Chapter 10

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's, with a few quotes that I couldn't resist going to the great Tolkien. Sorry, again, about that. I recognize the cheese factor, but I can't seem to stop myself.

A/N: There may be some quibbles about an event that occurs in this part of the story and how it goes into the timeline. I tried to dovetail it pretty closely, but I know that it isn't exactly in the canon ( I think I am a few months off). I thank you all very heartily for your kind words of support. This was my first real work, and you have all been great reviewers! I think it would be a bad soap if I kept dragging it out. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy! And many thanks to my beta, Mel.

It was what they had been waiting for: the night of the first full moon following the vernal equinox. The time was ripe, and they had to do it now, ready or not. Hermione was as nervous as she had ever been in her whole life. She certainly didn't feel ready. It didn't matter, though; the time for preparation was at an end, and the time for action was at hand. She just had to hope that all the weeks of work were enough, now that the moment was so close at hand. She had a special dispensation to be out tonight, and she left by the back door under cover of darkness with Sir Figgie.

It was too dangerous for Snape to be seen as being part of this plan. His part was finished...he had developed the potion and helped train the elf; now he was waiting back in his rooms. He couldn't be associated with them if they were caught. They were on their own. Figgie and Hermione were dressed in black from head to toe. Hermione held the precious vial. She walked away from Hogwarts. The plans were running through her head, over and over. She looked down at the little elf by her side. He was strange, indeed, and rather annoying at times. Yet she had grown fond of him in the course of the long days of working with him. He was very excited to be part of a quest. She cleared her throat and tried not to appear nervous.

"So, Sir Figgie, are you all ready? You know what to do? Any last questions?" Hermione tried to convey comfort and calmness.

She needn't have bothered. Figgie was beyond excited. "Verily, Milady! I am readied and have no queries to ask of you, save one."

Hermione stopped and looked down. "What is it? Remember, that third turn is to the right, not the left; you always want to confuse it there. And don't forget that the stones are loose when you come up to the..."

"No, Milady, I would ask you a favor."

"A ... what?" Hermione blinked down at him, distracted. Her mind was still in the labyrinthine passages of Azkaban. "What do you want me to do?"

Figgie was patient. "A favor. A standard of yours to wear into this most heinous battle so as to court the whimsies of luck to smile upon me whilst I am in the fray. With your favor, I am sure to be blessed with it, indeed."

Hermione didn't take Figgie very seriously, but he was in earnest, and his eyes never left her face. She felt ridiculous, like she was playing a charade, but she couldn't help being pleased that he had asked, and that he put so much personal importance on it. "I don't think you will need to rely on luck, Sir Figgie, but if it will bring you comfort, then I will be happy to."

"You are most gracious, Milady," he cried, and grabbed her hand and kissed it. She snatched it back hastily and thought a minute about what she had on her that would do for a favor.

"I know in days of ... uh ... yore, ladies gave a length of cloth, right? Well, I don't seem to have anything like that on me. Will this do?" Hermione was wearing a pair of earrings. She took one out. It was a silver stud in the shape of a simple Celtic knot. It was beautifully done, not too small, but just the right size. She leaned down and pinned it on his collar.

Figgie thrust out his chest. "I vow to be the bravest knight to wear such an adornment!"

Hermione smiled at him. "Just bring it back in one piece, and yourself along with it. You really don't have any other questions? You remember all the plans?"

They walked on and talked a bit about how he planned to deliver the potion, and suddenly, with the paradoxes of time, they reached their destination both far too soon and as if it had taken forever. Hermione turned to Figgie. This was as far as she had intended to go. She went on her knees before him, so as to better gain his attention.

"Okay, Sir Figgie, some last reminders. The potion must be delivered exactly at midnight, and right at the place we agreed upon. If you release it too early, it will be disastrous, okay? It is of paramount importance that you remember that. Not before midnight, and not anywhere but the heart of Azkaban. I have spelled the device on your wrist to tell you when it is time." Hermione pointed to a device similar to a wristwatch.

Figgie nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, we have practiced all of this. May I go yet?"

Well, he didn't appear nervous. That was a good sign. "One more thing. Once I Apparate you, you will be on your own. You will have to negotiate all of the hallways and passages by yourself. I will be able to see you, but not hear you, and I will not be able to come to your aid. This is as far as I can go. If you are in trouble, you must think of a way to get out of it on your own. If you can clear the prison grounds, then I can retrieve you again. Okay?"

