... For Spirits and for Guises

Chapter 24: ... For Spirits and for Guises

The sky was turbulent on the second of May, a tempest of heavy, swirling clouds. Cold winds swept across the castle grounds while an angry rain lashed at the windows, turning day into night. The darkness caused more than one student to oversleep, but even the clamour of hurried footsteps could not compete with the pounding rain and whistling wind. By noon, the skies had grown so dark spare torches had to be lighted throughout the castle. Hermione roamed the hallways, passing in and out of grey shadows. She blinked when a group of seventh-years floated past her in silence, their faces ghostly pale in the flickering torchlight.

It was an appropriate day for spectres.

The headmistress had delivered a sombre speech before breakfast, reminding everyone of the monumental struggle that had taken place at Hogwarts fifteen years earlier, how they owed their current liberties to the bravery and sacrifice of all who had fought on the second of May. Hermione had watched the students' faces as McGonagall had spoken, but other than some solemn nodding from the older children, few had seemed to comprehend the significance of the day.

How quickly we forget, she thought. How easy it was to become complacent, to feel safe in the absence of danger. Perhaps that was why recognition of the anniversary had become such a vital exercise...to ensure gone would never result in forgotten.

As had been the case for the past fourteen years, McGonagall had acknowledged the anniversary with nothing more than her pre-breakfast speech, refusing to allow anything to interfere with impending exams. A larger, more public event had always been held at Hogwarts between the second and third weeks of June, after the exam results had been delivered but prior to the Leaving Feast.

Snape's recovery...and his subsequent return to Hogwarts...meant this year's crowd would be larger than usual, and the Daily Prophet had already published the schedule of activities for the event. The Minister would be on hand to bore the attendees with a speech that promised to be even longer and more tedious than last year's. Thankfully, McGonagall and Flitwick would balance the pomp with speeches of their own. Hermione had even heard rumours of the headmistress visiting with Harry, but she doubted he'd ever agree to speak at such a public venue.

Coordination of the speeches was one of the few tasks Hermione hadn't directly assisted with. She wasn't sure what she'd been thinking at last month's staff meeting when McGonagall had volunteered her to chair the committee responsible for planning the anniversary event. The organisational challenge had appealed to her structured mind, and the suggestion had been seconded before she had considered the strain it would place on a calendar already overfilled with classes, lab work, and a twice-weekly study group. But she enjoyed a full workload and soon found an added benefit to her hectic schedule. When work filled her mind, she could not dwell on impending dangers, on the time when she would remove her memories of Arglist and trust a stranger to alter them.

It was easier to trust Snape. After they had returned from London, he had spoken to Dumbledore's portrait and had sent an owl to Remy Nissante's last known address in Mexico. As much as she hated waiting and inaction, she dreaded the day when Remy's response would arrive. She tried not to think of it, tried not to worry about how much could go wrong. Snape seemed confident the plan would work, and he had far more experience with the business of deception. It felt strange to consider some of her faith in him came from his talent for artifice, so she tried not to think of that, too.

There were plenty of other topics to occupy her thoughts. That they all seemed to revolve around Snape did not surprise her, given her recent revelations of her true feelings. Today of all days, it seemed natural he should dominate her thoughts. How could she remember the battle and not think of him?

As if the simple act of picturing his face could conjure his presence, the door leading to the courtyards opened and his rain-soaked form appeared at the far end of the corridor. Using both hands, he ran long fingers through his wet hair and slicked it back from his forehead. He flicked his wand at his clothes to dry them before he moved forward. Although separated by the length of the Entrance Hall, she could still see his lips quirk the instant his gaze rose to her face.

Her chest tightened. In a flash, his features shifted and changed, and she saw him as she had fifteen years ago, lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. She shook her head to clear the memory, but it persisted. There was his face, twisted by pain, stark white against the rivers of dark blood running down his neck and through his fingers. She remembered the sounds he had made as he'd tried to speak and the sickly sweet smell of death hanging in the air.

She had watched him die that day...or at least she'd thought she had. And although the scene had horrified her, she had felt no particular emotional pull, no sorrow beyond a basic regret for another wasted life, another brilliant mind corrupted by evil.

