Mirrored Momentum

Holy cow! He was right.

It wasn't that Hermione didn't trust Severus Snape. The outcome of the Horcrux-destroying Spell was just something that had to be seen to be truly believed.

The remains of Hufflepuff's Cup, Ravenclaw's jewellery box, and Slytherin's locket lay in a molten pool of swirling gold and bronze on the kitchen table, still bubbling gently in the centre. Acrid, black smoke unfurled in suffocating wisps from the ex-Horcruxes. Shimmering rivulets of metal snaked an inexorable path towards the edge of the table.

Hermione grimaced and clamped her hand over her nose and mouth before waving her wand to freshen the air and then flicking a charm to cool the metal.

She'd peered at the solidified dull gold mass and had started to smile triumphantly when the kitchen door banged open.

"What the hell happened?" Harry demanded.

"I killed Voldemort," she said, gesturing towards the hunk of metal. "Well... three-sevenths of him anyway." She grinned. "Do I get to be three-sevenths of a Chosen One?"

Harry ignored her joke, still scowling. "How did you do that?"

"Research," she said succinctly, hoping to cut off further questions about the intricacies of the issue. She wasn't ready to admit where she'd obtained the details of the spell from.

"Well, I'm not cleaning up that mess," Harry said darkly. "And you should have told Ron and me what you were doing."

Hermione frowned at him. Lately he'd been taciturn and withdrawn, spiralling into moody depression the longer the war dragged on. And since they'd found the last two Horcruxes—Slytherin's locket under Kreacher's mattress and the Ravenclaw jewellery box in a place agreed upon by Severus and Hermione—his attitude became increasingly grim.

He was, however, right about one thing. "I'm sorry, Harry. I should have told you what I was doing this morning." Secrets and lies were intertwined with daily life now. She kept Severus and Phineas a secret, but it was all too easy to lie to her friends about other things, she realised with slight horror.

Harry grunted in reply.

The war had worn roughly against the ties of friendship that bound the Trio. That Ron was visiting his family without them this morning was telling. Living in such close proximity had introduced a chafing familiarity to their daily interactions. Quirks that had been amusing at first were annoying now.

"Oh, come on, Harry! We've made real progress," she said, ignoring his eloquent acceptance of her apology. "There's just Voldemort and Nagini left!"

"I suppose," he said, sighing.

Hermione Banished the charred metal, and she winced at the dark scarring left on the kitchen table. "I should probably have done that outside," she said wryly.

Harry snorted softly and slid into a chair, rubbing his face tiredly. "So what happens now?"

Hermione flicked the kettle on, and she dropped tea bags into cups. "Make Voldemort come and get us," she said thoughtfully. "There's nothing holding us back now. We can end this soon, Harry!"

Harry looked sceptical. "Do you honestly think that's going to work?"

"We don't really have another choice, Harry." The distinct fragrance of bergamot swirled into the air as Hermione poured boiling water into each cup.

She put his cup of tea down in front of him and touched his furrowed brow with a fingertip. "You've managed to shut him out so far. He won't see us coming. We just have to map it all out carefully."

Harry blew onto the surface of his tea, narrowing his eyes against the wafts of steam. He sipped carefully, swallowed, and then took a deep, fortifying breath. He exhaled loudly. "So," he said slowly, "we lay a trap... and I'm the bait." He smiled for the first time in weeks. "He won't be able to resist—the more public the better for him to gloat, yeah?"

She smiled delightedly and raised her tea cup in a silent toast to victory. "Exactly, Harry."

Merlin's staff! She was right!

It wasn't that Severus didn't trust Hermione Granger. The outcome of injecting a human being with a syringe full of potassium chloride was just something that had to be seen to be truly believed.

Peter Pettigrew's rotund body was slumped over the kitchen table, his silver hand still twitching spasmodically. His legs were splayed unnaturally beneath him. A nauseating stench festered in the air. The disgusting mess of death-loosened bowels seeped sluggishly through his trousers.

Severus grimaced and clamped his hand over his nose and mouth before waving his wand to freshen the air and flicking a charm to Vanish the mess.

He'd peered at the corpse and started to smile triumphantly when the kitchen door banged open.

"What the hell happened?" Draco demanded.

"Peter Pettigrew died," he said, gesturing toward the body. "Well... he certainly looks dead anyway. I have not yet confirmed." He shuddered at the pool of saliva leaking from Pettigrew's gaping mouth and gingerly placed two fingertips against the clammy, flabby neck. "No pulse," he said, wiping his fingertips on his sleeve fastidiously.

Draco was still scowling. "How did it happen?"

"Heart attack," he said succinctly, hoping to cut off further questions about the intricacies of the issue. Finally the traitor had paid for his crimes, and Severus felt not a twinge of guilt.

"Well, I'm not cleaning up that mess," Draco said darkly. "He wasn't even supposed to be here this morning."

Severus frowned at him. Draco had been taciturn and withdrawn lately, spiralling into moody depression the longer the war dragged on. And since Voldemort had disciplined his parents--a highly public humiliation--his attitude became increasingly grim.

He was, however, right about one thing--Peter was supposed to have been on Potterwatch. Not that any of the Death Eaters had been successful in that endeavour yet.

"Yes, you're right, Draco. I believe he returned for a change of clothing." He gave the olive green excuse for a suit a distasteful glance. Secrets and lies had been intertwined with daily life for decades. Hermione and Phineas were merely a new secret. Lies came without effort and deception was a daily duty.

Draco made a soft noise of acceptance.

The war had changed the relationship between the two men. Living in such close proximity had introduced an uncomfortable familiarity to their daily interactions. The longer their imposed habitation wore on, the more Draco wore on him. Severus was disgusted to realise that he actually felt sorry for the young man.

"Oh, come on, Draco! He was an abominable house mate," he said dryly. "You'll have the bathroom to yourself now."

"I suppose," Draco said, sighing.

Severus Banished the body with a Dark Spell that was standard in the basic arsenal of each Death Eater. "He should have had the decency to die elsewhere," he said darkly.

Draco snorted softly and slid into a chair, rubbing his face tiredly. "How are we going to explain this?"

Severus opened a kitchen cupboard and retrieved two glasses. "The Granger girl's cat ate him while he was on Potterwatch," he said thoughtfully.

Draco looked sceptical. "Do you honestly think He's going to believe that rubbish?"

"I doubt He'd believe Peter died of natural causes." Severus poured a generous amount of Firewhisky into each glass.

He put Draco's drink in front of him and touched the young wizard's shoulder with a pale finger. "Don't worry about it," Severus said, "it's not your problem. I'm going to alter your memories so that you have no recollection of having seen the body." He'd Obliviate this conversation, too.

Draco swallowed his shot of Firewhisky in one gulp, narrowing his eyes with the easing burn. "That makes it easier for me, but not for you, Severus." Draco took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. He smiled slightly for the first time in months, wonder flickering in his dulled grey eyes. "You... you can fool him, can't you?"

Severus smiled sardonically and raised his glass in a silent toast to deception. "Exactly, Draco."