The Dying of the Light

Summary: Morning meetings and occasions of doubt.

A/N: Thanks to Luna305, ever-patient beta, and Anastasia, as always, for inspiration. The title of this chapter is from the same Dylan Thomas poem as the title of the last.

Hermione awoke the next morning thoroughly entangled in the sheet. Severus' leg was thrown over hers, and his arms had snaked around her during the night, nesting his fingers in her hair. Wow. Good morning, Granger. She smiled slightly, and relaxed into the feel of his breath on her neck.

As she opened her eyes, she felt him smile. Or perhaps smirk. She couldn't tell. She hoped it was a smile.

"Are you smirking or smiling?" she asked.

"The woman even awakens with a question," he said.

"Of course. Which is it?" She stretched against him and his hand moved to her stomach, keeping her close. He lightened his hold until with every breath her skin brushed his palm.

"There is a difference?" he asked archly, burying his face in the riot of her hair.

"Mmm, from you, perhaps not," she consented, covering his arms with her own. She thought for a minute and then smiled again.

"I trust your dreams were pleasant?" he murmured.

She frowned, the images of her dream fleeting, elusive. Something about Dumbledore, a cabinet, and candles was drifting on the edge of her memory, but she couldn't hold on to any of it. "Yes... I think so... You?" she asked.

"If could shake the feeling that I still smell roses - " he frowned.

"Roses?" she felt a laugh starting. Really, it was too much.

"And something disturbing about Draco."

"Roses and Draco?," she remarked skeptically. "Disturbing, indeed."

"They may have been two different dreams, Hermione," he grumbled.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly seven, I should think."

"Time for a shower, then," she said, pulling the covers back.

His arms tightened around her. He had other ideas.

She did get her shower eventually – one that took rather longer than she had expected.

-----

By 9 a.m., though, they were seated at the kitchen table, their damp hair cool, drying in the summer heat, watching Tayet whizzing about the garden, where she was apparently playing a one-sided game of tag with a confused butterfly.

"Um..." Hermione began, putting down her tea, unwilling to break the spell.

"Yes. Well," Severus cleared his throat. They could delay this conversation no longer. "The timing is largely up to Minerva, of course," he began, then leaned his head on his hand, tracing a pattern on the table next to his coffee mug.

Both of them were wondering whether Hermione's workaround would be effective, or whether tomorrow's sun would rise on an Order bereft. Rather briskly, Hermione asked, "Do you have any idea how to get Pettigrew into the Ministry? He is wanted."

As am I. The thought sprang unbidden to Severus' lips, but he refrained from voicing it. "We shall have to wait until night, of course, although that is no guarantee that the Department of Mysteries will be empty. We will have to risk that. You and I shall Apparate to Spinner's End – there's little left of it, certainly nothing the Ministry nor the Dark Lord would find valuable, and it scarcely matters if we are glimpsed by Muggles."

Hermione was obscurely grateful for his focus on detail - Of course, Granger; he's been strategizing for years. - and nodded.

"I have decided that I shall place Wormtail under the Imperius Curse and order him to obey your commands until such time as you return control of the spell to me," he began, stopping at the look on her face. "Hermione, it is the best way."

She stared at him, daunted by the thought of having anyone – especially a Death Eater, especially that Death Eater – but anyone, really – under her control. She exhaled slowly, and nodded, but asked, "Why you?"

He sighed, and his eyes shuttered, but not before she glimpsed the sadness in them. "Have you ever cast an Unforgivable, Hermione?"

She shook her head.

"It is a far, far better thing to keep it that way," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes. Another soul deep blow – probably a bruise, by comparison, but still. "I – you think it will work, to transfer control that way?"

"The control will be mine throughout, Hermione; you will merely direct it, as I cannot be there."

"So I'll be..." she frowned, thinking. "I'll be acting sort of like a human wand, then?"

"If wands had the ability to respond appropriately to changing circumstance, yes – but the analogy serves well enough."