Today was different.

Today she relived those moments in the Shrieking Shack with fresh eyes and a deeper comprehension. Watching the man she loved struggle for life...seeing his determination to fulfil his duty, to use his last breaths to ensure Harry had whatever information he would need to challenge Voldemort...squeezed the breath from her throat and propelled her feet forward.

She didn't remember crossing the length of the hall, but suddenly she was in his arms, kissing his cheeks and his nose and his chin. Heat from his body proved him flesh and bone, not spirit, and after two shaky breaths and a quiet hiccup, she closed her eyes and kissed his lips. He tasted of cold raindrops and warm, salty tears. The security of his embrace chased the demons from her mind, and even the frown on his face seemed to hold more concern than consternation.

He cupped her chin and thumbed aside her tears. "Do not cry, my foolish girl."

"I'm so glad you're not dead," she whispered.

His frown deepened. "As am I." He slid his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her closer.

She waited for his lips, but a stern shout interrupted them.

"That's enough!" The headmistress's voice echoed off the walls. She hurried forward but stopped short when she recognised them. "Oh!" she said, "I mistook you for a pair of students." She lowered her chin and peered over her spectacles, one eyebrow markedly higher than the other.

"It's my fault, Headmistress," Hermione said. She wiped her eyes and thought the older woman's expression softened. "I attacked Severus ... I'm afraid I was a bit overwhelmed by memories today."

"I understand." The headmistress studied Snape, her lips pursed. "Severus, I ... I apologise for trying to kill you ... repeatedly ... fifteen years ago."

He seemed surprised. "I accept your apology, Minerva," he replied after a moment. "It seems a popular day for absolution."

"That's settled, then." She straightened her already-straight, tartan-lined robes and seemed reluctant to meet Snape's gaze. "And now I believe we should once again discuss your speech for the anniversary event in June."

Snape sighed. "As I have already told you, I have nothing to say that anyone would want to hear. This is precisely the sort of nonsense I had hoped to escape by returning to Hogwarts." He silenced her protests with a shake of his head. "Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to take my lunch before the students have consumed all the soup."

He turned and hurried away, preventing any further argument.

"Hermione, can't you convince him?" the headmistress asked once they were alone.

Hermione shrugged. "I doubt it. He seems quite determined to avoid the spotlight. I can't think of anything I could do to change his mind."

"Can't you?"

She ignored the implication and shook her head.

"I want you to encourage him to make that speech," the headmistress said. "Use every means at your disposal."

"Minerva, you are the headmistress and his boss. If you cannot sway him, what hope do I have?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," she hissed, "given your ... position ... with Severus."

Hermione stared. Had the headmistress just suggested she take advantage of her intimate relationship with Snape to cajole a speech from him?

"I hate to disappoint you," she said, "but there isn't a single position in the entire Kama Sutra that could change Severus's mind once it's been set."

The headmistress closed her eyes, sighed, and shook her head. "I'm sure you'll find a way." She turned on her heel and marched away before Hermione could protest.

Hermione stared after her, her hands upon her hips. She wondered what Snape would say about the headmistress's tactics and set off for the Great Hall to find out. After barely one step, the sound of something squishy made her stop and turn.

Neville trudged down the same corridor Snape had traversed, and like Snape, he also appeared to have walked through a hurricane. The similarities ended there. It was a wonder he could see: whatever hair wasn't plastered to his head hung down into his eyes. And instead of drying his robes as Snape had, he left a small river along the floor as he approached Hermione. He rubbed his head and stared at her as if he'd seen a ghost.

She performed a drying spell on his hair and robes. "Are you okay, Neville?"

"Snape," he said.

"Oh, no." She guided him to a nearby bench and sat beside him. "What did he do?"

"He ... he thanked me."

"What? When?"

"A few minutes ago," he said. "I was working in Greenhouse Two when he came in. I didn't know what to say, given what today is. I mean, what do you say?"

She lifted her shoulders and shook her head...obviously, she had no advice to offer on the subject.

