A New Day

Saving a Death Eater

By Bambu

Author's Notes: Standard disclaimers and thanks may be found in chapter one.

Chapter Three: A New Day

~o0o~

Pale pink fingers of light inched across Hogwarts' scarred grounds, tenderly assessing the earth's wounds and illuminating the jagged, gaping holes in the castle's stone edifice.

Standing upon a rubble-strewn floor behind the Main Tower's clock face, Hermione stared at the aftermath of Voldemort's cataclysmic demise. There were no more Healers on the grounds, only the red robes representing Aurors conducting their grisly duty.

Here and there lay dead trolls, their large bodies dwarfed by the bodies of equally dead giants dotting the landscape like misshapen carbuncles on a hag's feet.

Hermione had been standing there since the first pale striations of dawn streaked across the remarkably clear May sky. Awakened by nightmares, she'd known the futility of attempting to sleep again, and so had wiped the tears from her face and risen from McGonagall's sofa, quietly folding the bedding before creeping from her former professor's suite of rooms.

"Couldn't sleep?" Harry asked quietly, as if loath to startle her, but she had felt his Muffliato engage – and known it for his -- just before he had spoken.

"Nightmares." She faced him, anxiously eyeing his pale and drawn face. "What about you? Did you sleep?"

"Not really. Too much on my mind."

As one, they glanced out the window, and listened to the inexorable tick of the huge clock.

Then Harry's dark head bowed and his glasses glinted briefly, obscuring his eyes. "I found myself wishing we still had the tent."

"Me, too."

Their tent had been abandoned the night they were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor.

She turned her hands over and spread her arms, indicating the room, the castle, the school. "I don't really know where to go after this."

"You'll always have a home with me," he said staunchly, coming to her side, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her. When he leaned against her she leaned back.

"Thanks." Hermione spoke around the tightness in her throat. "I feel the same way about you."

"We could go to Grimmauld Place."

"Grimmauld Place would be ideal, except we don't know who's been there or what they've left behind – if anything."

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "And I don't want to intrude on Ron's family. Not even Shell Cottage. It's just..."

"They need to be together now."

"Yeah," he said again.

"Harry, what about the Ministry? I know Kingsley's Minister pro tem, and we agreed to talk to him this morning, but ...." Suddenly she turned around, peering into the hazy room behind them as if looking for something or someone. "Where are your Hit Wizards?"

"I left them in the common room. I used my dad's cloak to slip past them." He grinned slyly.

Genuinely amused, she smiled. "It really is quite useful."

After a brief pause, he said quietly, "Somehow I knew you'd be here."

"I thought it would be private."

Incongruously, Harry's stomach growled at that moment and his cheeks flushed.

"Didn't you ever get a sandwich?"

"Loads of them," he said, "but despite Fleur's best efforts, we've a lot of meals to make up for."

Eyeing his gaunt face, Hermione nodded even as her own shrunken stomach griped about its empty state.

"Let's talk while we eat."

He nodded.

Then she said thoughtfully, "I don't think we should go to the Ministry at all, even if invited. What if Umbridge is still there?"

They both remembered the grisly souvenir embedded in the toad-faced witch's office door.

"Please, Hermione," Harry whinged, "I want to eat breakfast."

"Right. Sorry." She bit her lip for a minute. "Do you know if Kreacher made it?"

"I can't believe I forgot," he exclaimed. "Kreacher! Are you there, Kreacher?"

There was no response, and Harry skimmed his fingers through his hair in distress.

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "He can't hear you. Hold on." With a flick and swish of her reluctant wand, she dismantled Snape's anti-eavesdropping spell. "Try again."

"Kreacher!"

Pop!

"Yes, Master?" The old Black family retainer appeared immediately. A bandage was wrapped neatly around his head, covering the remains of one ear, and the rest of his limbs were a map of sticking plaster and bandages, but his smug expression made light of the injuries.

"I'm very glad to see you, Kreacher," Harry greeted him with a gust of a relieved sigh. "Are the others all right?"

Kreacher bowed his head in reverence. "Too many perished, young Master, too many."

