Elevenses

Saving a Death Eater

By Bambu

Author's Notes: Standard disclaimers and thanks may be found in chapter one, but I'd like to add my thanks to JRRT for the snappy chapter title.

~o0o~

Chapter Four: Elevenses

To Hermione's dismay, the hospital wing was a hive of industry.

With directed urgency, a number of unfamiliar green-robed Healers strode between the supply closet, Poppy Pomfrey's office, and their patients. Those most severely injured were hidden behind portable screens magically enchanted to minimize the risk of infection. There was a violet hue to some screens, identifying the most critical patients.

Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her between two unoccupied beds.

As she followed his lead, she wrinkled her nose against the stringent scent of Cleaning Charms tainted by the odor of necrotic tissue. The sweetish stench was one she would never forget, and had she been able to identify it sooner, she and Harry would've kept clear of Bathilda Bagshot.

When they squeezed between one of the screened beds and the window behind it, Hermione whispered, "What are you doing? The office is across the room."

Pulling her close to the wide patch of stone wall between two windows, Harry pressed his mouth to her thick bushy hair to reply. "I've been in here often enough to know how to get around without drawing attention. All right?"

Hermione nodded, and they slipped past several healers and junior attendants like an insignificant draft of air.

The office door was open. Hogwarts' matron was seated behind her cluttered, time-scarred desk, jotting notes on a wide expanse of parchment.

Later, Harry would comment on the fact she color-coded her notes just like Hermione, but immediate concerns subdued the kernel of amusement the two friends would share.

At first glance, Poppy Pomfrey appeared the same practical mediwitch who had tended their wounds since they were children. Yet when she lifted her head, she looked as if every second of her life had etched itself into the lines of her face.

Hermione gasped at the change twenty-four hours had wrought.

She might be careworn and exhausted, but there was nothing wrong with Poppy's reflexes.

The instant she heard the gasp, her wand was in her hand and a nonverbal revealing spell hit Hermione and Harry before he pulled the Deathly Hallow from their heads.

"Bloody Merlin's testes!" Poppy exclaimed.

Hermione hastily shoved Harry inside the room and closed the door behind her.

"Don't ever, ever do that again, Potter!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Harry apologized, stumbling into the wood-slatted guest chair. "We didn't mean to scare you. We didn't want anyone to see us."

The matron picked up a small crimson vial from between stacks of parchment, and with sudden concern Hermione asked, "Shouldn't you be resting, Poppy?"

"Don't get cheeky with me, young woman. I know my tolerances well enough after all these years." She grimaced as she drank the sludge-like heart tonic Hermione had recognized.

"I doubt you've had to deal with quite the same stress-levels as this year and- and ..."

"You may be a bright witch, but my health is not a topic up for discussion." Absently, Poppy rubbed her neck with one hand, massaging the stiff muscles. "I assume you've come to inquire about Severus."

"Yes, but it's not the only reason we've come." Harry was distracted by Hermione transfiguring a chair from the empty wastebasket. When she sat, he returned his attention to the mediwitch. "We– I would like to ask a favor."

Weary eyes betrayed her curiosity, and Poppy said dryly, "I imagine you will be able to ask any number of favors of any number of people, Mr. Potter."

Harry blushed a deep beetroot red, and it was his friend who answered in his stead.

"I don't know if you've seen the number of reporters on the school's grounds?" When the older witch stared at her with blank incomprehension, Hermione explained. "We'd like to avoid them, and we're supposed to meet Kingsley Shacklebolt today."

Harry leaned forward, asking, "Is it possible to have that meeting here?"

"Here?" Poppy's eyes widened in surprise before her expression morphed into a frown. "There are gravely injured people here. This is not a place..." She looked from him to Hermione, and then to the closed door behind them. "I can see why you'd think it suitable. No one will question the minister's visit to the injured, and the reporters will respect his wishes. That's rather cunning of you, Potter."

His chuckle held no amusement. "I've had to learn."

"I imagine so." She opened the middle desk drawer and swept the empty vial into it before rising to her feet and smoothing reddened hands down her white pinafore. "Well? When will he be here?"

"We don't know." Harry shrugged. "We didn't want to assume it would be all right with you."

Poppy's hands halted mid-stroke. "Do you mean to tell me that no one knows where you are?"

"You do," Hermione said. "Besides, we wanted to learn about Professor Snape first. Is he- did he-?"

"Yes, he made it through the night." Poppy's fleeting smile was genuine and quickly replaced by a tightening of the muscles at the corner of her lips. "I won't bandy words with you, however; his condition is critical."

"Oh, no!" Hermione's fingers flew to her mouth.

"May I see him?" Harry asked, as if greatly daring. "Kingsley can wait, but I'd like – need – to see Professor Snape. I don't want to leave things the way ... you know, just in case."

Poppy came from behind her desk. "I can take you to see him, but I must have your wand oath first."