"Anyway, I thought perhaps he needed some Potions ingredients, but he said he'd come to discuss a serious matter." He rubbed at his head again. "I know this sounds ridiculous, but for a moment, I swear I thought he was going to give me detention!"

She laughed. "Oh, Neville. Surely, your boggart has changed in the past twenty years." When he did not comment, she cleared her throat and said, "So the serious matter he wanted to discuss ... it involved thanking you?"

"Yeah. He thanked me for killing Nagini and for noticing his portrait was missing from the headmaster's office."

She swallowed and waited for the familiar taste of guilt. But other than a fleeting moment of regret, she was surprised when the nagging little voice of blame remained silent.

"More than anything, he said he was grateful I'd read to him every week at St Mungo's," Neville continued. "I guess some of the stories made it through."

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "Well done, Neville."

He stared into space, his brows drawn together. "He seems different now."

"I think it just feels that way because you're an adult...your perspective is different now."

"No, he's definitely changed. He seems ... I dunno ... less angry." He tilted his head and met her eyes. "It's because of you, isn't it?"

"I doubt that." Although she had no cause to hide her relationship with Snape, something had always stopped her from discussing its details with Neville.

He leaned towards her suddenly, a frown on his face. "Are you ... happy, Hermione? With Snape, I mean. Are you happy together?" He looked so anxious, so concerned, as if he would not rest until he'd heard the truth firsthand.

She saw no reason to deprive him of it. "Yes, Neville, I believe we are. He still delights in driving me mad, but he also understands me as no one else could. He knows me better than I know myself at times."

Neville looked confused, as if he couldn't fathom how the sentiment she expressed could relate to the man he knew.

"It's by no means a perfect relationship," she clarified. "I haven't a clue as to where it all might lead ... if anywhere. But I am happier with Severus than I'd have ever thought possible, and I am determined to enjoy it for as long as it lasts." She tried not to speculate on just how long that might be. Revealing her true feelings to Snape had not resulted in his confession of the same, but neither had it been as unwelcome as she had feared. She couldn't guess whether he'd ever return her feelings. Only time...or Snape himself...could provide that answer, and both remained mute. She had noticed him studying her when he thought her unaware of his scrutiny, but there was little point in asking his thoughts until he was ready to share them.

"I'm glad you're happy," Neville said. "That's all that matters, even if ..."

She prompted him when he grew silent. "If what?"

His chin dropped to his chest, and he mumbled so quietly she could scarcely hear him. "I'm always too late. Ginny. Luna. And now you. My timing stinks."

She thought of the night-blooming poppies he'd brought her, of Snape's insinuation he was interested in more than friendship. Despite both men's assertions to the contrary, it still didn't quite ring true.

"Neville, we've worked together for nearly four years now. I imagine something would have happened long ago, had we belonged together."

"I suppose you're right," he said. "It's just disconcerting. I think I might fancy a girl, but before I can decide for sure, she's fallen for someone else. You and I were always the last ones standing, and I just thought someday ... if we didn't have anyone else ..." He shrugged.

She didn't care for the role of consolation prise, but she doubted that had been his intention. She brushed the comment aside. "Trust me, Neville," she said, "When you find the right girl, you won't have to wonder whether or not to pursue her. You'll just know."

"Is that how it was for you and Snape?" he asked.

"Not exactly." She wouldn't particularly recommend the way she and Snape had begun their relationship. "But I believe it was very much like that for Harry and Ginny."

"And Draco, with Luna?"

"Perhaps," she said. "Although in many respects, I think Draco with Luna rather defies explanation. They are a force unto themselves." Smiling, she snaked her arm through his and pulled him from the bench. "Let's see if there's any soup left, shall we?" She steered him towards the Great Hall.

As they passed through the massive wood doors, she shook her head and said, "I wish I hadn't mentioned your boggart. Now I can't stop picturing Severus in your gram's dress, wearing that ridiculous vulture hat."

He laughed, but the smile on his face froze when he glanced at the staff table.

She followed his gaze. Snape scowled at them, his spoon half raised to his lips, dark eyes narrowed at the sight of their entwined arms.