Hermione's fingers flew to her mouth, reminded forcefully that she had just seen him the night before in Snape's memories. "I'm sorry for your losses, Kreacher, but it's so very good to see you."

Wide protruding eyes flicked in her direction, but the house-elf's new-found tolerance for her remained. "Miss is very kind."

Harry's stomach made a twisting, groaning sound again. "I hate to ask ...."

Kreacher's unblemished ear bobbed. "If I might suggest, you and the young miss should eat here."

Alarmed, Hermione asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"Reporters!" Kreacher fairly spat the word, and to Hermione's experienced ear it sounded suspiciously like the way he used to say Mudblood. "They're on the grounds."

"We'll definitely eat here then."

Kreacher bowed awkwardly. "I will return shortly."

Harry stopped him. "Thank you."

"No," the aged house-elf replied. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

And then he disappeared.

Suddenly, Hermione swayed on her feet before sinking to the floor. Her robes created some padding for her knees, especially the bandaged one, but dirt streaked the green skirts.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice rose in panic, and he leaped toward her, his hands gripping her shoulders.

"It's all right, Harry." She leaned into the strength of his hands. "Really. I'm still tired and quite hungry."

He scolded her. "Don't do that again!"

She giggled at the unexpected role-reversal and her fingers flew to her mouth. "Oh!"

Bottle green eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Hermione giggled again and it turned to laughter, and then, suddenly, the glass wall between her intellect and her emotions shattered. Her laughter turned to deep, despairing sobs.

Harry dropped to his knees, wrapping her in a fierce hug.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione wailed. "I'm sorry! It's just too... too..."

"Too much?" Harry's voice sounded strained.

The two friends knelt on the filthy, rubble-strewn floor, tightly embracing while grief, horror, and fear sliced into their hearts like so many metaphorical shards of glass.

Providentially, Kreacher returned the moment Hermione's sobs became hiccups. He was accompanied by two other house-elves, each as copiously bandaged as their vigilante leader, but their enthusiasm was unflagging.

In short order, the assistants had retrieved a table and two chairs from somewhere in the castle, set the table with linen and china, and placed a standard Hogwarts breakfast atop the unblemished white linen.

Eagerly looking for approval, the underlings bowed low waiting for Kreature's nod. When he gave it they departed with dual pops.

"Young Master's breakfast is served," Kreacher pronounced as if Harry wasn't huddled on the floor with a sniffling woman in his arms.

"Th-thank you," Hermione stuttered.

The old house-elf bowed low and abruptly disappeared.

Hermione wiped her face, leaving a streak of grime down one cheek. "Sorry."

Harry cleaned his glasses on the underside of his t-shirt. "'S all right. I'm not so sure I didn't get your robes wet as well."

She drew in a ragged breath. "Yes, well . . . breakfast should help. And then we need to sort out what to do next."

Harry actually held her chair for her at the small table.

Hermione managed a weak smile as she took her seat.

With still trembling hands, she poured a splash of milk into one of the mugs of tea before scalding her mouth on the first drink. Yet, it was exactly what she needed.

Having regained his composure, Harry spooned sugar over his porridge and tucked into a hearty breakfast.

Hermione finished her tea before addressing her soft-boiled egg and cutting toast into soldiers for dipping.

They were too hungry to engage in conversation, but it was the most civilized breakfast they had eaten since Fleur made croissants and sausages at Shell Cottage a week before.

When Hermione swallowed the last of her toast, she felt equal to facing the day. It would be months before she would come to grips with all that had occurred, but the cathartic release before breakfast had eased her immediate distress.

And considering the sizeable breakfast her friend had put away, his equilibrium, too, had been re-gained.

Harry speared a piece of grilled chop, and returned to the topic of their earlier conversation. "I'm not sure we shouldn't stay in hiding."

"We could go somewhere we can't be traced."

"Grimmauld Place would have been perfect... I mean, I own it, but..."

"Too many people know where it is now. It might not be safe."

Harry swallowed his bite before speaking. "As I said earlier, I don't think Shell Cottage would be appropriate."

"And I'd feel like an intruder at the Burrow."

