Chapter 31

Author's Notes: Holding your breath during this particular chapter is not recommended, as you might pass out. Remember to breathe, please--more than once; it works best, that way. ~Lotm

---

XXXI.

The disgust warring with dismay in his voice reassured Hermione, even as his words chilled her with dread. She hadn't wanted him to know, to keep the information out of his mind. As in, away from Voldemort. "If I denied it, you would think I was lying, and think it to be true. If I confirmed it, the Dark Lord might read about it in your mind...and if it indeed turned out to be true, or if he just sensed that you thought it was true, he'd probably kill you. That's not the sort of fate I'd like to see happen to you."

Quiet as her words were, they fell into the silence between them with crisp clarity. He studied her for a long moment, then asked quietly, "How did you get your hands on it? The wards I raised were so sensitive, even just being a wizard or witch near that cabinet would trigger the alarms, and alert the Dark Lord. But he hasn't been alerted."

"Try when did I get my hands on it, Severus. You sent me the conversation you were having with him, remember?" Hermione prompted her blond-disguised husband. "Even if I thought Russel and Snape were two different men at the time. You delayed your arrival at the Clover Street Orphanage, didn't you?"

He nodded slowly. "I hoped you would get there ahead of me, but when I saw the cup, I knew you hadn't made it. Or I thought you hadn't. But the spell that was laid on it--I was told that Muggles couldn't see or touch it, and yet a wizard or witch would die, if they touched it."

"There's three kinds of people in the world, Severus, not two," Hermione reminded her blond-haired husband. "Wizardfolk, Muggles, and..."

"...Squibs," he completed for her. "Of course. I should've seen it for myself. I take it the replacement is a Transfigured replication?"

"Correct. I used a charm to lift the lethal spell on the original, and my Squib companion replaced the cup with a duplicate," Hermione admitted. "We finished just as you entered the hall, and Portkeyed out of there."

"The Anima Te...it kills the soul, and only the soul, doesn't it?" he asked. "Because I know there are any number of ways to destroy that cup, and destroy the soul that resides within it at the same time."

"It's Helga Hufflepuff's cup," Hermione enlightened him. "We didn't think it would be right to destroy an heirloom of the Hufflepuffs like that. And when we...well, did a sort of divination, we found a way to destroy the Horcrux without ruining the properties of the cup. Which led to me needing to get into your house to get the Diary...which led to my uncovering your identity."

"I thought you didn't care for Divination," he returned dryly.

"This version has turned out to be really accurate, and, as the cause is good--" she shrugged, "--I can live with it. Though it's not exactly a standard method of Divination."

"You're confusing me." he opened his mouth to ask her a question, then shut it, shaking his head. "--No, I do not want to know. It will be difficult enough to conceal this information from him, anyway. Or rather, work out a way wherein I could have come to the conclusion on my own, and present it to him in a way that will not get me killed for voicing it.

"I really didn't want you to know," Hermione sighed. "Ignorance being safety, in this case. Because I doubt Snake-Face will care for anyone else having the knowledge to make themselves virtually immortal, save that it doesn't seem to slow or stop the aging process, unlike the Elixir of Life that Nicholas Flamel managed to brew. Which is kind of strange, because I've heard rumors that one of the things he lures in his followers with is the quest for immortality."

"It is," Severus agreed, nodding his disguised head thoughtfully. "I suppose, if I posed it as a possibility based on deduction...sought his permission to explore the idea... No, that wouldn't work. What little I know of Horcruxes suggests a murder must be committed. I'd rather avoid that, if at all possible."

"Play the humble-card," Hermione offered in a flash of inspiration. "Tell him you were thinking, and you came to realize he must have cleverly split his soul several times to ensure his survival, but that you're actually glad he hasn't told anyone," she stated as he glanced at her sharply, "because you don't think any of his followers are worthy of following that closely in his footsteps, yet. Not even yourself."

"Split his soul...into several parts?" he repeated warily. Grey eyes widening, he drew in a sharp breath. "--That speck of light, that came out of the Ravenclaw wand! The Dementor--it was eating part of his soul! Of course! No wonder he was so furious. He destroyed that Dementor, too. We all thought it was because the wand was broken, and destroying a Dementor is not an easy thing to do. Not even for three wizards working together, and he scared us all by doing it on his own. We thought it was a display of his power as well as his displeasure, an object lesson for the rest of us to never fail him so terribly again."

"Try not to think about any of it too much," Hermione cautioned him, nibbling her lower lip in worry.

He touched her chin with his finger, lifting her face slightly as he met her concerned gaze. "Do not fret over me. I can take care of myself. Just tell me if you know how many Horcruxes there are."

"We do know," Hermione admitted. "But don't ask me how many are left."

"No, that is something I do not at this time need to know. Besides, from Potter's confidence, I would think the number is low, or will soon be. Come, we need to go back," he stated, grasping her hand as he changed the subject. "If Weasley, knowing who I am, wants my knowledge and expertise, then I will give it to him. You'll certainly need it, to be able to plan an effective attack."

"Don't forget, you'll need to write some notes from Snape, telling us where to find the property, Russel," Hermione cautioned him pointedly as he reached for the Floo Powder. "Harry is going to face the Dark Lord. It's Prophecy, and we cannot avoid it. We'd just rather do it on our own terms, if we have the choice. Not on the Dark Lord's terms."

Grey eyes met light brown, as his hand reached for the pot of powder. "I'll give you what information I can. Try not to let yourselves rush headlong into danger, as the three of you normally do."

Hermione thought of the life growing within her, of having to end the life of a large, nasty-venomed snake that had almost killed Arthur Weasley over two years ago, of confronting a very large gathering of Death Eaters, and facing Lord Voldemort himself. Rushing headlong into all of that would be nothing more than a world-shattering suicide, if they did so without any planning. "Believe me, we're not interested in doing that, this time around."

...

Hermione dozed quietly. The ticking of a clock on the wall marched in steady counterpoint to the occasional, soft, droning snores of her blood-brother on a nearby couch, and the flicking of turning pages in Ron's and Russel's hands. Ron was seated at the table, busy studying the CPR pamphlet that Russel had brought up from his quarters several hours ago, back when the quartet had gotten into a discussion of medical techniques, Muggle versus magical.