Harry tensed and rose to his feet. He looked to Hermione, sharing an entirely visual discussion with her.

She, too, rose to her feet.

Poppy watched and waited patiently.

Finally, Hermione turned toward the older woman who had crossed the line between authority figure and friend. "We'll only agree to a limited oath, Poppy. You can't expect–"

"All I require is an oath of confidentiality." She nodded at Harry. "The healing profession has its own secrets."

The tension level in the office immediately eased.

Harry's eyes glittered behind his glasses. "I understand secrets. Probably better than most."

Raising his wand – the one recently repaired by the Elder wand he had mastered – he pointed it at his heart. "I, Harry James Potter, solemnly swear not to breach the confidentiality entrusted to me by Poppy Pomfrey and the Healers at St. Mungo's."

A flash of white sparks flew from the tip of the holly, circling mid-air before disappearing beneath his clothing and marking the skin surrounding his heart. To the unknowing eye, he would merely appear to have an odd placement of freckles.

Hermione repeated the procedure. Her face a study in concentration and will, she wielded the walnut wand, overcoming its unyielding nature. Turquoise sparks of energy burrowed into her chest. Her breath whistled painfully through stiff lips.

"Did it hurt?" Poppy stepped closer to the younger woman, eyes narrowing.

The tension was back in the room. Magic held in an expectant pause.

"Yes," Hermione replied through gritted teeth while massaging her scar.

Poppy drew her wand. "It shouldn't."

Harry stepped in front of his friend. "It's where she was hexed by Dolohov."

"That old wound?" Poppy sidestepped Harry to look at Hermione. "Why haven't you said anything?"

"Other than when I was cursed, it's never hurt like this." Hermione sighed with relief as the matron cast a soothing anodyne. "Thank you. I suppose I'll be very careful what oaths I make in the future."

"See that you are," Harry retorted. "Can we go now? I don't want to wait too long. Someone is sure to find us."

"Good point." Poppy flicked her wand at the office door, locking and warding it, and then she removed the caduceus pinned to the lapel of her robes before holding it out to the others. "It's a Portkey."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"It's the only access. If you two hadn't taken the oath and didn't fit the criteria, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

Hermione angled her head. "Criteria?"

"There are stringent regulations regarding the Hippocratic Ward, which is where Severus is being cared for. Despite what the Ministry might decide, no one is refused care. Healers take Unbreakable Vows, and in the past there has been Ministry interference. We've learned from our mistakes," she said, grimly triumphant.

Harry nodded his approval. "Good."

"Mr. Potter?"

"I know about Ministry interference. And... do you think you could call me Harry? You call her..." he pointed at Hermione, "...by her name."

"I'll see what I can do ... Harry." She rolled her eyes. "I suppose that means you should call me Poppy." She, too, pointed a finger at Hermione. "After all, that one does."

Hermione's smile was brief. "What criteria do Harry and I fulfill?"

Fingering the gold symbol of her profession, Poppy replied, "Neither of you want to see Severus incarcerated or prosecuted, and as he has no family...."

"Let's go," Harry said, stepping closer to the mediwitch.

"We should send a message to Kingsley." Hermione waved her acquired wand with a flourish, and conjured her Patronus. "Will an hour be sufficient?"

"I should think so. According to Brian, Severus hasn't regained consciousness again."

Hermione happy thought faltered at the news; her otter Patronus vanished in a faded hint of silvery mist.

She failed to produce her otter a second time.

Before Harry could call forth Prongs, Poppy called out, "Kreacher!"

Pop

"Yes, Madam?" the house-elf bowing deeply, only then did he notice the others. "Master Harry. Miss Hermione."

Poppy fiddled with the brooch in her fingers. "Kreacher, will you take a message to the minister for me?"

"With haste or leisure," the old retainer replied.

Hermione marveled at the changes in the Black family retainer.

Harry leaned toward Kreacher. "Will you ask him to meet me, privately, in Madam Pomfrey's office in an hour? Explain about the reporters."

"With haste then." Bandages tilted at that rakish angle, Kreacher sketched a bow and winked from sight.

"Can we go now?" Hermione asked anxiously. "I really want to see the Professor."

Harry smiled knowingly.

The expression irritated Hermione. "He's not a cause, Harry! He's– you know what he's gone through. I want him to be all right. I want to save someone who deserves it!"

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean to imply... I know you want him to be all right. So do I."

"Shall we go then?" Poppy asked, proffering her caduceus pin again.

When all three had all touched the precious metal, they were whisked into the void for a disorienting stretch of time, and then, like a top, they spun into the sterile reality of linoleum, green robes, and antiseptic surroundings.

For a brief, panic-stricken moment, Hermione thought they had been led into a trap. There were no windows and no doors to the chamber in which they landed. Its size rivaled the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Without question, she knew there was no way in or out without escort or by Portkey.

Poppy patted Hermione's arm. "It's a precautionary measure."

Hermione swallowed; her throat was dry. "It's disconcerting."