She remembered the last words Ron had stammered at her the day before. It's a family thing. You understand .... he had said, but his attention had been elsewhere, even then.

The trouble was she really did understand. It was the same issue that had been between them for a very long time. Ron's loyalties were divided; and when it came down to her or his family, his family always came first.

"Yeah. Me, too."

"No! Mr. and Mrs. Weasley think of you like a son." Hermione could see Harry's jaw tightening and his lips thinned into a pinched line. "Harry, what's happened?"

Harry grabbed a piece of toast from the rack and commenced crumbling it into a small, inert mound atop the remains of his meal. "I happened. Fred's dead. He's dead!"

Abruptly, Hermione rose from her chair and circled the small table, holding her hand out to him. Her throat was tight. "It is not your fault he died."

Harry's grip was hard and he sighed heavily. "Do you think they'll see it that way? Did you see them before they left? What about Mrs. Weasley? God, Hermione!"

Hermione crouched down, maintaining their eye contact and her grasp of his hand. "They're a very close family, and –- I'm not sure I can give you advice here. I mean, look at me. I don't even know where my own parents are. I– I– don't even know how to find them."

"Aren't they in Australia?"

"That's where they went initially, but I have no idea where they've gone from there. I deliberately know nothing beyond their flight to Sydney."

He angled his head like a curious cat. "But why?"

"If I'd been subjected to Legilimency I might have revealed where Mum and Dad were," she said very quietly, but his hand tightened, grounding her. "It isn't that my parents were a high priority to the Death Eaters, but I wanted to keep them as safe as possible."

He said softly, "I would've done the same for my parents, even if it meant never seeing them again."

Her eyes clouded with tears and she blinked rapidly. "Thanks."

At that moment, a pale beam of sunlight shone through the numerals on the clock face, illuminating the pair of friends.

Hermione took a calming breath and changed the subject. "I think it's a mistake to come out of hiding if that odious woman is still running Muggle-born Registration, or even if it's still in effect. I mean, they could arrest me -- us! As far as we know, we're at the top of the Undesirable list, no matter what we – you – have accomplished here."

"I hadn't thought of that. What about Ron? Shouldn't we warn him?"

"I don't think he's on the list. Remember the Spattergoit?"

"But they knew it was Ron at the Malfoys."

"True, but there hasn't been any indication the list has changed since then."

Harry shrugged. "And we don't actually know, but I assume Mr. Weasley will take care of it." He rose to his feet, pulling her with him. "I definitely don't want to stay here. At least Rita Skeeter hasn't found us yet."

Hermione shuddered at the thought before brushing off her skirts.

Impatiently, Harry pulled his repaired wand and cast a cleaning charm on her robes.

She blushed sheepishly, then held up the curved, dark walnut wand she had used since they had broken into Gringotts. "It doesn't really like me. Remember what Mr. Ollivander said? I don't have its allegiance."

"At least he offered to make us all new wands for helping him escape."

Hermione shuddered at the memories of her time at Malfoy Manor, and sheathed Bellatrix Lestrange's wand in her sleeve before returning to the main topic. "We can send him an owl once we decide where we'll be."

"It'll be safer if we can't easily be found," Harry said.

"I quite agree." Hermione took her seat once more and poured another cup of tea. "It's all well and good to say the war is over, and I don't really know what's in our immediate future, Harry, but I have to stay here. At least for a little while."

Harry turned his chair and straddled the seat, resting his chin on the high ladder-back and facing his friend. "Why?"

"There's something you should know, but we have to keep it a secret until it's safe to tell." She bit her lip. Some part of her wanted to hold onto the memory of what had happened with Snape, as if it were too precious to share.

"What's going on, Hermione?"

"It's Professor Snape."

"Snape? Oh, Merlin! We have to retrieve his body. We can't just leave him in the Shrieking Shack."

As if intent and action were one, Harry sprang from the chair and strode toward the door.

"Harry, wait!"

Hermione, too, leaped from her chair, knocking it to the floor in an effort to reach him. She grabbed for his arm, but snagged his threadbare shirt, tearing the thin fabric, although neither noticed.