Ron had taken the Pureblooded line of magical medicine being better, stating that magical healing worked faster than more mundane means. Russel had confounded him--since Ron knew who he really was--by taking the Muggle side of the matter, pointing out that Muggle techniques worked regardless of whether one had a functioning wand at hand or not, which was the one flaw in magical healing methods. Hermione had let the two of them argue back and forth while she studied the pamphlet, remembering it to be pretty much the same as the first aid and CPR course she had studied in the summer between her fifth and sixth years, at her parents' insistence. The debate had ended with Russel challenging Ron to read the material for himself, rather than 'continuing to argue out of sheer, stubborn ignorance'. Vanity pricked, Ron had done just that.

Russel had then picked out a book to read and stretched his kilted frame out on the couch. Hermione had selected a book for herself, but she had reached the second trimester of her pregnancy, and that meant the occasional need for a nap. She'd started out curled up at one end of the couch, but now lay between her husband's outstretched legs, using his chest for her pillow, half-wrapped in his arms as he held the book propped up over her shoulder. She could hear his heartbeat under her ear, feel the rise and fall of his lungs as he breathed.

She felt rather peaceful, lying here in his arms.

Harry snorked and rolled over. Without his glasses, he looked both younger and older when he slept, as contradictory as that might seem. She couldn't see him right now, because her own eyes were closed, but she heard him twisting on the cot she'd conjured with a need-impelled thought. In a little bit, they'd Floo the kitchens for another round of food--

The wizard under her jerked, hissing. Snapping open her eyes, Hermione blinked up at him. He grimaced. "--I'm being Summoned. I have to go."

Nodding, Hermione crawled off of his kilt, letting him stand. He stooped over her, catching her jaw with one hand, and kissed her. It didn't soothe her worry over the fact that he now knew about Voldemort's Horcruxes. Licking her lips as he withdrew, she whispered, "...Be careful."

"Always." Straightening, he faced Ron, speaking quietly to allow the other occupant of the room to keep sleeping. "Remember the safety precautions. No one else is to be allowed in there with you, and your first priority is saving yourself. Thoughtful caution, not blind heroism, will save the day."

Ron nodded grimly. Together, he and Hermione watched the kilted, blond wizard disappear into the lavatory, no doubt to summon a hearth and Floo elsewhere. Ron waited until he was gone before speaking. "If only he could be like that, the rest of the time. Pleasant to be around."

"He didn't exactly have a choice, given the situation he was trapped in, for so many years." It was the most she could say, given the presence of her blood-bound brother. Slanting her gaze pointedly at Harry, she returned it to Ron. "I'd be like he was, too, if I had to put up with all that he did, for so long. But he's a lot different than he used to be, when he has the privacy and freedom to be."

"I'll take your word for it. I don't like it," Ron added bluntly, lifting the manual in his hands, "but I'll trust you, at least. I just hope you can keep him in line."

There wasn't much she could say in reply that wasn't sarcastic. Hermione settled back onto the couch. "Now that he's gone, we should start discussing our exact steps. And alternatives, in case things start going wonky, once everything starts snowballing towards the end."

"I've already given that a bit of thought," Ron told her. "Harry needs to strike a killing blow, but he can't cast the Killing Curse. It isn't within him, and he cannot wield his wand against Moldiemort without invoking Priori Incantatem. Which means he needs another weapon. A different weapon. And some means of distracting Voldemort's own magic, preventing him from attacking and killing Harry ahead of schedule.

"I think he should use Godric's sword."

Hermione thought about that for a moment, then nodded, twisting onto her back on the couch. "I think you're right. There's a certain parallel to it. He pulled the sword out of the Sorting Hat when he first faced off against Tom Riddle's diary-preserved memory...which we now know was when he faced off against Riddle's first Horcrux. Even though it was the basilisk tooth that destroyed the diary, the sword was there. It was the weapon he'd summoned to fight against Riddle. But...Harry doesn't know how to wield a sword."

"He can, if he uses the Weaponmaster's Geas."

Hermione rose up on her elbows at that. "...The Weaponmaster's Geas? I've never heard of that."

"I found it in an old treatise on medieval combat spells. It gives the recipient weapons expertise. Swords, knives, battleaxes... It only lasts for a short while," Ron warned her, "but it should last long enough to give him an edge. Pun intended. It comes with spell-shields, too, so he'll be able to defend himself against incoming magical attacks, though I don't know how well they'll stand up against the Unforgivables."

"Trust a boy to look up spells on medieval combat," Hermione retorted with a wry smile. She lay back down on the couch. "Thanks for being a boy, Ron."

He flashed her a grin, lifting his chin a little with mock-pride. "I come by it naturally, you know!"

She laughed. Harry snorted and woke. He squinted around the room, then fumbled for his glasses on a nearby end-table. Pushing up onto an elbow, he asked, "...Where's Russel?"

"He was Summoned," Ron told him.

"I hope it's for nothing bad," Harry muttered, rumpling his perennially mussed locks. "He's a good man. I like him."

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks. Clearing her throat, Hermione offered, "I'm glad you can like him, Harry, when you give him a chance. So. Let's discuss strategy. Ron, how much time have we got left?"

"Um...just shy of three hours."

"Good." Concentrating, Hermione willed a sword-rack into existence, with most of the swords roughly the heft and shape of Gryffindor's blade. Harry blinked, and Ron narrowed his eyes in calculation. "Ron thinks you should go in wielding a sword, rather than your wand. When we go up against Voldiedork himself, that is."

"I can't use my own wand against him, because of Priori Incantatem," Harry agreed. "I've been trying to figure out how to get around that. But...I don't really know how to use a sword."

"Ron has a spell that will help you wield the sword--right, Ron?"

"Right--but you need practice in it," the redhead added. "Up you get," he ordered Harry, uncurling himself from his chair. "Hermione, if you'll 'require' us up a bit of practice room?"

...

The viciousness of the interaction between the Anima Te and the bezoars had not been exaggerated by the Mirror of Erised. If anything, it had been understated. Ron yelped behind his protective gear as the first splash from the cup reached the mound. Yellow acid foamed up in an instant, hissing and snapping with a ferocity that Harry and Hermione could hear on the other side of the protective glass. Ron almost spilled the potion in the cup onto the floor, but managed to aim the drops into the cauldron. Very carefully, he poured a thin stream onto the ugly brown stones, then set the cup aside to air-dry.

