Chapter Twenty-Three

A/N: All fully italicized lines belong to JKR, from DH. The rest is mine! Thank you so much to Shellsnapeluver, my dear friend and wonderful beta.

The morning of Bill and Fleur's wedding dawned breezy and warm. Hermione was up before most of the rest of the house, though she could hear some puttering in the kitchen that she assumed was Mrs Weasley. Ginny was still sleeping, slack jawed and snoring lightly, on the bed beside her, her bridesmaid's robes hung proudly by the door. Hermione pulled her lists from underneath the mattress and checked over them one last time. Her parents were hidden. The ghoul was transfigured and ready to be moved into Ron's room. Harry's things were stowed inside her bag, along with Ron's and her own. They had a tent; all the extra stock that Fred and George could provide them; all the books she felt would be necessary, including the mysterious book of children's stories that Dumbledore had left her; and all her medicines and potion ingredients. She was as ready as she could be, just as Snape had instructed her. She tucked her lists into the bag. For some reason, she felt certain she wouldn't be coming back to this room again.

She climbed out of bed, and Ginny stirred.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice muzzy with sleep.

"Still early. You can catch a few more minutes."

Hermione took her wand from the bedside table and charmed her green robes lilac. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to wear them as they had been the night she had danced with Snape at Slughorn's party. She turned and looked at the bag thoughtfully. Finally, she lifted her wand and Transfigured it into a small, beaded handbag that would match her gown. She was hardly going to leave it behind today, and she could not be seen carrying about a leather drawstring bag.

She leaned over and retrieved the slim phial of Vita Secundus from under her pillow. During the day, it rested against her heart in the pocket she had made in each of her robes for it. At night, she slept with it clenched tightly in her fist. She glanced quickly at Ginny to make sure that her eyes were closed once again; then, she opened her hand to marvel at the potion there. For a moment, she believed so strongly in the life contained in the little glass tube that it seemed almost to pulse in her hand, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. Two tiny things he had given her: a scrap of parchment and a phial of potion no bigger than her little finger, and yet she drew enormous strength from them. She felt armed in a way that even her wand could not make her feel.

Working carefully, she opened one of the seams in the bodice of her dress robes and tucked the phial in, disguising it among the boning. She was most secure when she could feel it touching her. Though she knew it was really just her own stored body heat, Hermione fancied that the potion had a warmth she could feel through her clothes. She closed the seam and turned her wand on her hair.

***

Later, from Grimmauld Place, it would seem to Hermione that she could barely remember the wedding itself. When she tried to think back on it, all she saw was Fleur, walking toward Bill on her father's arm. Her face had been luminous with joy, and it had been clear from her look that Fleur was living out the greatest dream of her heart. Hermione had been shaken all over again by the magnitude of Fleur's gesture in volunteering to play Harry. She had put not just her life, which was difficult to quantify, but this wish, which was likely extremely well-realized in Fleur's mind, on the line. Hermione had wished that she could have given Fleur some kind of bride-gift. Perhaps when the war was over, she could find something appropriate, something that would remind Fleur of how she'd felt on this day.

Provided she lives through the war, her mind had added cruelly. Provided you live through the war. She had shoved the thought down. This was a celebration, and though she knew that it was made poignant by loss and looming despair, she, like everyone present, was determined to hold this day apart from all the others; to enjoy a last moment of peace and happiness; to believe, if only momentarily, that things turned out the way they ought to.

Hermione had thought she would feel jealous of the ceremony, her own wishes for a real wedding having been dashed long ago in Dumbledore's office. However, she had simply felt a deep connection to and longing for Snape, wherever he was. And when the little wizard performing the ceremony had invited those in the audience who were married to take the opportunity to revisit their own vows, she had thought, quite fervently, From this day forward my blood will be your blood; my home, your home; my life, your life. With Moody had died any chance there might have been to undo her marriage, and though she felt deeply guilty that it put Snape in more danger, in some unconsidered and unarticulated way, she was grateful that she would not have to make that choice. To lose him would be unthinkable enough. She did not think she was capable of giving him up.

When Kingsley's patronus had come, she knew there had been a part of herself that had been waiting for it. His words were few and dreadful.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

A strange calm had settled over her as those around her began to panic. Harry was at her left elbow, and she took his hand firmly in her own.

"We have to find Ron," she yelled over the noise and confusion.

"I think I see him, over by the punch table," he said, and she had heard in his voice the same quiet certainty that all of this had been somehow meant to happen. She ducked her head and charged through the crush of witches and wizards, all frantic to collect their loved ones before Disapparting, pulling Harry behind her.