Neville quickly disentangled himself and hurried to the far end of the staff table. Hermione shook her head and took the vacant seat next to Snape. She returned his silent stare, and when he raised one eyebrow with slow deliberation, she did the same, in perfect mimicry.

"I suppose you were showing Longbottom how pleased you are he escaped death, as well?"

She snorted. He did not appear amused, but the thought of Snape jealous of Neville was simply too ludicrous to take seriously.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I was giving him advice on relationships."

Now it was his turn to snort, albeit a bit louder than hers had been.

"Hush." She elbowed his ribs and smiled at the steaming bowl of soup that had appeared before her.

"You have nothing more to say?" he asked when she dipped her spoon into the masterpiece of wild mushrooms.

"Have I mentioned how sexy your hair looks all wet and dishevelled?"

"Do not imagine you can distract me with flattery, madam." The stern tone might have been frightening if not for the grin he tried to hide.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," she replied. "Besides, if I were of a mind to distract you, I would do this ..." She snaked her hand into his lap and slid her fingers up his thigh.

"Hermione!" The warning faded into a moan, losing much of its effect.

"Severus?" asked Professor Sinistra from his other side, "are you all right?"

He grunted. "It was ... the soup. It burnt me."

Hermione made a sympathetic sound. "You poor dear," she whispered. "I happen to have an excellent salve for burns." She lowered her voice to a purr and elaborated, making it clear the particular balm she offered could not be found in any apothecary shop.

He removed the stray hand from his lap but no longer bothered to hide his smile.

As the lunch hour drew to a close, the students slowly deserted the hall and headed to their afternoon classes. Professor Sinistra excused herself the moment her bowl was empty, leaving Snape and Hermione isolated at one end of the staff table.

"I see you are determined to abandon all rules and reason today," he said.

"Something like that." She chuckled. "It's your own fault, though. You started it by being jealous of Neville."

He scowled again. "I would not term it jealousy," he said. "I was merely ... curious."

"Ah, yes. Curious." She raised her gaze to the ceiling and sighed. "If you must know, I was helping Neville recover from the shock of your speech to him in Greenhouse Two."

The scowl deepened. "Had I wanted it broadcasted throughout the castle, I would have invited Peeves."

She waved aside his concern. "I doubt he's told anyone else...he was still quite stunned when I found him. You have no idea how terrifying it is when you're pleasant to people."

"Precisely why I try to avoid it."

She made a tsking sound and watched the headmistress enter the Great Hall. "Speaking of terrifying ... I've been told I must convince you to speak at the anniversary event in June."

He shifted his chair to face her. "I'm afraid you are wasting your time."

"That's what I told her." She shrugged. "But she claims my role as committee chair means I must solicit your commitment."

"It would not matter if you chaired the Wizengamot. I shall not change my mind."

"I thought as much," she said. "You probably won't believe this, but she actually suggested I use our intimacy to convince you."

The corners of his mouth twitched.

"It's not funny, Severus."

He leant closer. "Perhaps I have been too hasty in my refusal," he said, his voice low enough to quicken her pulse. "I suppose you deserve the opportunity to at least attempt to persuade me."

She could not hide her smile. Of its own volition, her body shifted towards him until their noses were mere inches apart. "I'm afraid I might require several opportunities," she whispered. "After all, you are an exceedingly stubborn man."

"I do not deny it." He shifted closer still. "But your powers of persuasion are more than sufficient to..."

An exasperated sigh interrupted his suggestion. They straightened in unison.

"Must I separate you two today?" asked the headmistress.

Snape lifted one eyebrow. "Certainly not," he said. "Professor Granger was simply attempting to solicit my speech for the June event."

The headmistress's lips thinned, as if she struggled to keep herself from speaking. "Oh, very well," she said at last. "Carry on."

"She must really want that speech," Hermione remarked after the headmistress walked away.

Snape agreed and glanced at the clock in the Great Hall. A room full of third-years awaited him, but Hermione's next class wouldn't start for another three hours.

"Come," he said, rising from the table. "I shall accompany you to the laboratory."

"Actually, I need to visit the library first," she said, walking beside him as they departed the staff table. She had been waiting for a chance to check on Pitty, the young house-elf she'd helped reassign from the Owlery. "And after that, I'm to meet with a Muggle florist...a relative of one of the battle victims."