Pouring the contents of the teapot just as carefully, he set that aside to dry as well. The foaming acid slowly died down, leaving behind a very shiny cauldron interior. Hermione, anxious, asked through the glass, "--Are there any bezoars left?"

"...A handful," Ron replied. "I think you got enough. I'm going to use a drying charm on the teapot and cup, since the dry version of this stuff doesn't foam up like the watered version, and I don't want to damage the cup."

Hermione gripped Harry's hand, nibbling on her lower lip from worry. But Ron, displaying a care he had rarely shown in Potions class, worked with methodical patience and precautions. He even stepped out one wards' worth, powdered and stripped off his dragon-hide gloves, and donned a new set before drawing his wand and stepping back in. If 'Russel' could have seen him then, Hermione thought he would have been very pleased with his former pupil's painstaking care. Fifty points to Gryffindor...

Several scrubbings and cleansing charms later, the teapot had been cleansed, smashed and banished, and Helga Hufflepuff's equally cleansed cup was carried back into the sitting area. Ron, wearing his fourth pair of dragon-hide gloves, though with the rest of the protective clothes left behind, set the cup carefully down on the table, which Harry hastily cleared of the latest, half-completed puzzle. Nodding at the cup, the freckled wizard looked at Hermione.

"Well? Go for it!"

Drawing her wand, she flicked it over the two-handled cup. "Psyscandum!" Nothing happened. Hermione flicked her wand at Ron. "Psyscandum!"

Ron glowed in bright pastel hues. All three of them heaved sighs of relief. Harry nudged his blood-bound sister with his elbow as she banished the spell from the youngest male Weasley. "--Hey, do yourself! Let's see if we can see the baby!"

Blushing, she flicked the wand over her stomach, repeating the spell. Her own aura flared in brilliant hues, rich and complex...save for over her abdomen, where the colours were light, pale pastels. The sort of colours one saw on infant clothing.

"Wow..." Harry breathed. He reached out his hand, then pulled it back. "Sorry, but... It just occurred to me I have a little niece or nephew in there, don't I?"

"Yeah."

"Why are the colours so pale?" Ron asked.

"There was something in the spell's description about life experiences, emotional upheavals...the baby hasn't even been born yet," Hermione pointed out, touching her slightly thickened stomach through the glow of the spell. "It's a new soul."

"You mean, Harry's aura is more intense than mine, because he's experienced more emotional upheavals than I have," Ron clarified.

"Yes. Psyscandum--Psyscandum." Hermione recast the spell on both of them. "See? Harry's had a rougher life, so his hues are darker. But it's not a bad sort of 'darker', since he's still a good person, inside. They're just more intense than either yours or mine, and far more than the baby's."

Of the three adults, Harry was indeed the darkest-hued, save for the ugly zigzag glow of his magic-made scar. Ron had patches of richer hues, but some areas were paler than others. Hermione's aura was more evenly-coloured, save for her lower abdomen.

A flash of gold, blue-green and white distracted them. Russel had appeared, the golden dragonette of Sigurd cradled in his arms. He took in Ron's aura, then Hermione's, his gaze dipping to her stomach, then looked at Harry. When his gaze reached Harry's face, his grey eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" Ron asked him, distracting him from that speculative look. Hermione cancelled the auras with a flick of her wand.

Dismissing the dragonette in a swarm of golden sparks, Russel tightened his mouth for a moment, then breathed deeply and spoke. "...Someone wanted to prove they were worthy of joining the Death Eaters. A protege of Antonin Dolohov's. They took it upon themselves to...to attack the Grangers, tonight."

Hermione gasped. Harry's fists clenched, his green gaze narrowing. "Did you know about this, in advance?"

"No. My word on it. In fact, it caused a bit of consternation," Russel added blandly. "I had previously pointed out to the Dark Lord that any attack on the Grangers would make my wife hesitate to trust me, and he needs Jane to trust me, in order for me to get information out of her. He was not pleased with the would-be follower. But, knowing the steeping time was almost up on the cup, I bartered for the Snake-Snogger to stay his hand for the moment. I told him I could go see how badly they were hurt; if the situation was salvageable with my spouse and in-laws, I suggested to the Dark Lord that such initiative should be rewarded by inducting him into the Death Eaters...and then teaching him how to obey his master. If it had caused me problems, then the Dark Lord could torment the bastard to his liking, and all it would cause would be a short delay before his torturing.

"When he agreed my plan had merit, I attended to a small matter, then left to check on Daphne and Jeffrey. They had been whisked away to the Burrow by their Portkey pendants at the moment of the attack--your mother's been badly hurt, but she's probably at St. Mungo's by now. Your father was only bruised from landing on the Weasley's living-room floor, as far as I could tell. They were Ported away right after the initial attack...but they were attacked as they slept."

Fingers covering her mouth, Hermione stared at him. Harry pulled her into a comforting embrace, his arms trembling faintly. Ron studied Russel thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"I woke the Weasleys and made sure they could took care of them, then came here. I can stall things for about half an hour, maybe an hour at most. I take it the Horcrux in the cup has been destroyed?" Russel asked Hermione, lifting a hand to touch her shoulder.

Lowering her hand from her mouth, she nodded, re-gathering her wits. "Yes."

"Then you'll have only a short time to finish whatever else you need to do before the initiation begins." His mouth twisted, but it wasn't a smile. "...Presuming everything is still alright in my marriage?"

"You know it is, Russel," Hermion admitted softly, giving him forgiveness in her gaze. It wasn't his fault some idiot had chosen to attack her family...though she did wish heartily there had never been a war in the first place, to endanger anyone.

"Do what you have to do," Harry conceded, squeezing her in his arms as he eyed her husband. "Where will the induction take place?"

"Death Eater Central. I believe you know the graveyard, Harry, but you won't be able to find it without this," Russel added, removing a slip of paper from his sporran. The three of them clustered around the paper as he handed it to Harry face-down. They turned it, and read the address written in the spiky handwriting familiar from their school years. Russel took it back after a moment, returning it to his kilt pouch.