"I've already been there."

"You have?" Harry was clearly shocked. "When? Why didn't you tell me? Did Ron go with you?"

Hermione dropped her hand from his arm and tilted her chin. "No. Ron doesn't know. I couldn't bring myself to ask him to leave his family then. I asked – erm – prepare yourself.

Professor Snape isn't really dead."

"What!" The color drained from Harry's face. "But– but ... all that blood. The memories. We saw him!"

"I know, but he isn't dead. I– he– Poppy Pomfrey came with me and she– she's amazing, Harry. She saved his life." Hermione began to twist her fingers, her knuckles whitening with the force of her own grip. "I can't believe I've wasted all this time. I should've gone there straight away."

It was Harry's turn to keep Hermione from bolting from the room, and her robes swirled about her legs, brushing the tops of his holey trainers as he held her in place, turning her to face him. "Where? Where is Snape?"

"Professor Snape, Harry," she chided.

"Professor Snape," he replied reflexively before coming to the germane point again. "Where is he? I don't want him to suffer. You can't imagine what he's gone through or the risks he's taken."

"I can, actually."

"I want to see him."

Without conscious thought, Harry pulled Hermione toward the door.

"Wait a moment." She fluttered her free hand toward the rest of the castle. "I don't want to talk about this out there."

Harry halted but didn't release her arm, almost as if he were afraid she would leave him behind.

Hermione placed her hand over his, fingers releasing his grip, but she didn't let him go, instead she twined her fingers in his. "They took him to St. Mungo's late last night."

No!" he cried out. "They'll– he'll be sent to Azkaban."

"He was in critical condition." Hermione turned to face him. "There was no other choice if he was to live. Poppy made the arrangements, and I trust her."

Harry grudgingly nodded. "I want to see that he's all right."

"Aside from you, he's the reason I stayed here last night. I promised to help him if he needed it."

"You? I mean, I know you're willing to help, but what can you do that the healers can't?"

Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair. "I . . . er . . . If necessary I could intercede on his behalf with the unicorns."

"You'd take their blood?" He was aghast and dropped her hand. "Hermione! You can't! Quirrell did that and..."

"No!" She pleaded for his understanding. "Don't you remember what we learned in Hagrid's class? When a unicorn offers part of itself willingly the results are essentially polarized."

He stopped, his expression stern but receptive. "That doesn't explain why it has to be you."

Hermione flushed. "It's because I'm still a virgin," she whispered.

"Oh!" Cheeks flaring red, Harry avoided looking directly at her. "I see. Well." He cleared his throat. "Well. We should go to St. Mungo's then."

"Let's go to the hospital wing first. That way we can find out about Professor Snape, and I'd like Poppy to check you over anyway – to make sure you're all right."

"She saw me last night and I'm fine." He shrugged, then glanced at her sharply. "Poppy?"

"She asked me to call her that. Yesterday, when we were in the Shrieking Shack."

"Oh. How? When?" Harry shook his head, running his fingers through his messy hair. "I don't even know what to ask."

"What if I tell you the details after we find out how Professor Snape is? But, Harry..." her eyes gleamed with unexpected humor, "...you should see Poppy fly! She's amazing on a broom."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, but then he stepped past her and reached for the door knob. "You'll definitely have to tell me. Later, though. We still have to meet with Kingsley, and I don't plan to let them separate us either. I've learned my lesson about that."

Hermione would have cocked an eyebrow, but she didn't know how. Instead, she crossed her arms and glared. "Have you?"

Harry had the grace to look chagrined. "Mostly. What if I promise never to face another dark lord alone? Will that do?"

The lightness of the question didn't quite work, and Hermione shuddered in spite of their recent victory. "I fervently hope not."

"Sorry. It was my half-arsed attempt at gallows humor." He shrugged. "I don't think it's funny when you've actually been resurrected."

"No, I don't suppose it is." She managed a smile, relegating any gore-tainted memories to the back of her mind. "Are you ready to go now?"

Harry glanced around the room. "Yes. You know, we could ask Kreacher to bring Kingsley to meet us in the hospital wing. We should be safe there, don't you think?"