"No one is denied the right to leave. It would quite literally kill a Healer to keep someone here against their will."

Harry hadn't said a word, but his bottle green eyes were round and he gripped his holly wand tightly.

He and Hermione cautiously dropped their guards. Nether was completely at ease. Their years in the wizarding world had stolen that luxury.

In one corner of the expansive room, a small group of green-robed Healers congregated around one bed.

Poppy marched in that direction; Harry and Hermione followed so closely they almost stepped on the hem of her robes.

Like ever widening concentric circles, recognition rippled through the room as if Harry had been dropped into a pond like a pebble. The few patients who were awake looked in the direction of the boy savior and his companions.

Hermione said nothing, but she stepped closer to Harry both to lend and accept silent support.

They passed a gaggle of junior healers who said not a word, but whispers broke out as soon as they had passed.

Poppy spoke quietly. "I would chastise them, but there has been very little good news of late."

The cluster of Healers surrounding Snape's bed parted for the new arrivals.

An older, full-bearded man who physically reminded Hermione of the embodiment of Santa Claus greeted Hogwarts' mediwitch with easy familiarity.

"I expected you this morning, Poppy, but not your illustrious company. I recognize Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, of course, but I've never had the pleasure of an introduction."

"You and your formalities, Brian." Pomfrey huffed indulgently. "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, may I present my friend and colleague, Brian Pauling?"

Hands were shaken all round, and introductions extended to the other Healers.

If given a test on the subject, Hermione wouldn't be able to name anyone other than Pauling; her attention kept straying to the critically wounded wizard whose pallor was as white as the sheets covering him.

Expecting thick bandages, she wasn't prepared for the sight of Snape's livid, damaged flesh from the gashes made by Nagini's fangs. Tiny plastic tubes drained fluid from the open wounds. The underlying muscles fought against the corrosive venom aided by repetitive Healing Spells. Absorbent pads floated above the wound site, magically wicking away any fluid leaking onto Snape's skin. When saturated, the pads disappeared, replaced by fresh gauze.

Swallowing hard and hoping her breakfast would remain in her stomach, Hermione assessed what she could see of the rest of the patient. Snape was gaunt and his muscles twitched intermittently. After a quick glance, Hermione stared at his face, settling on the full, sensual mouth – which was normally pinched into a thin line of disapproval.

To see him like this, vulnerable and on the verge of death, hurt.

Ignoring the niceties of further introductions, Hermione stepped to the foot of Snape's hospital bed.

Behind her, Harry asked several questions about Snape's treatment and prognosis.

Hermione watched in fascinated horror as Snape reacted to the sound of his former student.

Each time Harry spoke, Snape shifted. A grimace pulled at his mouth, and his wounds oozed, gauze pads fluttering like butterflies over carrion.

When Harry asked a particularly lengthy question, Hermione slipped to the long side of Snape's bed to soothe him, just as she had in the Shrieking Shack. "Shhh, shhhh. It's all right, Professor."

The unconscious man stilled at the sound of her voice.

When Harry replied to Healer Pauling's comment, Snape wrestled with his sheet.

Hermione's hand hovered above the thin fingers plucking at the white fabric. "You might not know this, but Harry won. He's safe."

Again, Snape stilled at the sound of her voice.

"What's happening?" Harry asked at her side, his voice unintentionally loud.

It drew the biggest reaction from Snape yet. He tangled in the sheets and began to thrash, a keening whine rising from his mouth.

Brian Pauling drew his wand, but Hermione's reaction was more effective.

"Shut up, Harry!" she snapped. Then, in an entirely different tone of voice, she crooned to the unconscious man. "Hush, Professor. You're safe. You're in hospital, but it's a secure ward."

The thrashing and keening stopped, and once again, Snape oriented on her voice.

"It's Hermione Granger, sir." She pressed her advantage and laid her hand upon his, feeling tension and fear expressed through the taut energy focused there. At her touch, his hand went limp. "We'll take care of you," she whispered. "You succeeded, sir. You've saved the world."

From the other side of the bed, Poppy avoided the complicated charms work on Snape's throat, and cast a charm which refreshed his linens. "You're safe, little man. I'll see to it, and Miss Granger ... Hermione, will intervene on your behalf with the unicorns."

Hermione shot the older woman a questioning look, but said staunchly, "I'll do whatever I can to help you, Professor ... Severus."

Snape angled his head, as much as possible, in Hermione's direction.

Unseen by the objects of their thoughts, Poppy shared a significant glance with Pauling. Her expression turned thoughtful as her eyes darted between Snape and Hermione, Hermione and Harry, and Snape and Harry

Standing at Hermione's side, Harry practically vibrated with his need to participate.

She used two fingers to clamp his lips shut the moment he opened his mouth. Never taking her eyes off Snape, she spoke in hushed tones. "Don't speak, Harry. It makes him uncomfortable."