Ron frowned. "...What'd you do that, for? We could've used that to show the other Order members where to go!"

"...That's the other difficulty," Russel murmured, his Canadian accent drawing out the words as he grimaced. "The Dark Lord summoned me because he was impatient with me. I haven't infiltrated your own Headquarters yet. If that fool hadn't been brought to him, I likely would have been punished, this visit. The Dark Lord thinks I should use this attack on the Grangers as a way to worm myself deeper into the Order of the Phoenix...and has made it a command. From the sounds of your own plans, may I infer that the final confrontation is almost upon us?"

Harry nodded, his face tight and grim. "It is, if you can get us that initiation rite in about an hour."

"I'll do what I can."

Mind racing over everything they had to do, Hermione turned to her brother. "Harry, I want you to go check on Mum and Dad. I can't do it. I need to go to the Mirror of Erised, to make sure we've covered everything, and you know that's going to take me time, even if I can direct it to show me what we need to know. If you go check on our parents, that'll be a load off of both our minds. Check on them, make sure they're alright, then meet me in the Room of Requirement.

Harry nodded, releasing her with a squeeze. "They're in the best of hands."

"Ron, you take Russel to Minerva, and...tell her everything," she stated carefully, as Harry concentrated, forming a fireplace in one of the walls. "Get the sword, while you're at it, since you'll be in her office. If now's the time when everything comes to a head, the Order has to be ready...and they're going to have to trust Russel as much as I do."

Ron waited until Harry had vanished in a verdant flare, then set his jaw with stubborn determination, staring at her husband. "Swear by your ring that everything you've just told us is the truth, Russel...and then I'll believe in you."

"Hermione Jane Snape. Everything I have told you since arriving just a few minutes ago has been the truth."

Hermione lifted her hand, displaying the words forming out of its scale-pattern.

Everything I have told you since arriving just a few minutes ago has been a variation of the truth.

Ron lifted one of his brows, folding his arms across his chest. "...A 'variation' of the truth?"

Russel gave him an impatient, Snape-like look. "Now is not the time to be a brainless idiot, Weasley. I obviously cannot tell you verbatim everything that happened!"

"--Play nice!" Hermione ordered both of them. "It's good enough for me, Ron; even a variation of the truth is still the truth. Is the truth good enough for you, or do you need more?"

Sighing heavily, Ron ran a freckled hand through his locks. "...Fine. I believe you. We'll meet you in front of the Mirror, 'Mione."

"I won't be able to stay very long," Russel cautioned both them. "I do have to return and report on whether or not the attack damaged my standing with you." He hesitated a moment, then looked into Hermione's eyes. "Jane, you said you know where all of the Horcruxes are. That you know what you have to do to destroy them... Do you really know where all of them are? Every last piece of the Dark Lord's fragmented soul?"

Biting her lower lip, Hermione nodded. Her husband closed his eyes for a moment, a display of tight-faced emotion that hovered somewhere between disappointment, pain, and grief. Without a sound, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his body. She felt him trembling as she returned the embrace, and wondered what had upset him. A deep breath, and he released her. Stepping back, he fixed her friend with a hard look, looking like a mixture of Russel and Snape, for all he was still tanned and blond-haired.

"You said you will believe me, Ronald. Now I must ask you to believe in me, to trust me," he said quietly. Ron nodded warily, his gaze flicking to Hermione and back. Nodding himself, Russel turned to the hearth Harry had summoned. "Come. We'll wake Minerva, and rouse the Order."

Hermione watched her husband and her best friend leave, then gathered herself. Concentrating, she summoned the corridor that would lead to the version of the junk-room she needed to be able to access the Mirror. Stepping into the hall, she waited as the braziers sprung to life, then lifted herself with her Self-Levitating Charm, aiming for the corner off to the right where the Mirror was located.

Landing lightly, she cancelled the spell and stepped up to the mirror, closing her eyes against the grey, age-worn surface for a moment. Firmly focusing her thoughts, Hermione thought as hard as she could, opening her eyes again, Show me all of the remaining fragments of Lord Voldemort's soul that we have to destroy, and where they are located!

The greyness beyond the mirror roiled, then revealed itself. A snake slithered through frost-edged grass. Nagini. She wasn't an ordinary reptile, to be able to do that. Cold normally put snakes into a sort of torpor. Probably her master had cast a Warming Charm on her body--a fact proven, Hermione saw, as she watched the frost within a few inches of her scales melting as the serpent passed.

The image pulled back, allowing her to see that some of the grave-markers bore the Riddle name. The family plot, then.

Show me the locations of the rest of Voldemort's twisted bits of soul...

The view shifted from the snake to a cadaverously thin man; it closed in, showing that he actually had a little bit of muscle about him, but his height made him look thinner in proportion. He was tending a fire, and strapped to his back like a claymore was a shaft of dark iron. The brand.

Again, the perspective in the graveyard changed. Voldemort's ugly face came into view, surprising Hermione for a moment. She almost lost the vision, but concentrated hard. Yes, show me the location of all the remaining fragments of his soul that we have to kill, in order to destroy him completely!

The view shifted abruptly. Hermione, startled again, clung stubbornly to her desire even as she wondered if it was going to show her the Hufflepuff cup, despite their efforts to--

The image re-solidified, showing an extreme close-up of dark, messy hair, pinkish skin...and a darker pink, jagged, lightning-bold shaped scar.

"--No!"

Stumbling backward, Hermione staggered into the chest Ron had brought for her to use as a seat, the last time they had been here. Sinking onto its dusty surface, she trembled at the implications. She wanted to deny it--she wanted to scream and deny it--but all of the evidence was there.

If Voldemort's followers were afraid of the Dark Mark, fearing it tied them to their master--and it did, via the Horcrux brand that had created those Marks--then the bond that Harry had held all along with the Dark Lord, the pains in his scar, the sensing of the Dark Lord's emotions, the visions... But that cannot be right--Harry's scar didn't show up, when I demanded the Mirror show me all of the Horcruxes!