"As safe as anywhere in the castle. Let's decide after we learn about the professor. I think he should be our top priority."

"Definitely. First Snape, then Kingsley, and then we find somewhere to hole up. I think we should try your house first. It's been uninhabited for nearly a year. We can check whether it's livable, and if so, we'll put security spells up. We could use a Fidelius, but who would we use as a Secret Keeper?"

While Ron was the most obvious choice, neither Harry nor Hermione could forget that Ron had walked out the previous winter.

"We can decide later," she said, nodding as if to convince herself. "And once we know where we're going to be, we'll send a Patronus to Kingsley and one to Ron. If we can't use my house we'll stay at a Muggle hotel." She paused for a moment, retrieving her hand from Harry's. "I have some money at Lloyd's, but most of my savings were at Gringotts."

"By now they must know it was us who broke in, but we should be able to come to some agreement with them; after all, Neville did use the sword last night."

"True. Then we can't be accused of stealing it. But we did break in, and we took Hufflepuff's cup." She bit her lip.

"We'll sort it out. Let's go. The hospital wing isn't far from here. Remember third year?"

Hermione managed a reminiscent smile for the days when their disasters came in smaller, if no less life-threatening, moments. "It only takes about thirty seconds at a dead run."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, but we don't know what's between here and there yet."

Unusual movement on the school's grounds drew Hermione's attention to the clock face and beyond. Pointing her finger, she asked, "How many reporters are out there?"

Harry passed her to look through the window, and the muscles of his jaw worked. "More than there were people defending the castle. I'm not talking to them."

"Certainly not today." Hermione came to stand beside him. "Think we can squeeze under your dad's cloak?"

"Great idea."

Before she could ask where it was, Harry pulled the filmy material from the back pocket of his jeans. Like a Muggle magician's trick, the more cloth that emerged the more there seemed to be until, with a flick of his wrist, the entire shimmering cloak hung in his hand.

"Sometimes," he said, grinning, "the simplest magic is the most -- er -- magical."

"True." Hermione took a last look outside, and turned her back on the increasingly crowded scene. She slanted her eyes at him. "Expelliarmus, Harry?"

His face colored and his hands wrapped in the invisibility cloak. "Well, I just couldn't ...."

"I know. I'm sorry I asked." She bit her lip, castigating herself for trying to make light of death.

"You don't think it was stupid?"

"No! I think it was very you." Hermione leaned up -- after all he wasn't much taller than she -- and kissed his cheek. "Besides, it means the Ministry can't arrest you for You-Know-Who's death."

"You can say his name, Hermione," he said exasperatedly. "It's –"

"No!" She clapped her hand across his mouth. "No, Harry! We can't. Not yet."

"But he's dead!" Harry sputtered through her fingers.

Hermione dropped her hand, wiping it on her borrowed robes. "We still don't know how the charm worked, and it's possible the Ministry or any remaining Death Eaters could track us."

"Right. Good point." His expression was sheepish and he bowed his head. "I'm sorry about that night, you know. I've never told you how sorry."

She turned from him, facing the window beyond which reporters mingled with Magical Law Enforcement officers, angling for quotes, but Hermione's gaze was unfocused. "It's all right."

"No, it's not." Harry tucked the end of his cloak into his pocket and started to pace, the shimmering fabric trailing through dust and rubble, causing an optical illusion as he walked. "I lost my temper, and I don't think I've ever been as scared as when that unholy bitch started to hurt you."

"I don't think I'll ever forget it," she replied quietly. "I was terrified."

Memories of that night bubbled to the surface of her thoughts, superseding more recent events, and Hermione instantly regretted eating a full meal.

She clutched her stomach and breathed through her mouth to quell her nausea.

"Hermione!" Harry was at her side, concern resonating in every syllable.

So intent on keeping her meal in place, Hermione hardly noticed him helping her to a chair, but she did know when he pushed her head between her legs.

Surprisingly, it helped, and the nausea receded.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Harry said, again and again, hovering by her side, anxious to help.

