Chapter Twenty-Eight

A/N: As always, all fully italicized text and anything else you recognize belongs to JKR. I make no money. Thank you to Shellsnapeluver, the most wonderful beta anyone could ask for.

She agreed to go to Godric's Hollow out of simple kindness to Harry. The light she had seen in his eyes on the night they had spoken to Phineas Nigellus--she could not bear to think of it as the night Ron had left them--was more than gone; Harry looked empty, hollow. She had been fortified that night by her few words with Snape, but Harry'd had nothing to buoy him. And while Hermione was frustrated by having to wait so long for Snape to materialize with the sword of Gryffindor, there was something left ahead of her, something to wait for. It held her fear at bay and made the days seem shorter. She thought that visiting his parents' home might restore some of Harry's fight.

And it was almost Christmas. How clearly she remembered the Christmas past. She'd thought of it almost daily as she charmed the snow from the ground to hunt for mushrooms. Though now that she understood the Taboo, she felt freer to occasionally enter a Muggle grocery store for provisions, they still got much of what they needed from the woods. It simply felt too dangerous to leave Harry alone without the Invisibility Cloak, and she was loathe to take him into the world, even the Muggle one.

But she relented, as his face was so pale and so needy by their wand light. They had been sitting cross-legged on the floor of the tent, eating spaghetti out of a single pot passed between them, too hungry to wait to dish it out. It was warm in the tent that night; either the weather had become forgiving enough to allow their Warming Charms to be felt, or it was the food, but she felt almost drowsy with heat. It was the strange thing about being that cold, that chilled to the marrow: sometimes she fell into sleep as if she were being pulled, as if her body was demanding the only cure it knew how to provide, and then, the moment it warmed even slightly, she was ready to sleep all over again.

He had asked her while her mouth was full of spaghetti, perhaps to keep her from protesting until he had finished his case.

"Okay," she said.

"Did you hear me right?" he asked.

"Of course I did. You want to go to Godric's Hollow. I agree, I think we should."

"But," Harry sputtered. "But--why?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Because we're looking for Horcruxes, Harry. You said yourself that You-Know-Who liked to hide his Horcruxes in places that meant something to him--what could mean more than hiding a bit of his immortality in the place where he proved he could not die?"

"Oh... er... yeah. I hadn't thought of it that way."

She smiled at him in the glow of the wand light. "And I know you want to see your Mum and Dad. I want that for you, too."

Something knitted itself up between them, then, something that had been frayed and strained since Ron had left them. She looked at him with her old affection, and even though she wore the Horcrux, for a moment she felt immune to its effects. Harry looked away, but he thrust the pot of spaghetti at her.

"You take the rest of this, Hermione. You look thin." His voice quavered.

"No thinner than you are. Stay with me and finish it."

Harry moved to sit beside her, and they both stabbed eagerly at the last strands of spaghetti. When Harry leaned his head back against the cabinet and fell asleep, she let him stay there for a while. It was warm enough, and she liked the company. She examined Harry's face for a moment while he slept. She hoped that the slackness of his features was not just sleep but rest; she hoped he was drawing comfort from their latest plan.

Finally, she rose and levitated him into his bunk. It was time to sit the first watch. At least she would have plenty of time to plan.

***

They went Polyjuiced as Muggles, and it was odd to be looked at again, to walk down a normal street with Harry, whose cold hand was tucked into hers, and to feel strangers' eyes on them, even only in passing. Truth be told, it frightened her a little. She felt naked and vulnerable, even though it was not her own skin she wore.

But by the time they reached the statue bearing the images of the Potters as they had been seventeen years before, Hermione had forgotten to be afraid. Aside from the voices they'd heard of those on the run, this was the first sign of a magical world beyond their tent that she had seen since Tottenham Court Road, and she felt physically choked at the sight of it. There were times in the woods, late at night, that it seemed that they could simply go on forever, the two of them in the tent. They would pretend at planning, the war would remain at a deadly impasse, and everyone else would go on living these encumbered half-lives until they forgot there had ever been anything else. To see Harry's parents, so young and strong, reminded her of what had been lost and what they stood to gain. She gazed at the stone representation of Lily Potter. This would be how Snape remembered her, and she felt a tiny tug of pain at the fact that Lily's hair was tipped in snow. What had taken place between them so many years before? Harry had told her once that Snape had betrayed his mum. Was that so? And if it was, why did Dumbledore feel he would be forever loyal to her? She might have stood there all night if Harry hadn't tugged her away.