...But it doesn't have to be a Horcrux, she reminded herself after a moment. It could be a sort of incomplete Horcrux. The prophecy said that the Dark Lord would share his power, and mark Harry as his equal...with a bit of his own soul paid in forfeit for the attempted murder. That's why Harry can speak Parseltongue. He's been leaning on a little bit of Voldemort's soul, all this time...

And, if Voldemort was to be defeated, he had to be killed. Down to the very last scrap of his soul. What was it Harry told us? '...And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives...' Oh, dear, sweet Merlin...

Harry has to die!

Just as the tears were stinging her eyes, Hermione heard a shout from across the cathedral-sized chamber.

"Oy! Hermione! Wake up!"

"--I'm here, Ron!" she answered reflexively, raising her voice. Scrubbing at her eyes, she added loudly, "I'll come to you!"

Hermione took a moment to gather her shattered emotions. It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. She loved Harry very much...but Tom Riddle had to be stopped, at any cost.

She had never once thought that those words, 'at any cost', would literally mean just that.

"Semobilim! " Rising up, she soared over the junk in the room, zeroing in on the doorway back to the rest of the Room of Requirement. Ron spotted her and made room for her to land. Sniffing as she did so, Hermione cancelled the charm and asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Half an hour, I think, maybe a little more. Harry's not here, yet?" he asked, using his palm to balance the hilt of Godric's sword, which had been slung around his waist on a sword-belt. Hermione shook her head, and Ron raced onward. "--You won't believe what just happened!" he told her. "We Floo'd into McGonagall's study, and caught Gregory Goyle and Argus Filch trying to break into the case holding Godric's sword! We thought Filch was under an Imperius cast by Goyle...but it turns out Filch was using an amulet to control Goyle! He was the one behind Goyle trying to get his hands on bits of your hair and clothes so that Goyle could fool Minerva into unlocking the case for 'you'. But since that backfired, he tried to get at it directly, tonight."

"But, Filch is a Squib!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why would he be wanting the sword?"

"Russel Floo'd down to the Potions office and broke into Slughorn's supply of potions. He brought back some Veritaserum while the portraits woke Minerva, and we questioned both of them. Goyle was just a pawn, but Argus had been promised by Lord Voldemort that if he stole the Gryffindor sword, Voldiebutt would give him the power to do magic!"

"Can he do that?" Hermione asked, gobsmacked at the possibility.

"I don't know. But the Headmistress locked the two of them up and called an emergency Order meeting. By this point, we didn't have much time," Ron confessed, the words babbling out of him almost breathlessly fast, "so Minerva got Russel the Secret of Headquarters, dragged him there, and made Russel say where Death Eater Central was--and that caused total chaos! The two of them had forgotten that you'd told the Order that the Secret-Keeper was Severus Snape, but Moody certainly hadn't forgotten!

"Sigurd nipped Russel out of there just as half the group went for their wands to try and hex him. Moody's petrifaction spell hit Hagrid, who had been seated behind Russel, and that's when I told them that I knew he was Snape, and that I trusted him--and that you knew and trusted him, too. They were still arguing sixes and sevens on the matter with Minerva when I realized I had to leave and catch up with you."

The door opened beside them, Harry poking his head through. Ron and Hermione both flinched, but it looked like he hadn't heard them through the door. "--There you are! Hermione, Mum's going to be alright. She got hit with Dolohov's curse, same one as you did, so it was a bit touch-and-go, but the Weasleys got her to St. Mungo's quickly enough. It sounds like she'll be back on her feet faster than you were, back in fifth year. Dad's a bit shaken up, but otherwise fine. Did you see everything in the Mirror?"

Tears stung at her eyes again. She wanted to deny it, to wish as hard as she could so that it wasn't true...but not even the Room of Requirement could make things otherwise. Firming her determination, Hermione fought back her grief, nodding. "Yeah. Everything will be there, when we get to the graveyard. I...I know what we have to do."

"Nothing is more important than ending Voldemort's life, and with it, his reign of terror," Harry agreed quietly. Grimly. "Nothing. This is literally the moment I was born for."

The tears escaped anyway, along with a half-strangled sob. Ron and Harry frowned at her, as Hermione quickly willed a kerchief into existence. She sniffed and gave them a watery smile. "Odd, isn't it? Not a speck of morning-sickness or tetchiness, and...and now I go all water-pot..."

"If you didn't have Sigurd to protect you, I'd lock you up and not let you go," Ron told her bluntly. "But do try to duck anyway, alright?"

Blowing her nose, Hermione nodded. Scourgifying the cloth with a spell, she concentrated and tapped it with her wand. It glowed blue for a moment, then turned normal again. "There. A Portkey."

"Where will it take us?" Harry asked her.

"Russel told me once that the caretaker's house was in use, along with the manor house itself, but that the graveyard was on one side of the caretaker's place, the drive on the next, a small copse of trees across from the graveyard, and a vegetable patch across from the drive," she reminded him. "This'll take us to a spot large enough for us to touch down within the trees, which is just within the property-line. Which means we should be able to arrive unseen, since they'd be watching for people to approach from outside the Secret-Kept zone."

"Good job," Ron praised her, grasping the handkerchief. Harry gripped it as well. At a nod from both of them, Hermione drew a deep breath, and activated the Portkey. The School spun rapidly away from them. A breathless length of time later, they landed with a jolt underneath a mixture of bare, deciduous limbs and prickly evergreens. The abrupt chill in the air made all three of them gasp; they'd forgotten to bring cloaks.

Hermione quickly cast Warming Charms on their garments; her teeth were chattering by the time she enchanted her own clothes. Harry stiffened, then hissed something, grabbing Ron's elbow. Ron jerked around, yanked the sword free from its scabbard, and lunged, chopping down where Harry pointed. He caught part of the snake with the blade, and hacked again, this time severing its spine within a few feet of its head. A third whack smashed the thing's skull.

Something faint, mist-like, rose out of the body. It hung there for a moment, then dissipated. Hermione found the hilt of the sword thrust at her as Ron quickly unbuckled the belt, passing it to Harry, who dropped his book-bag at his feet to make room for the scabbard. She wiped the blade on a handful of dried leaves, trying not to think of what had to be done, and handed it to Harry when he was ready to take it. As soon as Harry sheathed the blade, while his hand was still upon the hilt, Ron tapped him with his wand.