"I... sorry," Harry mumbled through her fingers.

She pinched harder. He grunted in pain but she felt his head nod.

Neither noticed the amused glances the others exchanged.

Hermione leaned close to Snape's ear. "I will help you, sir. In the meantime, please just rest and let the Healers take care of you."

Snape settled into a more restful sleep.

With a small, satisfied smile, Hermione patted his hand gently before turning to face a host of interested observers. Pauling grinned at her, then gestured for her and Harry to follow him. As one, the four moved beyond Snape's hearing.

"Well, young lady, you seem to have a salubrious effect on our patient. You may return. However, Mr. Potter, here, seems to have quite the opposite result."

"I know. I know." Harry's expression turned glum. "He hates me."

"No, Harry." Poppy stepped beside the young man she had cared for like few others; the man in the hospital bed being one of the select few. "Severus doesn't hate you. You represent his perceived failures, and until he's awake enough to realize that he's succeeded beyond his expectations, his subconscious concerns will rule him."

"What can we do?" Hermione looked at Snape and then turned toward the mediwitch.

It was Brian Pauling who answered. "If the current course of treatment doesn't prove efficacious, we will have little choice but to accept your offer to intercede with the unicorns. The next few hours are critical."

Hermione's cheeks, flushed at Poppy's first mention of the unicorns, flamed afresh. "I can't be the only..."

"Your virginity isn't the issue," he said. "You are the only one with a personal relationship with the victim."

Harry gawked at Hermione.

Her eyes were wide and shocked. "P-p-personal relationship? I – we – he was my teacher!"

"You were instrumental in saving his life, and instrumental in Mr. Potter's success." Pauling rolled his hand in Snape's direction. "As his reactions attest, he trusts you enough to calm at your presence, and you care, Miss Granger. You care whether he lives or dies."

"Of course I care!"

The healer spoke gently. "There are very few who do."

Hermione bit her lip and tilted her chin. "Just let me know what you need."

Harry stood at her back. "Me, too. I'll even keep my mouth shut around Snape."

"Excellent. I'll contact you either way."

Healer Pauling finally acknowledged the presence of one of the junior healers who had been impatiently waiting. "Yes, Nightingale? What is it?"

He accepted a scroll from the young woman, whose birdlike mannerisms suited her perfectly. Then he nodded at Harry and Hermione, shared a brief silent exchange with Poppy and walked away with Healer Nightingale.

After a quick look in the patient's direction, Poppy extended her hand with the caduceus. It took only a touch of the brooch to return the three to her office.

No one had missed them.

While awaiting the arrival of the interim Minister, Poppy ordered refreshments.

Within moments, the two house-elves who had assisted Kreature with Harry and Hermione's breakfast arrived with tea and biscuits.

The three newly bonded friends drank their tea and nibbled on a variety of freshly baked delicacies, passing the time discussing the Chudley Cannons. Poppy was an avid fan. When she raised the hem of her robes to reveal a pair of bright orange stockings, Harry laughed heartily.

Hermione's shoulders relaxed at the sound.

Ten minutes later, a small bell high levitated off its shelf and began to chime. Poppy took a last sip of tea and set the cup back on its saucer. "I must apprise Minerva of our patients' progress. I expect I'll see you when I return."

Their chorus of, "Yes, Poppy," drew a laugh from her, and she ruffled Harry's hair as she departed.

Hermione nabbed a shortbread biscuit from those remaining. Harry poured himself another cup of tea.

Exactly on time, Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived in the hospital wing. He strode through the double doors with four Aurors, and Harry's chastened Hit Wizards at his heels. Attired in formal robes, intricately embroidered hem gathering dirt from the stone floor, the minister for Magic pro tem slowed his pace when he caught sight of his quarry.

The older Hit Wizard in his retinue glared at Harry.

"Why aren't you at the Burrow with Molly and Arthur?" Kingsley demanded, pausing at the foot of an unoccupied bed.

His paternalistic attitude irritated Hermione; she tapped her foot. "We thought it more appropriate to allow their family to grieve in private."

Taken aback by the tone and content of her statement, Kingsley's mouth dropped open.

Harry stood at her back. "I'm sure they're relieved of the burden."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him in surprise.

He continued to speak. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have been awfully kind to me, and I know they would let me..." he waved his hand to indicate his best friend "...and Hermione stay with them. But they've done enough, don't you think?"

"That's quite decent of you." Shrewd brown eyes assessed the young heroes; neither quailed under the former Auror's inspection. "I'll make arrangements for a safe house." He turned to speak with one of his entourage, a fey witch with golden hair.

Hermione felt Harry's annoyance; she could practically feel the magic exuding from his pores. "Thanks, but Harry and I already have plans."

Kingsley paused in mid-sentence, his attention refocusing on Hermione. "And what would those be?"

"I'm not sure it's safe to discuss," she said, offending every law enforcement official in the room, but caring little about it. She'd seen far too much in the past six years to worry about who she offended when Harry's and her safety was at stake.