After a few minutes, she was capable of sitting upright and speaking. "It's not your fault."

"It was. And I should know better than to mention it."

"I understand, Harry. I do. I understood then as well."

Their eyes met, and they both remembered all the times over the years Hermione had cajoled Harry to share his feelings about some of the more horrendous experiences of his life.

"I imagine so," he said, and met her gaze directly. "But I want you to know that you were amazing that night. I think you saved my life."

Her voice quavered. "I was so afraid I'd tell her everything, Harry; it hurt so much."

"She was very good at it."

He rested his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned against his side, drawing comfort and strength from his support. They were quiet for a long moment, remembering, knowing the other empathized.

"Ron was beside himself." Harry spoke softly. "I've never seen him like that before."

Flinching as if alcohol had been poured into any of her wounds, Hermione said, "Let's not talk about Ron."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing really."

Harry snorted derisively. "C'mon, Hermione. Talk to me. You and Ron didn't have another row, did you?"

Hermione leaned away from him and squared her shoulders. She told herself it was past time to put away childish fancies. "As if I would row with him at a time like this. No, he should be with his family right now."

After a long beat during which Harry sought the answers to his questions by staring down into her determined, muddy brown eyes, the great clock struck seven and momentarily deafened them. They both jumped at the interruption.

Finally, he nodded, and said, "I think I understand."

"Yes, you probably do."

Harry stepped back, granting her the space she hadn't asked for."Ginny wouldn't even say good-bye to me." There was a small tremor in his voice.

Hermione sniffled and blinked furiously, even though she managed not to cry. "Ron told me his family needed him."

Their eyes met again, and Harry leaned his upper body forward in a semblance of a courtly bow. "I see. His mistake."

Without another word, Hermione rose to her feet and the two friends hugged each other. Then Hermione shook her head, her newly washed hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders and tickling his nose.

When Harry spoke, she felt his voice rumble in his chest, and briefly thought about how thin he was, how thin they both were.

"I still wish there was something I could do to make you understand how sorry I am about being captured."

"Really?" she asked.

Harry pushed out of her embrace, his expression as open as the first time Hermione had ever laid eyes on him. His affirmative was fervent and hearty.

"There is something," Hermione said, hesitant, in this moment of sympathetic communion, to raise an unresolved issue between them.

"What? Anything!"

"Anything?"

"Hermione!"

She stared through the round frames of his lenses and deep into his eyes. Her heart raced in nervous anticipation. "Promise never to lie to me again."

Harry's mouth fell open. "What?"

"Don't ever lie to me again."

The Boy Who Lived Twice took a step back, almost tripping over the invisibility cloak dangling from his pocket. Instead of falling, the cloak slipped from its partial prison to pool at his feet, forgotten. "Wha--"

Hermione stepped forward, the tone of her voice ringing against the stone walls. "When Ron left us we were alone. Just you and I, with no one to rely on except each other. And you lied to me ... several times."

Harry backed up, stuttering, "I-I'm sorry."

Coming to a halt a scant meter before him, Hermione said softly, "I know you are. What hurt the most was that you didn't trust me."

"I do!" he protested.

She glared at him.

Harry stepped forward, his expression pained and his voice thick with suppressed emotion. "More than anyone else in my life."

The rigidity of her shoulders softened and Hermione's heart rate settled. "Don't do it again, Harry."

"Never," he vowed.

She bent to pick up the cloak and handed it to him. "All right."

Harry took the cloak, but caught her fingers in his, gripping tightly. "I promise, Hermione," he said forcefully.

She squeezed his hand in return. "I believe you."

Harry unfurled the Deathly Hallow which had been passed down through generations of unsuspecting Potters, and draped the cloak over Hermione and himself.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes and no," she replied, eliciting a harsh bark of laughter from him.

Together they walked away from the giant hands of the Hogwarts clock. Falling into step as if they'd practiced for months, as indeed they had, they opened the door to the third floor corridor leading to the hospital wing.

Harry cleared his throat and squeezed her hand. "Ready?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. "Let's go find out about our new world."

"And save Professor Snape."

~o0o~