When they had reached Ron, Hermione took his free arm and turned on the spot, depositing them in the middle of Tottenham Court Road. It had been the first place she had thought of that would be completely free from wizards--a Muggle shopping district in which many electronics, for which wizards would have no use, were sold. She had spent many a day here with her parents, shopping for the holidays.

"Walk, just walk," panted Hermione. "We need to find somewhere for you to change." Harry's disguise had begun to fade, which was not the least of her worries, as the three of them were still in their dress robes. Though many of the Muggles on the street did not seem to be fully in their right minds, it did not stop them from staring at the three oddly dressed teenagers hurrying down the road.

"Hermione, we haven't got anything to change into," Ron said under his breath.

"It's okay, I've got the Cloak, I've got clothes for both of you."

They ducked down the nearest alleyway. Hermione began frantically digging through her bag. It had seemed best to her that the tent be most accessible, back when she had packed it. Now, she was shoving that aside--there was a loud clanging as her cooking pots tumbled over with it--and grabbing jeans and sweatshirts for the boys.

"How the ruddy hell--?" Ron began.

"Undetectable Extension Charm," said Hermione, praying that neither of them would ask where she had learned such a thing. "Why did you think I kept asking for your clothes and books? For my personal collection?"

"When did you do all this?" Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.

"You're amazing, you are," said Ron, handing her his bundled up robes.

She gave Ron a thin-lipped smile. "We need to find someplace to sit down and regroup. We need to make some plans." Harry donned the cloak, and she hustled them out of the alley and down the street. Ahead, she saw a café, which seemed just the thing. It was well lit and extremely Muggle in appearance. No one would dream of looking for them there.

When she pulled the door to the restaurant open, a little bell tinkled their arrival. Hermione led Ron and Harry to a booth. The boys slid in, leaving her to the opposite seat with her back to the door. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She did not like being unable to see who was coming in. Snape's voice was lecturing her in her mind. Keep your guard up. Never let them corner you.

They ordered coffee and began to argue over the best place to go. Both boys wanted to return to the wizarding world as soon as possible. She knew that they were both sick with fear for those they had left behind at the wedding, but they needed to see that going back would only put the others in more danger. It was Harry the Death Eaters wanted now. Where he went, they would follow.

The bell at the door jingled again, and Hermione craned her neck to try to see who was coming in, but could not quite manage it over the high back of the booth behind her.

"I still think that we could get to Diagon Alley--maybe cast one of those talking Patronuses and see if we got an answer--maybe they're gone, and it would be safe to go--"

Hermione stopped listening, watching as Harry's wand emerged from under the cloak. "Stupefy!" he yelled.

Her head swiveled frantically. Where was the danger? What was he doing? Then she saw two men at the bar--one of whom was obviously Thorfinn Rowle. Why hadn't Ron said something?

Harry's aim was true, and Rowle slumped over in his seat; however, his companion was uninjured. He was a dark haired wizard with a rabbity little face--he looked positively ineffectual beside the hulking Rowle, but he was quick. Magical ropes sprung from his wand and wrapped themselves tightly around Ron.

Hermione ejected herself from the booth in time to watch Harry accidentally Stun the waitress. Good! her mind shrieked. Less to explain.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she said, felling the smaller Death Eater.

Hermione stood there for a moment, completely unsure what to do. How had the Death Eaters found them?

"Erm, a little help?" Ron asked, breaking into her thoughts.

She freed him from the Binding Charm, and he joined her and Harry where they stood, looking at the two men who had come for them.

"That's Dolohov," Ron said as Harry rolled the smaller one over with his foot.

"Never mind what they're called!" Hermione said, starting to panic. "How did they find us? What are we going to do?"

"Nor have I," said Hermione, "but I know the theory."

Ron turned and gave her the oddest look, making her blush deeply crimson, but Harry paid her no mind, simply getting out of the way to let her work.

"Obliviate!" she said, and at once, Dolohov's eyes became unfocused and dreamy. She performed the charm a second time and ordered the boys to clean up.

Her mind raced, trying to come up with a place they could hide. If the Death Eaters could find them in a Muggle café in the middle of London, they could find them anywhere. If Harry's Trace was back on, which was the only explanation that Hermione could come up with that made any sense to her rattled mind, then the only safe place to go was somewhere they could not follow. Grimmauld Place.

"Snape can get in there!" Ron said when she raised it.

She took a deep breath, preparing an argument. But she needn't have worried. "They've put up jinxes against him," Harry countered.

Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry continued, "And so what? I swear, I'd like nothing better than to meet Snape."

Hermione's heart continued to race. She prayed that Snape would not, in fact, be there when they arrived.

"But--" Ron began.

"Look, Snape's only one Death Eater. If I've still got the Trace on me, we'll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go."