The minister pro tem was not the least offended. His eyes sparkled with irritation. "I don't like your insinuation, Hermione."

"And I..."

Harry interrupted her heated rebuttal. "We're going to Australia!"

"What?" Kingsley asked, startled.

"That's right." Hermione recovered quickly. "We're going to Australia as soon as we can make the arrangements."

"You're leaving the country?" The minister's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Of the two, Harry was the more accomplished liar, and he merely shaded the truth. "We're going to see Hermione's parents."

"I was under the impression they lived in Bristol."

"They went to Australia last summer. It was important they stay safe." Hermione bit her lip on any further explanation. It had always been a failing of hers – telling everything she knew about a subject.

"And how long do you plan to be there?"

Harry brushed imaginary lint off the sleeve of his robe. "We haven't decided yet."

"I see." Kingsley clearly understood all the implications of what had not been verbalized. "There are some details to work out before you would be free to leave the country." Before either of the young people took offense, he explained, "Your testimony is necessary for the Death Eater trials, and there are certain legalities which need to be addressed."

Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, remembering their breakfast conversation, and Harry straightened from his lazy stance while Hermione stepped away from him slightly.

Recognizing the potential for violence, Aurors and Hit Wizards instantly deployed themselves around the room. The fey blonde fairly oozed behind a privacy screen.

"Is there some reason to think we might be detained?" Hermione tracked the Aurors' movements as she spoke, her hand gripping her wand, but her arm remained at her side.

"Not after today."

"Why today?" Harry asked bluntly.

"I rescinded the Muggle-born Registration Act this morning. Dolores Umbridge awaits her trial for crimes against humanity. She sits in Azkaban prison, in one of its newly emptied cells."

Hermione had no sympathy for the vicious and bigoted witch. "I hope she's been arrested for murder."

Kingsley's smile resembled a successful predator. "There are more than four hundred twenty individual counts of murder and a further five thousand, six hundred counts of unlawful imprisonment. Some members of the Wizengamot want to charge her with inciting genocide."

"It couldn't happen to a nicer person," Harry said, clenching his fist, a white scar reading lies barely perceptible against his pale skin.

"Yes, well ... the Wizengamot held an emergency session last night. We were lucky to reach a full quorum after the Veritaserum testing." The big man chuckled mirthlessly. "It seems we are in search of a score of trustworthy leaders of society to sit in judgment of their peers."

"You used Veritaserum on the Wizengamot?" Hermione asked in astonished admiration.

His bald pate shone as he grinned. "And every senior official in the Ministry of Magic. My team..." he waved his hand indicating the magical law enforcement personnel, "...was quite busy last night. In future, I would appreciate it if you would tell them where you're going, Harry."

Sunlight reflected off Harry's glasses and the expression in his eyes was impossible to see. "I do not appreciate being treated like a prisoner!"

Hermione put a hand on his arm, and he snapped his mouth shut. "What he means, Minister, is that we've some experience at keeping ourselves safe."

The minister snorted in genuine amusement, his earlier foreboding expression gone. "Demonstrably."

"Thank you," Hermione replied. "While we appreciate your position, and are grateful for your care, we prefer to be responsible for our own safety."

Kingsley stepped toward Hermione, and the hem of his Ministerial robes swept the floor. He was no longer amused. "My team has been carefully chosen."

"In the past..." Hermione started to say.

Harry bluntly cut across her more diplomatic tone. "My experience with the Ministry hasn't been all that good ... nor with past Ministers."

Kingsley Shacklebolt stared at Harry for a long, considering moment, and then he turned that sharp-eyed look on Hermione. Neither one quailed under his assessment.

The muscles of his jaw flexed and bunched. He nodded curtly and crossed to his entourage. The golden-haired Auror stepped from behind the privacy screen sliding her wand into a quick-release holster up her arm.

"You can wait in the hall."

Grudgingly, the team complied with their minister's order, but the senior Hit Wizard leveled a lethal glare at Harry and Hermione before he passed through the hospital wing's doors.

Once they were gone, Kingsley gestured toward Poppy Pomfrey's office and followed Hermione and Harry through the door. "I'll concede your point, Harry," he said as the door closed behind him. "But you must see my side – the Ministry's side. Things are unsettled at present."

Hermione snorted at his gross understatement and then blushed. Harry laughed aloud.

"All right..." Shacklebolt flicked his wand in a familiar, yet surprising motion, and cast a silent Muffliato before he continued to speak, "...it's a bloody mess. Everything is pear-shaped. The economy's in the toilet. Almost four thousand Muggle-born wizards and witches are homeless and their assets have been frozen or absorbed into the ministry's coffers – not to mention the thousands of galleons which somehow found their way into Umbridge's and her cronies' personal vaults."

"I'd say that was shocking, except it isn't." Harry ran his fingers through his hair.