"C'mon," Harry said, and her eyes darted to his face. He seemed pleased, but somehow haunted, by what he had seen. Was it that he was there, on the statue as well, that this was the only time he'd truly seen himself with his family? Or was it that it spooked him to see himself cast in stone? She asked none of these questions, but submitted to the tug of his hand, pulling her across the street to a little cemetery blanketed in snow.

"They'll be in here somewhere," he whispered. "Help me find them."

They could not use magic out in public for fear of being discovered, so Hermione trudged through the rows, pausing at each stone to smear the snow away with her mitten. Her breath caught as she uncovered a P--but no, that was Peverell, not Potter. But below the name there was a symbol that caught her eye, and she scraped more of the ice away with the heel of her hand.

"Harry!" she whispered sharply.

"Did you find them?"

"No, but come here."

Harry came over rather reluctantly, and Hermione wished she could cast Lumos to show him what she'd found.

"This symbol here--it's in my book!"

"What, your Runes book? Well, you can look it up when we get back. Hermione, I want to find--"

"No! Not the Runes book--my book! The book Dumbledore gave me."

"Really? Wait, let me see." Harry said, leaning closer. "Hang on--I've seen that before. On Luna's dad--at the wedding, you know. Krum said--"

"Krum?"

"Yes! Krum said it was Grindelwald's mark."

Grindelwald's mark? And Harry had seen it before? Why hadn't he said something? She had suggested looking for a Horcrux here to placate Harry, to make him feel as if she weren't coming out of worry or pity. But perhaps they were supposed to come to Godric's Hollow, after all--perhaps she'd simply missed a clue, and Dumbledore had been aiming them here from the beginning.

"Hermione? Could we--"

"Yes, sorry. I'm just thinking. Maybe Dumbledore has been trying to tell us to come here? Though I don't know why he would have thought I'd know about this mark. I'll have to--" 'I'll have to ask Snape,' had been on the tip of her tongue, and she swallowed it sharply. "I'll have to do some research. But we may be onto something, Harry!"

Harry looked torn, and she realized that, right now, finding his family was at the forefront of his mind. So she swallowed her excitement and took his hand once more. "Come on. We'll find them."

Together they proceeded through the graveyard, stooping at each stone to brush away the snow. Harry moved quickly, barely glancing at each marker before tugging her along to the next.

"Harry, they're here... right here," she said quietly, calling him back to her.

Harry turned toward her and nearly ran, though he was only a few steps away. She stepped back to allow him closer, and he fell to his knees, seemingly intent upon clearing every flake of snow from the words on the stone.

Hermione watched as if frozen as Harry leaned forward and rested his forehead against his father's headstone. This felt much too private to witness, and yet there was no place for her to go.

"Dad, I'm scared," Harry whispered. Hermione's face began to crumple. She could feel the beginnings of hot tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm trying, but I don't know what to do next. I don't know where to go."

Her tears spilled over and burned her icy cheeks. Hermione turned away.

"Help me," Harry whispered. "Help me, please."

Finally, she realized Harry was speaking to her. He had raised his head and was looking up at her beseechingly.

"I didn't bring anything. I didn't bring them anything!"

The desperation in his voice overrode her better judgment. She pulled her wand from her coat pocket and swirled it in the air. A wreath of Christmas roses materialized there, and Harry caught it and lowered it to his mother's grave. Then he stood, and Hermione opened her arms. "Thank you," he said as he stepped into her embrace.

***

The castle stood oddly empty. There had been no need to keep the house tables in the Great Hall, nor even to extend the high table to accommodate the few remaining students, for there were no students at Hogwarts this Christmas, none at all. This fact ate at Snape and pursued him through the empty halls. Where on earth did these parents think their children could be safer than at Hogwarts with a Death Eater for a Headmaster? Did they suppose their flimsy charms would protect their children at home? It was infuriating.