"Telumagistum! " Ron whispered firmly. The faint red-gold glow from their practice sessions just a few hours before seemed awfully bright now, but it faded, absorbing into his skin. "There. Now you're ready. Now we just need to sneak up to a good vantage point, so we can see when the branding takes place. Hermione, you've practiced the right charm for it?"

She nodded. "I'll be ready."

"I've kept my father's Cloak in my book-bag," Harry told them, stooping and opening the satchel, "like Dumbledore told me to do. We can hide under this, until it's time to attack."

It wasn't easy, stuffing three adult-sized bodies under the Cloak. Ron got the worst of it; he had to hunch over painfully low, with Harry and Hermione bent over themselves to either side, their arms interlaced around his ribs, just to get the hemline to brush the ground. Shuffling forward through the trees, they reached the edge of the copse. Directly ahead of them was the caretaker's hut. Harry nudged them towards the left, where the weed-choked gravel drive lay. Hermione thought it was a good idea; the ground was frosty and would mark their footsteps, but the earth by the vegetable patch was lumpy and weedy, and might threaten to make one or more of them trip.

There were a few lights in the caretaker's cottage, but most of the action was taking place outside, in the graveyard. Popping noises. Death Eaters were Apparating into the place, preparing to witness the ceremony.

Someone came out of the stone cottage, just as they neared the gate. Wormtail. He was buttoning a robe over his garments. He'd lost a bit more of the hair on his head, leaving it almost entirely bald on top, and enough weight to make his clothes baggy, but he still had the same ratty teeth as before. And he reeked of cooked cabbage, as did the air wafting out of the house, before he shut the door. Hermione used her free hand to cover her mouth against the nausea the welled up from the smell. Thankfully the ratty little traitor moved quickly away from them, clearing the air, and allowing them to circle around to the other side of the graveyard.

Her hand jerked away from her mouth as her finger burned. There was only half a moon out, tonight, a crisp, cold, early spring night with tiny wisps of clouds high in the sky and a glitter of stars lending their own faint illumination. Twisting her hand to catch the light gleaming through the cloth of Harry's Cloak, Hermione squinted at the words that formed. Thankfully, they were short and few, which allowed them to be large.

He's ready. Are you?

The words faded. Hermione couldn't, daren't respond. Not while Harry was within hearing distance of her husband's full name. Instead, she breathed to her companions, "They're ready for the ceremony. We have to get into position!"

There wasn't much of a fence on this side of the plot. Not upright and intact, at any rate. Ron steered them towards a fallen section. "You peel off when you've got a headstone to hide behind," he whispered back as Voldemort finished greeting the last of the kowtowing arrivals he had Summoned. "They'll look for the source of your spell, when you fling it and break the brand. We'll creep up on the snaky git from a different angle."

Hermione nodded, as Voldemort addressed whatever idiot wanted to join the silently watching ranks of his masked and robed Death Eaters.

"--Now, for us to deal with you. My greatest follower tells me your rash actions did not harm his position. That, in fact, he now has access to the new Secret-Kept Headquarters of our opposition, thanks to your precipitous attack," Voldemort announced to the spell-bound and –gagged man kneeling on the cold grass at his feet. "You have been taught a lesson while we waited. A most valuable lesson. To not go against my orders in any way, shape or form. Even Antonin agrees...don't you, Antonin?"

"Y-Yes, my lord," a voice replied shakily. Hermione realized it came from a Death Eater whose robes had been torn and gashed in a very familiar pattern of cuts. He was standing shakily, no longer bleeding--apparently, his master had Healed him, or had allowed someone else to do it--but he was injured all the same.

"Yes, well...now you know better than to fail to teach the most important lesson to would-be Death Eaters. To always follow my commands."

Hermione slithered out of the Cloak as the trio passed a large, ornately carved headstone. It had decorative Celtic knot-work around its weatherworn edge, pierced by the chisel of some long-forgotten mason. She could peer through the holes and keep an eye as well as an ear on the proceedings, if she was careful. Drawing and gripping her wand, she edged into position, listening to Voldemort ungagging his prisoner to ask the man if he would indeed always follow the Dark Lord's commands. The sobbing reply sounded very convincing.

Wherever Harry and Ron had secreted themselves, Hermione hoped they weren't in her way. She also hoped no one else would be in her line-of-fire, either; the snake-faced bastard circling around his impending minion didn't help the matter. But he finally thrust out his hand imperiously towards the tallest Death Eater.

"Brand!"

Bones pulled it from the fire he'd built on a flat gravestone, handing it to his lord with a graceful bow. The Dark Mark wrought into the end of the shaft glowed yellow-white as Voldemort righted it in his hands. The man kneeling on the ground, no longer bound, pushed back his sleeve and offered his left forearm. Voldemort shifted, and Hermione was forced to shift as well, to the other side of the headstone sheltering her. Now she ran the risk of being seen when she cast the spell, since she was on the left edge of the stone, but she had to cast her spell right-handed, if she wanted a clear shot.

Silently reciting the Charm to make sure she remembered it--now was not the time to forget the correct spell--Hermione gripped the vinewood shaft of her wand; she intended to cast the spell wordlessly, if she could get away with it.

"I...I pledge myself to the Dark Lord...to follow his commands and obey...to destroy all our enemies...and to seek to defeat even Death Itself!-- AAAAHH!! "

Flesh sizzled and smoke rose, as Voldemort almost lovingly pressed the brand into the screaming man's outstretched forearm. "Be apart from me no more...!"

Frangelu! Hermione shouted mentally, slashing her wand over the top of the headstone. To her relief, icy-blue energy shot out of her wand. It smashed into her target, freezing and frosting the iron instantly. Both Voldemort and his initiate yelled, jerking back from the arctic length of metal. They weren't the only ones. All of the Death Eaters standing witness in the cemetery gasped and clutched at their forearms.

The violent withdrawal of the two central figures left the Artifact without support; it dropped to the trampled, half-frozen grass, and shattered.

Yes! Hermione exulted silently, clenching her fists as she sank back behind the headstone. Then yelped and instinctively covered her head as the stone exploded, showering bits of granite everywhere. A flexible wall of gold got there first, as Sigurd materialized at full draconic size, protecting her with one of his large wings.