Figgie nodded vigorously. "I am prepared to meet my foe in battle."

"No," Hermione groaned. "There will be no meeting of foes, if you can possibly avoid it."

"Right, right," he amended hastily. "Merely an expression, Milady. I am ready now. Let us begin."

Hermione had to quell the urge to hug the little elf. She took a shaky breath and stood up. "I suppose you're as ready as you'll ever be. Here is the solution. Be very careful, please. It is of the most delicate nature, may I remind you." She handed the vial over. It glowed pink in the darkness. Figgie secured it in his shirt and stood inside the Apparation spot.

Hermione took out her wand and thought carefully about the words of the spell she was going to perform. She was confident she could do it, but this was some of the most advanced magic she had ever performed. She had been practicing, of course, but this was practice no longer. "Good luck," she said softly.

Figgie nodded once, and fingered her earring on his collar.

She said the words forcefully, and he was gone, in the blink of an eye, almost before the last words were out of her mouth. That she was alone in a field was not unexpected, but it felt lonely, all by herself, and the long walk back gave her plenty of time to think. The stars had never shone so brightly in the sky before. Of course, the darkness had never seemed so complete for them to shine so. She couldn't help wishing it were some kind of omen, that goodness might triumph in the heart of the night.

The moon was just rising over the horizon, and she had enough time to get back to Hogwarts and find her way to Snape's rooms. He had enchanted a magic mirror, so they might watch the events unfold and be apprised of what was happening instantaneously. When she knocked on his door, it was with nervousness in her heart.

"Enter." She heard Snape's deep voice, and she stepped in.

The mirror was set up and waiting. She went over and stood before it. It looked a bit like a Muggle television, and she smiled at that. It must have taken some powerful magic for this to be allowed tonight. Snape was more nervous than he was letting on, too.

He had come up behind her, and she wanted to lean into him, but she stopped herself. "When does the mirror show something?" she asked without turning around.

"When he breaches the walls of Azkaban," Snape replied. She could feel the rumble of his words almost throughout her whole body. "As you know, it is not possible to Apparate into Azkaban. They have the same spells that we do here at Hogwarts. He Apparated as closely inland as was possible, and he will need to get close on his own, and break the defenses in the underground areas he was shown on the map. As soon as he is within the mirror's range, it will illuminate. The mirror is spelled to pick up the area of Azkaban itself, so as soon as he enters its defenses it will turn on. He isn't in any danger until then, anyway." Hermione was enjoying the feel of his breath on her hair. She didn't move. Neither did he. They were both standing there stiffly, both unable to make a move, when he spoke again. "Black suits you, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt a stab of liquid warmth run through her when she heard the yearning in his tone. She couldn't stop herself from slowly turning around, and what she saw made her knees weak. His eyes were ablaze with passion. She tilted her face up to him, an offering. His jaw clenched a moment, and she watched his internal struggle, wondering which side would win. She could only hope...but she had to stay silent and let him choose for himself. His eyes swept over her face, lingering on her lips, and his hands clutched at her arms, pinning them to her sides. After a brief moment, whatever fight he had was over, and she closed her eyes. His lips descended to hers, and they were as gentle as spring rain. She was so surprised. With the look on his face, and the way he was holding her arms, he was radiating tension, and she would have thought his kiss would have been a torrent of want, a brutality of lust. It was the opposite. He was so tender, so sweet, she thought she might float away from the purity of it. It was as if he was showing her a side of him that no one else had ever seen, and she almost felt the tears welling ...

... until the harsh light of the mirror jerked them both out of their bliss. Hermione gasped a little, startled. Snape swore. Figgie had breached the walls of Azkaban.

The kiss forgotten for the moment, they both turned and watched the picture in the mirror clarify. All was in darkness. Snape muttered a few words. Images came into focus. Figgie was in a hard-packed earth corridor. There were many tunnels to take. He chose the right one, but it seemed that his breathing was erratic. He was stumbling along.

"What's going on?" Hermione frowned. "He seems unwell."

"I don't know," Snape murmured a few more incantations, but the problem was not with the mirror, it was with Figgie. Snape reset the image to look at the elf, and they both gasped. His skin was pruned and shrinking. He looked as if he had aged fifty years. He was stumbling around the dungeons, and becoming incoherent. The mission was fast going awry.

"Oh, no! We have to get him out of there! What's going on? Something's wrong! He needs help!" Hermione was beside herself. Things were not looking good. With every step the elf took, it seemed he aged a year, and he was starting to babble. His eyes were shrinking into his skull, the skin was folding, his breathing labored.