He had no idea what to do with himself, as he was hardly looking forward to being alone with the staff for the holidays. He could not imagine how he would manage to swallow anything at the Christmas meal that surely would be shrouded in hostile silence. It was hard enough to eat when surrounded by the chatter of the students and the other staff. Minerva and the others had taken to whispering and giggling, to shooting pointed looks in his direction before bursting into gales of laughter. Snape had withstood it, his expression never changing. He made no move to retaliate or even to acknowledge their behavior, for to do so would have been to admit that it pained him. It felt like being in school again himself--subject to taunting and scorn no matter where he went. It felt like being Snivellus again.

So when Malfoy's invitation came, he accepted it at once, even though it would mean spending the holiday with a family he despised and the Dark Lord himself. At least, there, he would be able to speak, to move about without catching someone's mockery of him from the corner of his eye. No Death Eater would dare to mock him.

However, once he arrived, he realized his error. It was clear that the invitation had been made at the Dark Lord's insistence. Lucius seemed to resent his presence, as he was, he supposed, a constant reminder of everything Lucius had lost. Wandless and petulant, Lucius skulked about the Manor in a foul temper, finding reason to snipe at Snape for anything he did or said. Narcissa and Draco were no better, though he assumed that he had earned their ire by doing exactly as Narcissa had requested, by saving Draco from certain death. Narcissa detested being beholden to anyone, and Draco was certain that Snape had interfered unnecessarily.

The Manor was decorated lavishly. Sprigs of holly adorned every flat surface, and four magnificent trees dominated the ballroom. Mistletoe bloomed from every ceiling, and the house was constantly filled with the smells of the house-elves' cooking. Yet, it all felt empty, pointlessly joyful, as the Manor was far too large for the five of them, and they bounced through the house like marbles, crashing together occasionally and then veering off again. The rooms seemed to ring with silence. Apparently, even the Death Eaters all had families with whom to share the holidays.

The afternoon of Christmas Eve proved to be doubly troublesome. Narcissa had ordered them all to dress for a traditional Christmas dinner and then flounced away to attend to God alone knew what, leaving Voldemort, Lucius and himself alone in the parlor. The Dark Lord seemed to savor the tension between Snape and Malfoy and made no efforts to alleviate the situation.

"Severus, it pleases me that you have joined us for the holidays."

"Thank you, my Lord. And thank you to Lucius, who is ever the gracious host."

Lucius snorted. "I live to serve the Dark Lord," he said, making it plain that he had not wanted to issue the invitation.

"Indeed," Snape said. "You have made many... sacrifices." He allowed his hand to brush over the front of his robes, where Lucius knew his wand to be hidden.

The Dark Lord's eyes danced with hideous amusement. "It seemed only fitting that I share the season with my most trusted servant," he said, letting his eyes linger on Snape so that there could be no question of whom he meant. "I have plans that, I believe, are about to come to fruition. It was my wish that you share in my triumph."

Snape did not ask questions. He had found it more prudent in the past to allow the Dark Lord to take whatever meandering path he desired in reaching his point. Questioning led only to outbursts of temper and, occasionally, punishment. "I am honored to share your victories, my Lord."

"Yes. Yes," Voldemort purred. "You have done a fine job with Hogwarts, Severus. The Carrows report to me that you oversee everything from curriculum to... correction with a heavy hand, and that there has been excellent student retention despite the changes. You have sold my vision to the parents, it seems. I am very pleased."

"My Lord," Snape bowed his head in the Dark Lord's direction.

Lucius sniffed.

"Lucius, you may leave us."

"It might interest you to know that Draco receives word from Hogwarts," Lucius said. "Miss Parkinson, after all, is still in school. She reports that the Gryffindors are in a state of barely contained mutiny. She says your Headmaster is ridiculed."

"That is to be expected from the Gryffindors--most of them are from diluted families; the others are notorious blood traitors. However, as I have had no word of mutiny, as you say, I presume that Severus is handling them with his usual grace."

Lucius strode from the room with the air of a man who would very much like to slam a door.

"I believe Potter will return to Godric's Hollow before the new year," Voldemort said, apropos of nothing.

Snape nodded, his eyes blank and flat. "Have you received intelligence to that effect?"

"Your news that the child and his friends had gone on the run since the unfortunate incident at the Ministry gave me pause. I admit, I thought of sending you to hunt them down."

"It would have been my pleasure."