She could see him pushing his emotions away, again, as always, in the face of necessity. Something in her rebelled even as she knew his plan was their best option. "Severus, I - " she looked at him seriously. "Is there another way to - "

"I dare not appear at the Ministry; he will never go willingly; although you are potentially powerful enough in terms of raw magic to control him, I will not allow you to - "

Her eyes sparkled dangerously.

"Hermione," he said very seriously. "These are not ordinary circumstances. I've placed the future in your hands when they were the best ones. This is not Arithmancy, Hermione. This is my arena."

"Darkness," she said flatly.

He nodded. "In which I have but one equal."

She couldn't deny the truth. "I still hate it," she muttered.

"Good. Use that hatred, when the time comes," he said. "It will keep you whole."

They reached for their mugs and, as if by tacit agreement, looked out the window toward what they instinctively felt was their best hope. Tayet was perched on a low branch, and a yellow butterfly was flittering near her head.

Severus and Hermione watched as the butterfly circled Tayet's head. The phoenix was flapping her wings for balance as her head veered wildly, trying to keep the butterfly in sight. The butterfly landed innocently on Tayet's beak and beat its wings slowly.

Tayet froze, appeared to go slightly cross-eyed, and then let out a screech. She zoomed in through the open window and landed on Severus' lap, hiding her head under his arm, trembling.

Severus looked almost as astonished as the phoenix.

Hermione tried valiantly not to laugh at the pair of them, but even as her heart lightened at Tayet's antics and Severus' expression, she could not help but admit that she knew exactly how Tayet felt.

"She wants comforting, Severus."

What he wanted to say was, "It was only a butterfly," but what came out was a half-strangled, "I see that." He stroked Tayet's back. Foolish bird, he thought, not unkindly.

Tayet crooned softly.

Still stroking her feathers, he thought, I know exactly how you feel, little one. I'm not fond of surprises either.

"I'd best get to Hogwarts. Molly will need some time to... " she couldn't finish.

"Get us a time, Hermione."

She nodded, expressionless, and reached out to touch his cheek, kissing him softly, covering his hand on Tayet' feathers with her own, and Disapparated.

-----

Minerva looked up as Hermione entered her office. Dumbledore was sitting calmly in his frame, toying with a Remembrall.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Minerva said, no trace of emotion in her voice.

Hermione sighed inwardly. "Headmistress," she said, nodding. "Professor Dumbledore."

He looked at her kindly, and inclined his head, but said nothing.

"Albus has informed me that we must keep the fact that he is awake a secret for a while longer. He also tells me that the timing of all of this seems largely to be in your hands." Minerva's brow furrowed disapprovingly. "I confess that, in the absence of the whole picture... " – a piercing look at Hermione – "But in most matters" - she turned a weather eye on Dumbledore, who returned her look pleasantly – "his counsel usually proved wise, in the end."

Minerva waved Hermione to a seat, steepled her fingers and peered at Hermione over the top of her spectacles.

Hermione settled her mind as she sat down.

"Tea, Miss Granger?" Minerva offered awkwardly. She seemed reluctant to begin the conversation.

Something in the headmistress' tone told Hermione not to delay any longer. "No, thank you, Headmistress. I've just now had breakfast."

"Very well." Minerva paused briefly, then said, "The list, then, if you please."

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed. "Molly for the locket. You – yes, well. Hagrid, for Nagini." Her voice broke as she saw Minerva's brow furrow and her eyes glisten. "And... and - " she swallowed again, preparing to lie.

"And that is quite enough to be getting on with for now," Dumbledore broke in serenely. "I find that breaking large tasks into smaller ones often allows for far greater accomplishment, in the end."

The two witches shot him two very different looks. Despite herself, Minerva was not without a burning curiosity regarding the final name on the list; Hermione, by contrast, was trying not to appear too relieved.

"Miss Granger, you believe you have found a workaround for the first two, yes?" he looked at her, a glint of warning in his eyes.

"I believe so, sir."

"Pettigrew?" Minera asked, her lips twisting in revulsion.

"Yes. His arm may allow him to release the Horcruxes beyond the veil without incurring the same sort of... reprisal that Professor Dumbledore experienced."