Snape raked a hand through his hair, a sign of his extreme distress. "We cannot help him now. He is on his own."

Hermione watched, tears in her eyes. "He's going to die! We have to help! Professor, do something!" Hermione dared to touch him now. She grabbed his hand, his beautiful hand, which was not cold as she expected but as warm as her own beating heart.

"Miss Granger," Snape's eyes glittered at her dangerously. "Did you perform the Salterus charm before you Apparated the elf?"

Hermione felt as though he had punched her in the stomach. The wind felt completely knocked out of her, and the enormity of her error was literally right there in front of her face. She didn't need to answer. Snape turned away with what sounded like a hiss as they both wordlessly watched the scene play out. He yanked his hand out of her grasp.

Hermione watched with tears rolling down her face. She didn't turn away as Figgie's legs failed him and he collapsed. He had the vial in his hand, but he was not at the deployment point, and it stayed in his grasp, as he started to gasp uselessly, like a fish out of water. Hermione thought the mirror was cruelly enchanted for sound, but then she recognized the little whimpers as her own. Figgie's head fell back and he drew his last breath on a dirty dungeon floor in the world's worst prison, surrounded by filth and all alone, because of her. She looked at his sightless eyes and shivered miserably. The image of his little body, curled in on itself in the throes of an agonizing death, would haunt her for the rest of her days.

The drama was not done, however. A mockery of Hermione's musings on her walk home played out before her eyes, and she was helpless to tear her eyes away from the mirror. A bright star in the night sky was about to betray her, not be a hope to save her. One of the guards was drawn to the little corpse in the corner. The glint of the Hermione's silver earring on an otherwise black costume stood out, and the guard's eye was drawn. This was an omen, all right, but not in the way she had been hoping. As the guard approached to check out a rare glimpse of light in the depths of Azkaban, his boot crunched on the vial, breaking it and releasing the potion into the filthy air.

"No ..." Snape moaned. It was too late. Events were set in motion. All they could do was watch everything play out. Snape pulled the view of the mirror out to encompass the whole scene in its mass chaos.

The potion, which when released at the right time in the right spot, would produce the powerful anti-dementor, now was only able to neutralize the existing dementors. It rendered the dementors guarding Azkaban impotent for a period of time. When the prisoners inside of Azkaban became aware of the fact that their jailers and tormentors were useless, utter pandemonium reigned. Anarchy broke out inside of the infamous prison, and Hermione and Snape watched with desolation in their hearts as the biggest jailbreak in the history of the wizarding world took place before their very eyes. All of the very worst of the Death Eaters managed to escape that night before things were set to rights again. Not only had they managed not to complete their mission and avert a war, but they had managed to help Voldemort and give him a head start. Hermione felt as empty as she ever had.

Hermione turned to Snape. In his eyes was all of the heartbreak she could ever imagine, and more so. He had always seemed so suave and self-assured. Tonight he was a broken man. She ached for him, and she wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him, to find the man who had kissed her, but she feared that she'd killed him when she'd killed the elf. They were two mirrors reflecting back at each other of the burdens of what they had done, the enormous responsibility that would forever weigh upon them.

"Now it is for me to do the unspeakable thing..." Snape sounded like he was talking in a trance, from far away. "It is all playing out like he said it would. I must do it, although I tried so hard to save him." He laid his head in his hands.

Hermione looked at Snape. She didn't know what he had to do that he didn't want to, but it seemed a terrible burden. Words didn't seem enough, but she still had to try. "Professor, I am so sorry, so very sorry. I should have listened, I should have done more. Is there anything you need from me? Is there any hope at all for us?" Her voice broke, as much for him as for what had happened.

"Hope? No, there never was much hope. Only a fool's hope. Still I had to try. I have to go now, and warn Albus. Your part in this will be just between you, me and Dumbledore. Go back to your real life, Hermione. There is going to be a war, but we are going to win. You will be just fine." He stared back at her, his mask back in place.

Hermione had no choice but to leave him there and go back to her common room. She couldn't help but notice that he finally used her first name, here, at the end of things. The irony reached around and bit her, the sting of it bringing bitter tears to her already swollen eyes. As she looked back, his head was bowed, and she couldn't help but wonder which part he had lied about, if they were going to win the war or if she was going to be fine. She thought he knew something, and as she left his rooms for the last time, she felt like nothing in the world could ever be fine again.