Hermione gave Ron a look meant to convey that she'd been reluctantly convinced. Grimmauld Place would be safe. And, a tiny voice in her mind piped up, from there, she could get the portrait. Ron continued to look terrified, but nodded. On Harry's count of three, they reversed the spells on their three victims... and turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more.

The three of them rushed toward a house that only they could see. Hermione whipped her head from side to side, scanning for anyone who should not have been there, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Once inside the door, they all stopped, clustered together in the entryway.

"Aren't there supposed to be jinxes against Snape?" Ron asked, giving voice to their reluctance to proceed.

"Well, maybe they're just for Snape," Harry said, taking a decisive step forward. Hermione followed just behind him.

Moody's disembodied voice sent flashes of cold through her heart and lungs. "Severus Snape?" he asked.

Once she had recovered her ability to breathe, Hermione was deeply relieved. If Moody had been the one to set up the jinxes, there would be nothing that could truly hurt Snape if he needed to take refuge here.

As she took another step forward, her tongue rolled up unpleasantly in her mouth. She could hear Ron coughing and gagging as the Charm finished.

"It's okay," she said. "That was just a Tongue Tying Charm."

But then a spectre rose from the end of the hallway that startled her so badly she screamed, waking Mrs Black. While the portrait shrieked, a horrible vision of Dumbledore advanced upon them. Rage was written across his kind face, his teeth bared...

"No!" Harry shouted. "No! It wasn't us! We didn't kill you!"

The phantom exploded, showering them with particles of its strange dust-like self. Mrs Black screamed on and on until Hermione hit her with a Silencing Charm and wrenched the curtains closed over her portrait.

Hermione cast Homenum Revealio to ensure that no one else was in the house, but still the three of them crept, close together, through the hallways, opening doors and peering into rooms with palpable fear and trepidation. Hermione jumped several times at the sound of their own feet on the carpeted hallway, and nearly screamed when the door to Sirius's bedroom stuck and then wrenched free with a squeal of protest as Harry rammed it with his shoulder.

Satisfied that there was no one in the house, the three of them made their way back down the hall to the stairs. Sleeping on the first floor--being able to hear the door opening if it did--seemed much less frightening than being taken unawares in an upstairs bedroom. Not that Hermione had much expectation of getting any sleep.

As she walked down the hallway, last in their unspoken chain, she scanned the walls for the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. How would she know which one was him? But her question was answered not a moment later, when a pale, beaky looking wizard in a portrait waited for the boys to pass and held up a single long finger, pointing it directly at her.

She nodded curtly to the portrait and continued down the stairs.

***

"Harry Potter has arrived in the house of my forefathers," Phineas Nigellus reported suddenly from his portrait on the wall.

"Indeed?" Snape asked in a bored tone. "And the others?"

"The Weasley and the Mudblood are with him."

"Do not use that word." Snape sat upright, fixing the portrait with a stony glare.

"Fine. The Granger girl."

"And were you able to contact her?"

"I indicated to her that I was aware of her presence."

"Good." And then, belatedly, he added, "Thank you."

Phineas Nigellus sniffed in response.

Snape turned and surveyed the Headmaster's Office. He had been relieved to see that Dumbledore was absent from his portrait when he had entered. He had not been sure how their reunion would proceed, as he had felt almost certain in the Astronomy Tower that Dumbledore had known what he had drawn upon to cast the Avada Kedavra.

Though he had known for nearly a year that he would be occupying these rooms, it still horrified him to be unpacking his things into the Headmaster's suite. There was a part of him that wanted to keep everything exactly as it had been, yet he knew that for appearance's sake, he must fully overtake the space. He flicked his wand, banishing all traces of Gryffindor crimson from the room.

He had spent the better part of an hour going through Dumbledore's books, removing those he did not care to keep and replacing them with his own, which the house-elves brought in batches that towered over their heads. One such elf was tottering across the room, laden with volumes, when Snape heard a voice, startling him in the stillness.

"Ah, eradicating me so soon, Severus?" the voice chuckled.

Dumbledore. His heart thudded, but he rose with his usual smirk.

"I can hardly imagine what need you had for Gardening with Muggles," Snape said, holding up the book in question and placing it pointedly in the discard pile.

"I liked to have a broad spectrum of information at hand," Dumbledore said, twinkling maddeningly in his frame.

"I see," Snape replied, in a voice that made it clear he did not. "I think I will be more selective in my tastes."

"By all means. It is yours to do with what you will."

It was the reproach Snape had been waiting for. He had known, he had known, that when it was done Dumbledore would hate him for it. "I never wanted it," he snapped.

"Ah, but you have it, my dear boy, and now you must make the most of it. Speaking of which, how is Miss Granger?"