Hermione settled herself in the chair she had so recently vacated. "Umbridge is a horrid woman. It doesn't surprise me that she was stealing on top of what she did to all those people."

Harry gestured to Kingsley to take Poppy's solid desk chair. As he sat, the former Auror said, "I wish I could say we'd found a Dark Mark on her arm."

"She's finally proved the adage about giving someone enough rope," Hermione mused, and then her eyes widened as she heard what she had said. "Sorry. I don't mean to imply that what she did to people's lives – I didn't mean to be so offhand about it."

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry said. "We understand what you meant."

Kingsley sighed heavily, and braced his ankles on the edge of Pomfrey's desk. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was easy to see the bluish circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. "In a nutshell, Pius Thicknesse was a puppet minister, and his regime was an accounting nightmare for the goblins."

"I can imagine." Hermione poured herself another cup of tea for Kingsley. When he nodded, a clean cup and saucer appeared on the serving tray. Hermione smiled and poured.

Adding three sugars to his otherwise plain Earl Grey, Kingsley said, "Which is quite fortunate for you."

"How so?" Harry asked, before grabbing two of his favorite biscuits from the magically refilled platter. He popped one into his mouth.

"It means I was able to talk them down from their decision to arrest you, Hermione, and Ron Weasley as bank robbers." He held up a hand. "Regardless of your reasons, you three broke into Gringotts and stole from one of their high security vaults. The fact that you could do so has created consumer confidence issues more damaging than those of six years ago."

Hermione and Harry exchanged a significant glance, remembering Harry's comments at breakfast and Professor Quirrell's unsuccessful attempt to steal Flamel's Philosopher's Stone their first year.

Never slow on the uptake but nevertheless startled by the friends' silent communication, Shacklebolt straightened and blurted, "You were children! You couldn't have been involved with that robbery attempt!"

Hermione answered his implicit demand for information. "Of course we weren't involved. However, we know who was and what they were after."

"Who? What? Why do... How do you know this?"

Harry chuckled at the minister's spluttered questions. "Now the participants are all dead, including Professor Dumbledore..."

"Dumbledore!"

Hermione giggled. "No, it wasn't Professor Dumbledore, but the contents of the vault were his, and we..." she gave Harry an affectionate smile, "...Ron, Harry, and I, stumbled onto the mystery in our first year."

"Professor Quirrell was the failed thief." Harry supplied the answer to Shacklebolt's first question.

"Quirrell? Quirinus Quirrell?"

Hermione nodded. "He was attempting to steal Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone."

"Surely Dumbledore told you this?" Harry asked.

"No," Shacklebolt replied, his eyes narrowed. "No, he did not. Albus kept his machinations carefully concealed. I knew Quirrell had met an untimely demise, but nothing about ... this."

Hermione sent Harry a sympathetic look as he shifted uncomfortably. He said, "I'd rather not discuss it if it's all the same to you."

Smoothing her robes with nervous fingers, Hermione introduced a new topic. "What are the goblins going to do about us?"

Suddenly the prospect of life in Azkaban – for cause rather than as an accident of birth as Umbridge had intended – seemed quite plausible, and Hermione swallowed hard.

"It isn't as if we could explain at the time," Harry said, "and we'll pay for any damages we caused."

"I know you will." Kingsley's approval was easily read on his expressive face. "In fact, based on that premise I began quiet, preliminary negotiations with Tightfist two weeks ago."

"Tightfist?"

"A member of the governing council of goblins, and coincidentally, a senior director at Gringotts. You are aware a number of Gringotts' goblins were killed that day."

Hastily, Hermione set her teacup down; it rattled in the saucer. "No!"

"We didn't..." Harry's posture stiffened.

"We know. It happened after your escape." Kingsley looked at Harry and then Hermione. "We've come up with a workable solution, provided you agree."

"It depends on the terms." Hermione said before Harry committed them to an untenable course of action.

"In my capacity as Minister for Magic, I have already granted the three of you immunity from any crimes you might have committed as a necessity to overthrow Voldemort." Kingsley leaned back in the chair. "However, before I introduce the Letters of Amnesty to the Wizengamot, I want you to tell me why you broke into the bank."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, and he said, "It started with the sword."

"Gryffindor's sword?"

"Yes." Harry leaned forward. "You see the one in the Lestrange vault was a fake."

Hermione nodded. "Professor Snape had the real sword. He and Professor Dumbledore kept it hidden until Professor Snape delivered it to us after Christmas."

Kingsley leapt to his feet, the heavy oak chair falling to the floor with a crash. "Snape? Severus Snape gave you Godric Gryffindor's sword?"

Harry stared at the shocked man, and shook his head. "I told everyone he was on our side all along."

"I know what you said, Harry. I was there; I just didn't really believe it." Kingsley pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What?"

"Why not?" Hermione blurted.

"I thought it was a battle tactic. Something you said to distract your opponent."