He frowned. "Which one?"

"Do you remember the Creevey brothers? Colin and Dennis?"

"Miniature Muggle-borns?"

"That's them," she said. Her smile faded fast. "Colin was too young to fight...he shouldn't have been here. I suppose he snuck back amidst the chaos, but he didn't survive long enough to see the final outcome." As they walked through the Great Hall, her heels clicked upon the floor where Colin's small body had once rested. She could see it all so clearly: the tear-streaked faces clustered in groups, the long row of bodies in the middle of the room, the fiery red sky at dawn. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. There were too many memories...too many images from that day.

The feel of Snape's hand brushing hers yanked her from the past. They stopped at the staircase, and he gazed down at her, a small crease wrinkling his brow. "Are you certain you wish to do this?"

"I'll be fine." She squared her shoulders and nodded.

"Of that, I have no doubt." His knuckles grazed her cheek. "No more crying?"

"For now," she said. It was the most she could promise.

The storm had kept the elder Creeveys from travelling to Hogsmeade, so they'd sent their daughter in their stead. Rain still pelted the windows, and Hermione was glad Minerva had instructed the gamekeeper to escort their lone guest to the castle.

Except for an abundance of mousy brown curls covering her head, Sandy Creevey looked as if she'd been born to play the role of Tinker Bell in Peter Pan. She certainly didn't look old enough to run the family business. Hermione quickly dismissed her initial impression when their conversation revealed a sharp mind behind the young face. It was clear the flower shop in Leeds...the Creeveys' retirement project...owed its success to Sandy's business acumen.

"There were just the three of us ... Colin, Dennis, and I," she said when Hermione asked whether there were more siblings. "I'm the youngest...I was only nine when Colin died."

"I'm very sorry," Hermione said. "I remember your brothers well, although neither were in my year."

Like her brothers, Sandy seemed enthralled with every glimpse of magic the castle provided. She stared at the many portraits on the walls, her green eyes as wide as a house-elf's each time an occupant waved down at her. Hermione steered her into the empty Great Hall, hoping for fewer distractions.

"They were right," Sandy said as she craned her neck to watch lightning race across the enchanted ceiling. "My brothers spent every moment of their holidays talking about Hogwarts, raving about how incredible it was. I always wondered if they'd exaggerated." She shook her head, her cropped curls bouncing as she walked to the windows. "But it truly is amazing, isn't it?"

Hermione followed her gaze and nodded. The lake was just visible through the rain-streaked glass, its surface hammered by the storm, rolling and bubbling like an immense cauldron of boiling water. As if on cue, the giant squid lifted one tentacle into the air and waved at the castle. Hermione smiled when Sandy gasped. Hogwarts certainly knew how to create an unforgettable impression.

"If I recall correctly, your brothers were quite enthusiastic about attending Hogwarts," she said.

"Indeed they were," Sandy said. "It made for rather insufferable summers."

Her gaze moved to the Whomping Willow, which snapped its branches towards the lake as if trying to fling rainwater at the squid. "I couldn't wait to get my letter," Sandy said. "I counted the days till my eleventh birthday."

Hermione frowned. "It must have been difficult to attend a Muggle school after hearing your brothers' tales of Hogwarts."

"In primary school, I thought I was just biding my time," she said. "You see, I knew I was a witch from a very early age."

"But ... but I thought you were a Muggle!"

"I suppose I am ... now," she said. "But I could perform magic as a child. When I was five, I played in the garden while my mum was planting seeds. I held one in my hand...zinnia, I think it was...and within minutes, it had flourished into a fully mature specimen.

"Impressive," Hermione said. "May I ask ... "

"What happened?"

Hermione nodded.

"I'm not sure," Sandy replied. "It stopped when I was nine, when they came to tell us Colin was dead. I watched my mum and dad that day, the way they just fell apart ..." Her voice cracked, and she had to stop and clear her throat. "They didn't believe it, initially," she said. "They thought Colin's magic would have protected him, would have made him invincible. They were devastated. We all were." She turned and met Hermione's gaze, her eyes shining. "Something inside me died that day, I think. I tried a few spells after that, but it was gone...I could never do magic again. And my letter from Hogwarts never came."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said again. "I wish I could think of something else to say, although I know words provide little solace."