Minerva turned this over in her mind. "How so?"

Hermione sat straighter. "Piercing the veil requires agency, or intent," she began, in her best classroom voice, "so only a living creature can pierce the veil. However, no living thing may return from beyond it. It's simply not allowed."

"'The undiscovered country, beyond whose bourne no traveler returns,'" Dumbledore quoted softly.

Hermione looked at him, startled. "I didn't know you liked Shakespeare, sir."

His eyes twinkled. "A poor player, but there are those who love him," he consented.

Minerva snorted and reined them in. "Proceed, Miss Granger."

"Yes, of course, Professor," Hermione said. "What lies beyond the veil is a Mystery; it is forbidden. To touch what lies beyond it is punishable, evidently, by..." she paused, her mind flooded with what would happen if her plan failed, but she rallied, shoving doubt aside, and pressed on, "... by death."

Minerva turned her face away and looked out the window.

"It reverses the natural order of things to contaminate life with death," Dumbledore added softly, looking at Minerva.

"So it is when your child dies before you, Albus."

The silence hung heavy in the air, and, on the outskirts of it, Hermione sat very still.

With a visible effort, Minerva turned back to Hermione. "And Pettigrew's arm will circumvent this matter?"

"I believe it should, yes. What Professor Dumbledore did, insofar as I can see, was the magical equivalent of dividing by zero. It's forbidden; taboo; it's not done because it cannot be done."

Minerva looked at Dumbledore's portrait. "So naturally you had to try."

His lips twitched.

Hermione registered their exchange, but continued, "But although Pettigrew has intent, and agency, his arm is not truly alive, and therefore it may be possible for him to pass the Horcruxes through the veil without breaching the mystery – he will not really touch what lies beyond it."

"And then we may simply walk away?"

"It stands to reason that if the Horcruxes are released behind the veil, the portions of Voldemort's soul they contain will no longer be accessible, to him, or to anyone, and thus the Indemnities will simply cease to exist."

Minerva rapidly evaluated Hermione's logic. Finally, she said, "An admirable solution, Miss Granger, but as yet merely a hypothetical one. How do you propose we find him, and persuade him to assist us with this task? Or, I should say, these tasks, there being two inanimate Horcruxes?"

Here Hermione stumbled. "My... ah... my source knows how to find him. And... and Pettigrew does owe a life debt to Harry."

Minerva treated Hermione to a look that stripped the marrow from her bones.

Dumbledore coughed. "Minerva," he said simply.

"Very well. Pettigrew is your problem, then, Miss Granger. I trust you are equal to the task of ensuring your source's continued cooperation?"

Hermione nodded, but inwardly groaned. Oh, no. Not this kind of conversation again.

"Very well," said Minerva, rising from her chair. "I shall Floo Molly and ask that she join us. She will need to be there, in case things go... Yes. Excuse me."

Hermione suddenly realized that she would have given anything to be facing another awkward conversation with Minerva rather than the conversation that was coming with Molly Weasley.

Minerva exited the office through the door to her private chambers.

Hermione glanced at Dumbledore, and a look of shared caution passed between them.

"Steady, Granger," he said.

She swallowed, drying her palms on her jeans. "Yes, sir."

They waited.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Is Harry up to this? Will he be able to convince Pettigrew?"

"Perhaps the life debt will be compulsion enough, Miss Granger, although Pettigrew was ever adept at finding loopholes. As for Harry - " Dumbledore opened his hands " - that remains to be seen. I suspect, sadly, that the final persuasion will have to come from another source." His eyes were compassionate, and she was reminded of how tired, how much older he had looked, that last year.

Hermione returned his gaze, then drew her spine straight and nodded once. "Yes, sir."

A/N on sources: Severus alludes briefly ("It is a far, far better thing...") to the end of Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. Dumbledore's Shakespeare quotation is from Hamlet's description of death in the "To be or not to be" soliloquy. Dumbledore's reply to Hermione is the bastard offspring of Macbeth's definition of life as "a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage" and a statement made by Daniel Webster before the U.S. Supreme Court ("It is a small college, sir, but there are those who love it").