"--You!" Voldemort snarled. She peered around the edge of her guardian's wing, just in time to hear a multitude of popping sounds. They came from the Disapparation of several Death Eaters, as roughly a third of them fled. The others looked at each other...and several more vanished, fleeing the scene.

"Ha!" Disbelief melded into unbelievable joy, as Hermione gloated at the gaping Dark Lord. "Not so loyal, are they, once they've slipped your slimy leash!"

"Snape!" the Dark Lord yelled, but whatever he intended to do was diverted by the Invisibility Cloak being swept aside right in front of him, as Ron flung it off of Harry, who was drawing his sword.

"--It ends here, you bastard!" Harry yelled back, glaring at his nemesis.

One of the remaining Death Eaters shot a hex at Hermione, who yelped and ducked. Sigurd intercepted it with his wing and breathed fire back at the originator, who shrieked and dropped, rolling to put out the flames on her garments. Her mask fell off as she did so. Hermione cast a vine-hex, catching the mad figure of Bellatrix Lestrange in the tendrils that burst up out of the ground, pinning her down.

Ron shouted protective spells, guarding Harry's back as the remaining Death Eaters sought to strike both of them down. Harry slashed at the Dark Lord's throat--and the sword clanged against a hand upraised to block it. Peter Pettigrew smirked at Harry, his ratty front teeth all the more prominent from the act. Voldemort fell back, drawing his wand as his servant handled the threat of the Boy Who Lived. A twist of Wormtail's wrist, and the sword jerked out of Harry's hand.

"--Now!" The sharp, baritone command cut through the chaos, and Hermione's voice leapt in her throat. She spotted Snape tearing the mask from his face and casting it at the Dark Lord's feet. She didn't know what Severus wanted her to do, with that command--

A different voice answered his command, as one of the remaining figures ripped off his own skeletal, metallic mask, baring his short, pale hair. "Fosphignilocurum! Disspeculumbustio!"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as her Charm linked itself to the Foxfire Charm, and every last Death Eater Mask within view burst into white-hot incandescence. Voices screamed, writhed, dropped to the ground as the masks scorched the flesh that lay underneath. Decimating the remains of the enemy ranks. Even Wormtail dropped, screaming as he clawed the burning-hot mask from his blistering skin, using his silvery hand. The sword dropped beside him, forgotten in the literal heat of the moment.

Just as he stooped to reach for it, Harry flung sideways, away from Hermione; the blow had come from Bellatrix, who had torn her wand-arm free of the vines pinning her down. Hermione snarled and cast the Stupefaction Curse on the woman, zapping the red beam of magic into the older witch's body. She jerked and slumped, no longer resisting her root-bound imprisonment.

Even as she handled the one uninjured but still loyal Death Eater, Ron flung a hex at the Dark Lord, catching him off guard just as he was about to hex the defenceless, downed Harry. The Dark Lord flew back, slamming into the ornate grave-marker that Hermione belatedly realized read, Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord was meeting his end practically on top of the grave of his murdered Muggle father.

Harry shook off Bella's hex, rolling over. He started to crawl towards the sword on the ground, only to realize Pettigrew had his silvery hand on the blade. Freezing in place, he stared at the man who had once been Ron's pet rat, Scabbers. For a moment, time seemed to slow, as Voldemort shook off his daze.

And then the badly blistered Peter Pettigrew tossed the blade at Harry. It slid roughly over the trampled, frosted grass, stopping just within reach of Harry's hand. Voldemort blinked in shock.

"--You dare betray me? Manex Proditum! "

The silver hand jerked and slammed into Wormtail's throat. He choked out three words, as his other hand pulled fruitlessly at his metallic wrist. "Life...debt...Harry--"

Blood sprayed, as the hand pinched ruthlessly inward, and jerked itself back. Tearing out the throat of the man who had betrayed his friends over fifteen years ago. Hermione winced away from the grisly sight of Pettigrew's body hitting the grass, feeling her stomach churn. She looked back quickly at Harry's wild yell, just in time to see him impaling the Dark Lord with the returned blade. Harry, face a twisted rictus of rage and grim determination, twisted the blade into the older wizard's stomach and ribs, again making Hermione's stomach twist at the violent sight.

"Die, you bastard!"

Voldemort gripped Harry's wrists tightly in his hands, holding the sword in place. He bared his once-attractive teeth...and laughed. The Basilisk Bastard...laughed! Hermione stared, wide-eyed. Ron, having turned to assist Snape and Draco in Stunning the remaining, badly burnt Death Eaters, peered over his shoulder in horror at the ghastly, high-pitched sound. Even Severus and Draco stopped and stared.

Harry tried to pull back, but Voldemort held him in place. He struggled again, fruitlessly. "--Why won't you die? "

"Because I am bound to you, Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, grinning. He lifted one hand from Harry's wrists, trailing a fingernail up the side of the younger wizard's face. Harry flinched back, but his arms were still caught, keeping him within reach. "I found a potion that would tie my life-force to yours...because you carry a piece of my soul within you."

The finger reached Harry's scar and pressed it, hard. Harry screamed, wrenching his hands free. He backed up a step, and Voldemort spread his hands, the sword sticking obscenely out of his bleeding stomach. Hermione rose from her crouch, all of her attention centered on the drama unfolding before them. This, then, was what the Mirror of Erised had tried to warn her about.

"So long as you live, Harry Potter, I will live, too. Destroy all the Horcruxes you can find, little boy. It no longer matters. You will never be powerful enough to defeat me!"

Harry blinked, brow creasing in thought, then retorted, "You're wrong!"

Voldemort lifted his brows, wrists crossing over the blade of the sword like it was some sort of obscene, edged arm-rest. "Am I?"

"The Prophecy says I have a power that you know not!"

"What power could you possibly have?" the Dark Lord sneered.

"Love!" Harry had stopped retreating, and now straightened his shoulders. He looked like he had swallowed a living cockroach cluster, and it was going down his throat with great difficulty, but he looked determined to swallow it.

"Love? What power could love possibly give you?" Voldemort demanded, voice hissing with skepticism.

"The power to destroy you!" Harry edged closer as he made his claim, chin lifted.

