his old Head of House.
Snape's eyes lit up at the question.
"That's it! We're going to need a diversion. Something big enough
to distract him so much he can't make the scheduled appointment."
"The Gunpowder Plot!" Harry smiled as he spoke.
"What does that mean?" Ron asked, used to hearing his friends
talk about things he hadn't a clue about over the years.
"We’re going to blow up the Houses of Parliament."
"We're what?" Four voices chorused. Snape was sitting silently,
watching Harry with look of approval on his usually dour face.
"Figuratively. The Gunpowder Plot was an unsuccessful attempt to
blow up the Muggle government a few hundred years back. It was
engineered by a group of rebels led by a man named Guy Fawkes. We're
going to take a leaf out of their book and hit the Ministry of
Magic, but they're not going to know it's just a bluff this time. As
far as they'll know, it's a coup attempt. In and out as fast as we
can, get them focussing their attention on the attack and London. I
can't see old Voldy keeping his appointment with Lavender when he's
got something like that to worry about. How long would it take for
Charlie and his lot to get here?"
"They could be here in 24 hours, I'm sure," Bill answered,
understanding what Harry had in mind.
"Dragons, Harry?" a now-recovered Ron asked as it dawned on him
what calling Charlie in meant.
"They're fast and magic resistant and they pack quite the punch.
We're just going to stir things up. We'll hit them where they're
comfortable and give them something to keep them on their toes and
hurt their pride. Charlie and his friends can hightail it back into
hiding immediately while we lay a few false trails for them to
follow. What do you think?"
"I think it might just do the trick. Just make sure there are no
trails that lead anywhere close to here." Bill smiled as he
envisioned the havoc they'd wreak. "We can't work any faster than
we're already doing on the wards. In 36 hours we'll almost be there
but probably only starting the stage where we'll have to work
underwater. If this attack gains us even 24 hours, that should be
enough."
"Alright then, we'll key back to The Hall to get the ball rolling
while you lot get cracking here."
"Sounds like a plan!" Bill answered, his wand out and already
working at unravelling the next ward around the brothel.
Draco climbed out of the clearing fog in his brain. His head was
pounding, he was aching all over and he was afraid to open his eyes.
What had happened? he wondered for a moment before it all
came flooding back with such bright and painful clarity that his
stomach dropped out from under him and his head spun. He fought the
nausea and struggled to sit up, realising after a moment that it was
impossible because he was restrained. He tested the bonds and sank
back into the pillow as he found he was held tight.
"Fuck!" he swore silently as he realised someone could be
in the room with him. He stilled. He listened. Nothing.
He cracked open an eyelid, peering warily out the slit. Still
nothing but the flicker of shadows and light on the wall beyond. The
room was candlelit, albeit dimly. If there was someone in the room
with him they already knew he was awake thanks to his struggle with
his bonds so he opened the other eye and turned his head slowly
towards the light.
A curly-haired girl in worn, brown robes sat silently in the
chair next to the bed, her head bowed so her features were hidden
from his view.
Hermione! Her name sprung into his mind unbidden. Why was she
sitting there looking so forlorn? What was the matter? She wasn't
hurt, was she? Now where did that thought come from? When had he
ever cared if she'd been knocked around before? Wasn't that a
favourite thing of his own to do with her?
The sound of a door opening got his full attention and he looked
over to see the back of a house-elf disappearing from the room as
the door swung closed behind it. As the slam echoed hollowly, a
harbinger of doom, the girl raised her head to look at him. There
was something different about her. She seemed more defiant than
usual and she met his gaze.
"That foul creature has gone to fetch your father," she informed
him. He knew right away which rotten piece of work it had been as
there was only one house elf around this place that fit the
description. Even Draco (a right piece of work himself) felt soiled
when he was around Nasty.
"What did you do?" Hermione hissed the question at him, lips
barely moving--fully aware that someone could be eavesdropping.
"I've never seen your father as angry as this," her gaze bored into
him. Any other time he'd have smacked her for that but he didn't
have the energy to any more, not to mention the fact he was still
tied to the bed.
"Untie me," he directed.
"I can't," she answered, a conflicted look on her face.
"Why not?" He felt his blood pressure rise at her defiance.
"Your father told me I wasn't to do anything you asked me to and
he's stronger than you are." She was referring to the double
Imperius they'd laid on her--Draco might have reined her in first,
but his father's curse was more powerful than his own, a fact that
grated on him.
"Fair enough," he quipped, pretending to be nonchalant about the
whole thing.
She was still staring suspiciously at him from under the curtain
of sleep-tangled curls that hid her face when the door slammed open,
its handle gouging into the wall and sticking there as Lucius Malfoy
strode in to stare thunderously at his offspring. An unsettling,
fawning creature trailed in to the room behind him and shielded
itself from their scrutiny behind his heavy velvet cloak.
"I hope you are happy, son!" Lucius began, "You've exposed us to
ridicule with your actions, do you realise that?" He paced back and
forth for a minute before his gaze lit upon Hermione, who was trying
to avoid his notice and make herself as small as possible in the
chair she was sitting in. "And for what?!?" He strode across the
scant few feet that separated him from the girl, threaded his hands
through her knotted curls and dragged her to her feet. "For this!!!"
he barked as he shoved her face down towards his son's, stopping
just short of cracking their skulls together.
Draco met Hermione's gaze and read the accusation there. It was
all his fault. Everything was his fault.
She was right… it was all his fault. If he hadn't taken
her from the battlefield, none of this would ever have happened. He
didn't answer his father, knowing it would infuriate him more than
anything and slowly turned his head to concentrate on the shadows
playing on the wall behind him.
"I think it's high past time I taught you a lesson, son." He
heard his father mutter before hearing Hermione gasp in pain as she
was thrown roughly against the wall next to the chair. He could see
their shadows interacting and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to
watch it play out like some perverse shadow-puppet show.
Lucius actually had Hermione pinned to the wall, knee between her
legs and forearm across her neck and shoulders to keep her still.
His mouth was on her ear and he was whispering insidious commands to
her. Hermione had her eyes closed in a vain attempt to stop any
tears from betraying her. Finally, after what seemed like an
eternity, Lucius stepped away from her and let her slide down the
wall to sit in a graceless heap. The elder Malfoy then turned his
attention to the younger Malfoy.
"Your mother and I have been far too indulgent with you recently
and it shows." He grabbed Draco by the chin and forcefully turned
his face so their eyes met. Draco gazed hatefully at his father
through slitted eyes.
"Is that what you call it?" he spat out.
"That's exactly what I'd call it. You are spoiled, Draco, and
that will not do. Lord Voldemort despises weakness, and you have one
that cannot be tolerated," Lucius swept his hand back to indicate
Hermione, "but we're going to fix that aren't we, Mudblood?"
Hermione looked up as he addressed her and nodded weakly, watching
powerlessly as he removed his wand from its ornate holster on his
belt and pointed it at his son.
"Imperio."