"It's actually a relief to speak of it," Sandy said. "Outside of my family, you're the first person I've ever told any of this to."

"Well in that case, I feel honoured." She hoped her smile hid her sadness as she once again considered how much had been lost to the war. The list of victims could not account for collateral damage, for the Sandy Creeveys of the world.

"Would you like to see the monument?" Hermione asked. "It won't be officially presented until the event in June, but I could show you now, if you'd like."

"I would," Sandy said. "Thank you."

Hermione led her to a seemingly deserted classroom and wondered at her impulsive offer. The headmistress probably wouldn't approve of her revealing the statue prior to the event, but something about Sandy had made her dismiss the warning voice in her head. Snape had been right...she seemed to have little regard for protocol today.

She pointed her wand at the corner of the room and whispered a spell. A cylinder of white marble appeared, stretching so high it nearly touched the ceiling, its diameter as wide as the Christmas trees reserved for the Great Hall.

Sandy whistled. "It's enormous," she said. "How ever did you get it in here?"

"Magic," Hermione replied and smiled when Sandy rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, right."

They approached the monolith together. Knowing what would happen when Sandy stood close enough, Hermione left her alone and walked around the statue, providing the young woman some privacy. She glanced at the names of the witches, wizards, and magical creatures carved along the base and, bracing herself, she stepped forward.

A small section of the marble...about the size of a dinner plate...rippled to life, as if suddenly fluid. It stretched and moved, and within seconds it had moulded itself into the shape of a face that pushed outward from the stone.

"Hello, Fred," she whispered.

The face offered no reply other than an achingly familiar smile and a mischievous bounce of its eyebrows. It blew an exaggerated kiss at her, then shifted and changed, until it had formed into the face of Remus, and another plate-sized circle appeared beside it to reveal Tonks. They smiled their kindly smiles at her, and she forced the image to remain strong in her mind, to replace the memory of their lifeless bodies staring up at the ceiling of the Great Hall after the battle.

Both faces shrunk back into the statue. She heard the sound of soft sobs, but before she stepped away to console Sandy, another face appeared.

"Hello, Professor," she said to Dumbledore.

He hadn't technically been a casualty of the battle, but both she and Harry had campaigned to have his image included on the memorial. For all his faults...and looking back, she realised there were many...she still believed he had always had the best intentions at heart, even if his execution of such had resulted in dire consequences on more than one occasion. She did not envy him the decisions he had been asked to make. And she found she could not judge him too harshly, given her own experiences and history, the mistakes she had made at Arglist. She did not possess enough arrogance to assume she could have performed his role any better than he had.

Dumbledore lowered his chin, and although his face was nothing but a smooth expanse of white marble, she could picture the blue eyes sparkling as they had in life. His spectacles slid down his nose, and he shook his head at her slowly. She knew he would not wish to be mourned.

She stepped back and the statue returned to its original state, a massive beam of cold, white stone. A team of magical artists had spent years perfecting the monument. The talent and skill required for such a feat had been unlike anything Hermione had seen before, but she thought the result had been worth the effort.

She walked around the statue and joined Sandy, who stood staring into the wide-eyed face of Colin Creevey.

"It's amazing," Sandy whispered. "Beautiful and horrible at the same moment."

Hermione nodded. She had felt the same way the first time she'd seen the monument. "I think it needs to be a bit horrible," she said. "I think the day we're unmoved by such a sight is the day they died in vain."

"We cannot allow that to happen," Sandy said. She lifted her small hand and rested her palm on Colin's cheek. "We shall remember them. Always."

The timing of this chapter, while completely coincidental, resulted in a violent departure from my usual Author's Note. I doubt the archives would appreciate my annotating the chapter with an op-ed piece, so I've removed it to my blog. If you'd like to read it, you may do so by copying and pasting this link into your browser: http://dailydoseofdiscontent.blogspot.com/2009/09/older-but-not-wiser.html