Voldemort chuckled. "Yes, I imagine so. Your continued contact with the Mudblood has been most useful. I must say that I am impressed, Severus. You have fooled her most thoroughly."

"It is not difficult to outwit children."

"To be sure. However, she is unusually shrewd for a Gryffindor."

"I am humbled by your praise, my Lord, but I must refuse it. She is but a silly girl."

"Let us not argue this point. I simply mean to say that it seemed to me unwise to be wasting your talents by sending you to pursue children through the woods. And I felt it would be prudent to keep your connection to the girl intact a bit longer. How I will enjoy her face when we have captured her, when she sees you at my side."

Snape managed a leering smile. "I look forward to that day, as well, my Lord."

"Yes," he said sibilantly. "And now, I believe, it draws nearer. Rather than chase Potter, I thought, why not let the child come to me? For I know his foolish heart. He will want to return to his parent's home. He will believe there is some strength or unknown magic to be found there."

That did seem remarkably like Potter. Snape stood and crossed the room to fetch some water. He did not wish to be looking into the Dark Lord's eyes.

"You have the measure of Potter exactly, my Lord," he said.

"Indeed. So, I sent Nagini to Godric's Hollow. She has been waiting there for any sign of him."

"And you have had word?"

"Not as yet. However--Potter has been drifting deeper into depression throughout the season. I have felt the despair radiating off the child in waves. Yet, suddenly, he is hopeful. There is a lightness to his mind. I believe he is gaining strength from his plan to visit his parents' home. After all, what more appropriate time could there be than Christmas?" The Dark Lord chuckled happily. It was a chilling sound.

"The connection between your minds remains strong, then?"

"I daresay it is stronger than ever."

"Excellent, my Lord."

"Quite. I believe we will have news soon. Forgive me for subjecting you to Lucius's childish jealousy. I simply thought you would find amusement in taking the girl."

"I would have been pleased to spend the holiday with you, even without this good news."

The Dark Lord smiled horribly. "Thank you, Severus. And now, I think we must bend to our Hostess's wishes and dress for dinner. Perhaps it will be a celebratory one."

"Until then," Snape said and raised his glass in Voldemort's direction. The Dark Lord rose and glided from the room.

Snape returned to his chamber hastily. Evening was descending upon the Manor. Where was she? Did he dare contact her from here? Last he had spoken to her, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. She had not mentioned any plans to visit Godric's Hollow, but why would she? They had agreed that she would only tell him where she had been once she had safely gone.

Was it a trap? Did the Dark Lord continue to suspect him of feelings for the girl? Were they watching him, waiting for some action on his part?

Snape chastised himself as he dressed. The Dark Lord's plans had hardly been well-laid over the last few months. Though his description of Potter's... emotional needs sounded chillingly accurate, there was no reason to suppose that he and Hermione would be spending Christmas in Godric's Hollow. Surely, he was being bated. The best thing to do was to go on as if nothing in the world had changed. Even if the Dark Lord's suppositions were correct, and they were planning to go to the Potters' old home, the likelihood that it would be tonight was miniscule. He would simply be called back to Hogwarts urgently as soon as he could do so without angering the Dark Lord. From there, he would warn Hermione against the village.

He straightened his waistcoat and aimed his wand at his shoes to tie them. The longer he was able to remain here, the more information he might receive of Voldemort's plans. Perhaps he had hinted about the Horcruxes in the past, and Snape had simply not caught his meaning. The Dark Lord was apt to gloat, as he had done that afternoon. He found it difficult not to share the evidence of his magical superiority with his followers. Yes, perhaps this trip had been for the best.

He would warn her from Hogwarts. It would be all right.

***

Hermione felt too beaten by all she had seen in the graveyard to take in the Potters' home. It stood exactly as she had pictured it when she had been just a child, sitting in her sunny bedroom, determined to learn all she could about the wizarding world before she joined it at Hogwarts... The right half of the second floor was blasted away; even the door stood open, as if it could not be closed after he had opened it... Back then, Harry Potter had been a name in a book, and now she watched an all too real, all too human Harry Potter as he clung to the iron gate outside his parents' house. This was too much. She simply could not bear this; she wanted to take Harry and get out, go home, go anywhere, back to the tent, but away from all this pain.