"Love cannot destroy anything, boy! Even I know that is a pure contradiction! Love cannot destroy me!"

"No, it cannot," Harry agreed, face a rictus of determination and grief. He snatched at the hilt of the sword, jerking it free of Voldemort's body, and hurled it away from both of them. It hit the ground and skidded, stopping with the point facing towards him. "--But I love the wizarding world too much to let you destroy it! Accio sword! "

And Harry faced the incoming blade fully, his arms flung wide.

"--Protego! "

Hermione gasped, tears in her eyes, as a bolt of magic smashed into the flying sword, sending it tumbling to the grass in her direction. Sigurd didn't even flinch, still standing at her back; the blade stopped more than two yards from where she stood, no threat to her or her unborn child. Harry whirled on Snape, gaping. "You...you stopped..."

"...Well done, Severus!" Voldemort clapped his hands slowly, mockingly, pride and glee coating his voice like an aural version of snake-oil. "I knew I could count on you, even if you chose to betray me! You see, Harry Potter...the world loves you too much to lose you...and yet my followers love me too much, too."

For a moment, Severus' black gaze met Hermione's stunned brown over the shoulder of her blood-bound brother. Then he snorted, scoffing the Dark Lord's claim. "...Please. I don't love you! None of us did."

Strangely enough, the Dark Lord took that in stride. He even snorted. "Good. Love is nothing but a weakness!"

"Love is a strength! Accio--" Harry tried again.

"Protego!" Snape shouted. Again, the sword was diverted to the side. Ron shouted a hex at Snape, slashing with his wand, and Snape countered him with his own spell. "Protego!--Stupefy!"

As his best friend fell, unable to deflect the red bolt of energy in time, Harry glared at Severus Snape. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Expelliarmus!" The jolt of magic blasted Harry's wand from his hand. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat, at that, but Snape's next words, blandly delivered, confused her. "Because your sister loves you."

"--Is that how it is, in the House of Snape?" Lord Voldemort hissed, face tightening in sudden comprehension. "You would betray everything you worked for, just for this?"

Hermione realized too late, not what, but who the Dark Lord meant. He lashed his wand at her, and several things happened at once. But it was as if Hermione were still wearing the Velocitemplet: everything slowed down with heart-stopping clarity. She flinched, even as the spell-words formed. Sigurd lowered his wing down around her, even as Harry tried to leap into the path of Voldemort's descending wand. But he wasn't in the right position to block anything at that angle--

"--Avada Kedavra!"

"--Accio Harry!"

The second spell jerked a stunned Harry Potter straight into the path of the first one. The bolt of green light hit him in the chest, dropping him. Hermione screamed and lurched toward her wide-eyed brother. Snape lunged forward, too. Beyond the young, fallen wizard, a gaping, gobsmacked Voldemort clutched at the wound just under his ribs. Blood gushed abruptly from the wound as he gurgled, then slumped, collapsing at Harry's feet.

Skidding onto her knees, Hermione touched Harry's shoulder, his green eyes staring sightlessly up into the night sky, his glasses knocked askew from the fall. She shook him, then shook him harder. "No...no...no..."

"Pull yourself together!" Severus snapped at her, stooping and catching her arm. "Jane--Jane! Cast that charm you used!" he commanded her harshly.

She glanced up at him, still unable to believe what he'd done. It was necessary that Harry die. She knew it was necessary, but knowing, and actually seeing it happen--and partially at the hand of her husband, no less... Harry's life, traded for her own--

"--Jane, focus! That spell you used on the Hufflepuff cup! Trust me, and cast it on Harry's scar! Now! "

Lifting her wand shakily, she swallowed, and cast it. "Psyscandum! "

Harry's body stayed cold and dark.

Her husband shoved her around. "Now, on Voldemort!"

The freely made use of the Dark Lord's name shook her out of her stupor. She gripped her wand and cast it again. The serpentine, slit-nostriled face glowed faintly with a sickly green-yellow light, undertones of muddy red and scummy brown only visible because it was night, with only a half-moon, a dying fire, and a sky full of stars to cast any light. A moment later, the aura winked out, and Severus shoved her aside.

Blinking off the last of her shock, Hermione turned to yell at him for such callousness--and found him kissing Harry's face. Taken aback, she blinked again and stared wide-eyed. Uncomprehending, she watched him shift to kneel beside Harry's arm. He shoved up her brother's woolly jumper and the teeshirt underneath, traced the line of Harry's ribs, and interlaced his hands together, placing the heel of one over the other, and both upon the lifeless sternum he had bared. Comprehension came as he pressed down rhythmically, counting under his breath.

CPR! He was using CPR--he was trying to revive Harry! Jolted out of her shock, Hermione scrambled to get into place. Pinching Harry's nose, she tilted his head up a little, pulling his jaw open. When her husband paused after a count of fifteen, she blew gently into Harry's mouth, inflating his chest twice. A lift and twist of her head to feel for any voluntary breath on her cheek, and she watched Severus compressed Harry's chest, counting with him as she waited for the next two breaths.

Figures appeared at the edge of her vision, followed by the sharp pop of a Disapparation. Hermione lifted her mouth from Harry's at the end of her next two breaths. Draco was now nowhere to be seen, but the members of the Order of the Phoenix had finally chosen to arrive, brought by Portkeys, apparently. They gaped at the carnage, the fallen bodies of the Dark Lord, and the badly seared Death Eaters that Draco had apparently finished binding before taking his leave with the Order's arrival.

Moody stumped over to Ron as Hermione dipped her head to give again the Resuscitation part of CPR to her blood-bound brother.

"Ennervate! "

Ron jerked awake with a frantic shout, voicing the last thing that had been on his mind, "--He betrayed us! Snape betrayed us all!"

Sigurd whomped down over the three of them, blocking the hex Mad-Eye growled and threw at Severus, sheltering the younger wizard with his wing. At that moment, Harry started choking and coughing. Severus jerked his hands away from his ribs as Hermione released her brother's nose. Their eyes met, spells sizzling fruitlessly against Sigurd's golden hide. He didn't say anything, though, just reached up and touched Sigurd's underbelly.

A smear of Portkeyed gold and he was gone, leaving her kneeling alone next to Harry's head.