Noticing Kingsley didn't say Voldemort's name, and mindful of her earlier conversation with Harry, Hermione glanced at her friend pointedly.

He nodded. He, too, had noticed the minister's omission.

A throat being cleared reminded them of his presence.

Hermione shifted in her chair, but realized there was good humor lurking in his dark brown eyes.

Harry resumed his explanation. "Snape was working for Albus Dumbledore all along. And when he killed Dumbledore – who is quite happy where he is, by the way – it was both an act of mercy and performed under duress."

"This is all well and good. Wait. Dumbledore is happy? How do..." Kingsley shook his head, "...never mind. While I'm pleased to know Snape wasn't a traitor, he's not the topic at hand."

He began tracing the well-worn grooves in the desktop with a fingernail. "Gryffindor's sword is back where it belongs – even if its ownership remains in dispute. However, according to Tightfist, another valuable was removed from the Lestrange vault, but no actual money. Coupled with your innocence in the goblin deaths, the fact you didn't take any gold is what allowed me to negotiate terms in your favor. It leant credibility to my claims that if you hadn't been forced by the exigencies of your quest – one which has benefitted the entire wizarding world – to break into the vault, you would never have done so."

"And has the benefit of being true. We would never –"Hermione said forcefully. "It was awful."

"I can imagine. Now tell me about the item you removed."

Hermione and Harry were silent for several very long beats, during which Hermione listened to the pounding of her heart while she weighed the pros and cons of revealing the existence of the Horcruxes. Ultimately, she decided the minister had shown remarkably good faith in negotiating with the goblins and arranging amnesty for her, Harry and Ron.

"I think he should know, Hermione. We've lived too long with too many secrets."

"I had reached the same conclusion," she replied. "It's your story to tell, Harry."

"It's our story to tell," he said staunchly.

She smiled. "Mine's only a small part."

He snorted. "Yeah, the part where you kept my sorry arse alive and in one piece!"

The smile dropped from her face as if it had been hit by a Killing Curse, and her voice was very, very small when she spoke. "Except yesterday."

Harry took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "It was two days ago now, and I promised not to do it again, didn't I?"

"I'll hold you to that promise, Harry James Potter!"

Kingsley cleared his throat. "I don't mean to interrupt, but ... I do mean to interrupt. What are you talking about?"

Harry leaned forward in his chair. "What do you know about Horcruxes?"

"Fuck me!"

It was the most Kingsley said for the following hour as Harry retold the salient points of his own quest, with frequent edifications from Hermione. The former Auror listened intently, occasionally rubbing his palm across his head, fingers scrubbing non-existent hair.

Fortunately for him, Poppy Pomfrey returned to the hospital wing as Harry finished his summation, and her proximity triggered the charms on the closed door.

Hermione scrambled to her feet to let the matron into her own office, and she conjured a chair for the older witch. "Thank you, Hermione, but I'll stand."

"We won't be able to keep the rest a secret," Harry said. "We'll need Kingsley's help."

That roused the man from his reverie, and he rose to his feet. "There's more?"

"It isn't our story to tell," Hermione said.

Both she and Harry glanced at the matron, and another silent conversation ensued while Kingsley's patience thinned to nonexistence. "Just what sort of secret are you keeping, and Poppy..." he was building to a very real anger when Poppy nodded.

Hermione blurted out, "Professor Snape survived."

"What?" Kingsley glared at Poppy Pomfrey.

"Don't give me that look," she said, her voice crisp. "You would have done the same."

After a tense moment he grudgingly replied, "Perhaps."

"Severus' condition is critical."

Kingsley swore. "Damn! Granting amnesty to three young heroes was as easy as a Summoning Charm compared to the dilemma Snape's continued existence poses."

Harry stood up. "He deserves it just as much, or more."

"The details can be discussed at a later time." Poppy stepped to Hermione. "For now, I need Hermione."

"Of course." Hermione rose to her feet.

Shacklebolt gestured for Harry to sit back down. "That's quite all right. Harry can answer my questions."

"No, actually I can't." Harry met the older man's look with an equanimity unseen in teenagers. "I made a promise to Hermione."

The minister and the mediwitch reacted to that statement in different ways. Poppy frowned.

"I beg your pardon," Kingsley said. "I hadn't realized you were a couple."

"And you still haven't!" Hermione retorted.

Harry laughed, real amusement behind his guffaws. "You've been . . . reading . . . too much Rita Skeeter, Kingsley."

"We've never been a couple." Hermione grinned at her friend.

"And while we're not a couple..." Harry took his stand next to Hermione, "...we are a team. And if she needs to do something to save Snape's life, then I go with her."

With a smirk, Poppy said, "Unless you're a virgin as well you won't be able to go with her."

Harry's answering blush eliminated the necessity of his answering the question, but Kingsley's rebuke filled the embarrassed silence. "Poppy!"

"There's no time to be prudish, Kingsley. I need Hermione's intercession with the unicorns."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "No one else would offer?"