But Harry was elated. He was leaning over a sign that had emerged through the brambles. "Look, Hermione, look! They haven't forgotten us!"

She joined him in gazing at the magical marker.

Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.

If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!

She could not say why it did not touch her heart, why she felt consumed with dread. She glanced up and saw a strange, shapeless mass of a person, hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square.

No, she thought. No. The sight of the woman, for it seemed clear now that it was a woman, made her want to scream. Whoever that was, she knew that Hermione and Harry weren't Muggles, that they stood reverently in front of James and Lily Potter's home in the midst of a war. This could not be good. She threw the Invisibility Cloak over them and breathed, "Move away slowly. When I squeeze your hand, we'll run. Then we'll Apparate out of here."

"No," Harry said, oblivious to her shushing. "That's Bathilda Bagshot, I'm sure of it. We should go to her, Hermione. Maybe she has the sword..."

"She doesn't have the sword, Harry; we need to go!"

"But she knew Dumbledore!"

"Harry!"

He had thrown off the Invisibility Cloak and was approaching the unfamiliar witch. Hermione followed warily. Why had this woman come out, tonight of all nights? Why did she stand there, silent and unmoving as Harry came toward her?

"Are you Bathilda?"

Hermione shook her head in frustration, though the witch nodded and turned, hobbling back the way she had come. This was not right. She could not explain it, but the way the woman moved... Hermione wanted to scream as they followed her up the walk. She wanted to grab Harry and forcibly remove him.

When the old witch opened the door and the smell reached her, she took Harry's elbow. "Please, Harry. Please let's go. I--"

"No! We have to get what we came for, Hermione."

When the woman indicated with a gesture that she wanted to see Harry alone, Hermione knew for sure. As Harry ascended the steps, she pulled out her wand and aimed it at her ring.

Godric's Hollow? Afraid.

***

He sat on Narcissa's right, trying maintain an air of dignity as a house-elf spooned creamed peas onto his plate. "Everything looks lovely, Narcissa," he said.

"Thank you, Severus," she replied neutrally.

"Again, I must thank you for welcoming me so generously into your home for the holidays. I am in your debt."

She seemed to stiffen slightly at the mention of debt.

"Not at all. It simply pained me to think of you all alone for the holidays," she said.

Snape swallowed a smirk. Well played, he thought. Perhaps the wine was going to his head. He reached for his water glass.

"Draco," he began. "How are you finding life outside of school?"

Draco shifted in his seat beside Lord Voldemort. Snape wondered what the poor boy did with his days. No matter how "pleased" the Dark Lord claimed to be with him, it was clear Draco had been given no more assignments. Perhaps he waited on Voldemort, Snape thought nastily.

"Enjoyable," Draco said, the ghost of his old haughty smile on his lips. "It is pleasant not to be surrounded by inferiors."

"A luxury, indeed," Snape agreed.

"Our Lord has great plans for Draco," Lucius said. "When the war is over, Draco will join the Ministry, as senior undersecretary to the Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission."

"Presuming there are any Muggle-borns left to register," Snape said, and the Dark Lord guffawed. Lucius tittered politely.

"It is a prominent position," Lucius said. "Perhaps, one day--"

"Ah, do you aspire to Thicknesse's job?"

But he did not hear Draco's answer, as pain suddenly radiated from his left hand. The ring. Fuck.

He made as if to reach for his goblet, but knocked it over, sending the ruby red elfin wine over his hands and plate.

"Forgive my clumsiness, Narcissa. I apologize," he said, rising.

"Sit, Severus," she snapped. "The house-elves will attend to it."

"Of course," he said. "I'll just retire for a moment to wash my hands."

"But surely, you can--" Narcissa began, but he was already striding from the room. Once he was safely in the loo, he slipped the ring from his finger and read, Godric's Hollow? Afraid.

No curses leaped to his mind. No frantic denials. There was nothing there but fear and deathly silence. He raised his wand.

Trap. Get out NOW.

This would be delicate, perhaps impossible. The part of his mind that wanted to begin instantly chastising and berating him for his reluctance to contact her from the Manor sprung to life. No. No time for that now. Later. If she survived, there would be plenty of time for that later. If not--

He would return to the dining room. If Voldemort seemed animated, he would know that his warning had come too late. Otherwise, perhaps there was still a chance. He took care not to run. He must appear calm, only as flustered as a man who has just spilled wine on his hostess's linens.