"Now she is 'Miss Granger?' Weren't you the one who flaunted your right to use her first name?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly and tented his fingers, that old gesture that set Snape's blood to boiling. "Hermione, then. How is Hermione?"

"Miss Granger has kept her end of the bargain," Snape said in a clipped, even tone. He watched as the color of Dumbledore's painted skin seemed to deepen, to fill in with richer, warmer pigment. The man was relieved, he realized, though he would never admit it.

"Naturally, naturally. And do you have news of where she is? Where Harry is?"

"So far as I know, they are currently in Grimmauld Place. The Weasley wedding took place today. It was interrupted," Snape said in the same inscrutable voice. "The Ministry fell. Yet all three have turned up at headquarters, according to Phineas Nigellus. I have not yet spoken with her myself."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Do you plan to?"

"Are you asking if I plan to visit Headquarters? I can hardly imagine the welcome I might receive from Potter."

"Ah, but surely you can ask Headmaster Black to go between," Dumbledore said.

"Yes," Snape replied curtly. "Though I'm sure Headmaster Black will quickly tire of carrying messages back and forth between us. The girl, as you may recall, is long winded at best."

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. "Phineas Nigellus Black is bound by the Headmaster's Oath. There is nothing you can say that he can report without your permission."

"I'm well aware of that, thank you."

"But he can, of course, unlike the living, exist in two places at once."

"Whatever are you talking about, old man? I know how portraiture works! Headmaster Black is either here, or he is there."

"Listen," Dumbledore said.

Snape heard mumbling, the indistinct sound of voices raised in the distance, and a scraping, screeching noise that made him think of chairs being dragged over stone floors.

"What is that?"

"Courtroom Ten of the Ministry of Magic."

Snape glared at him. "Explain."

"My left foot is in my portrait there," Dumbledore said. Snape looked at the wizard carefully and saw that Dumbledore's foot was indeed outside the frame.

"But," sputtered Phineas Nigellus, "I have been a portrait in this office for nearly eighty years! How is it that I have never--"

"I would never have discovered it myself if Dilys were not such a restless sleeper," Dumbledore replied. "One late evening, I heard what was unmistakably a wizard whose head had been accidentally transfigured into a teakettle in the intake ward of St. Mungo's. Dilys had slipped out of her chair, and her left leg was missing up to the knee."

"One wonders what they saw at St. Mungo's," Phineas Nigellus said nastily.

Dilys Derwent, who had heretofore been pretending to sleep, gave a ladylike sniff.

"As the poor man sounded as if he was coming to boil, I doubt very much that they had any concern for the esteemed Headmaster Derwent's portrait," Dumbledore replied.

"Fascinating as this all undoubtedly is," Snape said, "I have much to do this evening. If you will excuse me--" Inwardly, his thoughts were racing. Would he truly get the chance to speak properly with Hermione? To hear her voice? He had not realized how lonely he had become, cut off from the world at Spinner's End, spending time only with people with whom he had to be careful. Even if it were only for a few moments, it would be good to talk to her. If only he could see her, watch her mouth as she spoke, and read the look in her eyes. Be grateful that you can speak to her at all, he told himself. Then, Ridiculous that you should set so much store by a seventeen year old girl.

"I have one final thing to request this evening."

"By all means," Snape said in a long-suffering tone, raising an eyebrow.

"The Sword of Gryffindor. It must be hidden. The Ministry, I think, will come looking for it before long. You'll want to have replica--a very good replica--available for them."

Snape gave the portrait a questioning look. "What interest would the Ministry have in the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Quite simply, I believe that they will want to keep it out of Harry Potter's hands. However, you must see that it reaches him safely. And the first step to doing that is hiding it. I thought behind my portrait might be a safe location. I trust I will continue to intimidate the poor Ministry's underlings as much in death as I did in life."

Snape gave a slight chuff, but nodded.

"Very well, Severus. Do keep me informed."

Suddenly, Snape realized that even if he were to be able to speak to Hermione directly, there would be six witches and wizards to hear him. Even if he could pretend that Black was not there between them, there was no way he could speak freely to her in front of Dumbledore. What was it he had said? Surely, you are not committing yourself to the girl? I do not want you forming attachments that will confuse your loyalties.

"I can't see that I can very well do anything else. You are, as usual, in the thick of things."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed." He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes, as all the former Headmasters were wont to do, though Snape had little doubt that he continued to monitor the room quite closely.

How would he tell her that they must remain in character, even here, seemingly alone?

It was several hours later that Phineas Nigellus Black sat up straight in his portrait and said loudly, "Headmaster Snape, the Granger girl is summoning me."