"You know security around him is very tight, and of the ... eleven ... who know about him, only you – pardon, Harry – only you two are qualified to approach the herd. And only you, Hermione, will be able to ask a boon."

"Has something changed in the last hour?" Hermione's fingers plucked at the skirt of her robes.

"The treatment they instituted failed about ten minutes ago."

Kingsley swore.

"Let's go." Harry reached for the door, Hermione at his side.

"Healer..." Poppy clamped her lips over Pauling's name, "...my friend has begun to brew the potion, but they need an entire horn if they are to save Severus."

Harry said, "I remember where the unicorns are. It should only take half hour at the most."

"There are no more unicorns in the Forbidden Forest."

"Poppy?" Two voices said her name with identical intonations of shock and query.

"There – there was a thriving herd," Hermione stammered.

"V-V er ... the Dark Lord apparently thought they were a delicacy, and the Carrows hunted with impunity. I've rarely seen Severus so upset as when those wretches brought in the stallion. Severus was hung over for two days; he claimed he had been celebrating."

"But if the herd is gone, what will we do?" Hermione practically wailed, and then abruptly shut up as she realized just how vested she was in keeping Snape alive.

"There are other herds in Britain." The minister pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, it will take time to find them. I'll get someone here from the Beings and Beasts Division. How soon does Pauling need the horn?"

The color drained from Poppy's face. "H-how did you know?"

Kingsley laid a hand on her shoulder. "Pauling spoke to me last night about a new patient who might require additional security. I had no idea it was Snape."

The mediwitch finally answered his question, but there was a tremor in her voice. "He needs it urgently, but don't worry. There's a herd in the New Forest."

"Isn't the New Forest near Wiltshire?" Hermione asked, her tone a little shrill.

Harry explained, "The Malfoys live in Wiltshire, and they didn't invite us for tea last time we were there."

Pomfrey's mouth set in a grim line, and she said, "If you were held under the Cruciatus curse for any length of time, it would explain the reaction you had earlier. It isn't related to your scar at all."

Hermione shrugged the question off. "Please tell us about the unicorns. How will we find them? The New Forest is a popular Muggle destination."

"Every time he was summoned, Severus took a detour. He placed Security Spells around the New Forest herd. I believe he managed to negotiate with the herd stallion, before he was gored."

"Gored?" Hermione frowned. "Does that mean he was or wasn't a..."

Pomfrey waved her hand dismissively, dismissing the question of Snape's purity. "The stallion was testing his merit, and the wound was cauterized before Severus left. Each time Severus was summoned he added a layer of security to the herd's territory.

"Then how do we find it?" Harry asked.

"I have a map and the Secret Code." She looked at Harry obliquely. "I imagine you'll know what the code word is, Potter."

He murmured, "Lily."

She inclined her head. "There's no time to dally. You'll need a Portkey to the glade." She pointed a finger. "You, Kingsley, make me a Portkey."

Meekly, the Minister for Magic said, "Yes, Poppy," before his natural commanding tone reasserted itself. "However, I insist that my Aurors accompany them."

"Unless they're virgins they'll be killed outright, and it could hurt Hermione's chances of convincing the herd to sacrifice one of its number to save a human's life."

Kingsley pursed his lips. "Good point."

Exasperated, Hermione said, "Harry and I can take care of this. We're quite familiar with forests."

Harry snickered quietly at her side. "Yes, we can recognize twenty-two varieties of edible mushrooms."

Despite her anxiety, Hermione managed a dry reply. "And I don't plan to eat another one ever again."

"Maybe in a couple of decades."

"Maybe," she rejoined, and opened the door. "But we're wasting time. The sooner we go, the sooner we'll be back."

"You'll come directly back here?"

Hermione tilted her chin at the paternalistic tone. Before she could say a word, however, Harry spoke. "We aren't children."

Kingsley snapped his mouth shut, but then said, "You are a living symbol of our deliverance."

"We can discuss symbols, living or otherwise, later," Poppy put her hands on Harry and Hermione's shoulders, and guided them toward the front of the hospital wing.

By the time they reached the Entrance to the school, after detouring around three shattered staircases and numerous piles of debris, some of which had already been shifted out of the middle of the hallway, the minister stationed Harry's Hit Wizards in the Entrance Hall and created a two-way Portkey.

"Good luck," he said, and then dangled a tidbit in front of them. "When you return, I should fill you in on your two-year internship at Gringotts."

"What?!"

"Two years from the date of the receipt of your NEWT results, you'll work for Tightfist at Gringotts as recompense."

"After we return from seeing my parents," Hermione said, unwilling to compromise even if it meant a stint in Azkaban.

Kingsley bowed his head. "I can make that adjustment."

"Good." Harry nodded in agreement.

"Let's go." Hermione shoved the Portkey, an old-fashioned man's handkerchief, into Harry's hands.

They were spun out of sight in an instant.

~o0o~