Too late. Too late. The Dark Lord's eyes were flashing. "It seems the time is coming, Severus," he said as Snape reentered the room. "Nagini is excited. She grows... hungry."

Snape's stomach clenched as he drew his lips into a smile. "A very happy Christmas, indeed," he said.

Voldemort rose, hissing, from his seat. "She calls! She has the boy. She bids me come." The serpentine wizard raised his wand and slashed at the dining room wall, which opened obligingly into the night. He strode toward the opening and, in a hazy swirl of midnight robes, flew away.

Snape glanced at Lucius, whose face was pale and shocked. "The wall--" he began.

"I am sure you will be compensated," Snape said as he, too, departed the dining room into the garden.

The night was black and heavy with cold. Snape ran forward, turning as he went, and disappeared.

***

She was already running for the stairs as she shoved the ring back onto her finger. The stairwell was pitch black, and she stuck her hands out to the sides to feel her way. She nearly screamed as her fingertips grazed the wall. It was wet, sticky with some unknown substance. She recoiled and lit her wand. What was that? No matter--she had to find Harry. There were several doors at the top of the steps, but as she reached the landing, she heard a terrible hissing. Parseltongue, she thought and followed the sound and the smell into a tiny bedroom. She thrust her wand out before her in time to see the lumpy form of Bathilda Bagshot crumpling and melting away, leaving the giant body of a snake in its wake.

She raised her hand to her mouth. Harry had his back turned. Had he been bewitched? Why didn't he see?

"Harry!" she screamed and whipped her wand through the air. "Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Red light shot from her wand, but the snake dodged it easily, rearing its head back to strike.

Harry turned slowly, too slowly, and the snake plunged. Hermione saw its fangs graze his arm as it began to wrap and coil around him.

There was more hissing, and Hermione frantically shot spell after spell at the snake. "Stupefy! Sectumsempra! Relashio!"

Relashio seemed to have done it. The snake began to release its grip on Harry, but he was wandless--where was his wand? Her eyes scanned the floor. Had the snake taken it somehow?

"Levicorpus!" she shouted, but that had been a mistake, as now the snake was flailing through the air, its enormous body crashing into the walls, sending plaster flying. Its tail whipped just above her head.

"Hermione!"

She ducked and ran toward Harry, and he reached blindly for her hand. Splintered glass was peppering her face, and now the snake was falling, hissing wildly. Harry was dragging her backward, but no, no, that could not be right, the snake would corner them. She tugged him toward the window.

"He's coming!" Harry was babbling. "He's coming; he's on the way; we can't go back out there!"

"Harry, we have to get out of here! Come on," she yelled and wrenched him with all her strength toward the window.

"Confringo!" She screamed and the walls began to collapse around them. As the glass shattered, she stepped onto the sill, pulling Harry behind her, heedless of the jagged edges that slashed at her feet, and dove, without hesitating, into the night.

***

Snape had Apparated directly into the center of the street. In front of him was the statue of Lily and James, a statue he had stood before on many a dark, deserted night like this one, looking at the evidence of what he had done. But now there was no time to think of what he had once loved and destroyed, for now his only goal was to reach Hermione in time, to stop it from happening again. It seemed the street was weighing him down. Hadn't he once taken it at a run in exactly this way? How could it all be happening again, when this time he should have had the power to stop it?

He heard the twin screams from an upstairs window as he ran, and he nearly fell to the ground, it was so like before--

Hermione--

Voldemort's scream of rage and defeat echoed down the empty street. He did not dare to hope, but plunged ahead.

He reached the house just in time to see two Muggles diving into space, a frumpy little woman clutching a bald-headed man, twisting and screaming as they fell. He raised his wand, hoping to break their fall, but they were gone.

They were gone. He clutched his wand so tightly in his fist that a dim part of his mind insisted it would break if he did not release it. He saw Voldemort's sickly white hands reaching out of the window.

"I am sorry, my Lord," he called dully. "They were Apparating just as I arrived."

"Crucio!" Voldemort bellowed, and Snape sank gratefully into the snow. This was how it was supposed to have happened. She had escaped, and he would be punished.