Four: The Slate Will Soon Be Clean, I'll Erase The Memories

Anti-Litigation Charm: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. All characters are property of JK Rowling and not me. If they did belong to me, Severus Snape would be alive and well and snarking his way through Hogwarts even as we speak.

As I am relatively new to the fanfic world, I welcome any and all comments and suggestions.

Phoenix tears, bezoar, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Pain Potion, Anti-Infection Potion, antivenin, skin salve. She plied them all, her hands steady, her expression resolute. He shuddered in pain, gasping, choking on his own blood. But he was still fighting Death, holding Him at bay. She poured potions down his throat; she dropped phoenix tears on his wound; she kept him warm and safe and alive.

She had pretended to follow Harry and Ron from the Shrieking Shack. She'd known she was no warrior. The Battle of Hogwarts was crashing all around her and she was where she was supposed to be, defending her lover, fighting for his life. This was the only battle she stood the possibility of winning.

Phoenix tears, bezoar, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Pain Potion, Anti-Infection Potion, antivenin, skin salve. She would do this until he was out of danger. She would do this for them. For the little one he'd put in her belly. She put her hands on her stomach protectively. This was the other reason she refused to join the battle. Harry had to do this alone. Ron didn't need her. Severus did.

If the worst were to happen, she concluded, she was NOT going to jeapordize the life she'd been entrusted with on the night Severus had cast the spell to bring their bodies together to make a child. She had looked up the incantation he'd chanted that night. A fertility spell. Sneaky, snarky, sly bastard. He'd only gone and done the one thing she would have wanted; to have a bit of him should he not survive.

After she'd found out, she'd gone into a wooded area, telling the boys she needed some – ahem – personal time, and cast her most powerful Muffliato spell. Then she'd laughed, cried, jumped around, kicked leaves and made all sorts of wand oaths to her impending stranger. She would keep them all alive, including his insufferable, irascible, pain-in-the-arse father. Non negotiable. No way. Uh-uh.

She was just beginning to show, and she reminded herself NOT to tell Severus some of the things she'd done in the last few days. He would be apoplectic. "A pregnant witch riding a dragon? Have you lost your mind, woman?" She made a mental note to herself that one day when this was all over, she would tell the little stranger and his father about retrieving Helga Hufflepuff's cup at Gringotts. They would laugh about it. They would laugh.

She lost track of time. She dozed unwillingly, starting awake to make sure Severus was still with her. At one point she smelt burning flesh and watched in sick fascination as Severus' Dark Mark sizzled and began to fade. Venomous-looking green-brown pus oozed from the mark and dripped onto the floor. It was foul, thick and acrid smelling. It stank as it hit the nasty floor of the Shack. After the last of the Mark receded into a faint shadow of its former self, Severus breathing eased, and his heart beat strengthened. A cautious feeling of hope pricked her heart.

"Severus, I think the Dark Lord's been defeated! Your mark is fading!" Severus, unconscious, moaned slightly in his throat, and Hermione decided now was the time to move him. As a precaution, she started again: Phoenix tears, bezoar, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Pain Potion, Anti-Infection Potion, antivenin, skin salve...

There was a slight noise behind her, and Hermione placed a protective arm around her lover and twisted around to raise her wand to whatever was coming for them... Non negotiable. No way. Uh-uh. Do your worst, you death-eating fuckers. We're not going gently into that dark night.

Luna Lovegood sat on the steps of Hogwarts with Harry. The battle was over, the dead cooling in the Great Hall. Ron was with his family as they gathered around their lost son, Fred. Harry could hear the terrible, personal sounds of Molly Weasley's grief. Harry himself was still stunned.

"Where's Hermione?" Luna asked, as serene as always. Harry thought that life, death, destruction and whatever weird beast of the week could pass her by, and Luna would still be the same sweet, dreamy, slightly odd duck as always.

Her question, though, was anything but serene. Harry thought for a moment. "I-I don't know, Luna. Wait here for a moment."

Reluctantly, Harry approached the Weasley Family. Molly was the first to spot him and threw her arms around him.

"Harry, my dear! Are you alright, love? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" Even in her grief, Harry thought, she still thinks of me as her son as much as Fred. What a woman.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley. I'm sorry to disturb you all..."

"Nonsense!" Molly smiled at him through her tears. "You're family, Harry. And that's what families do. They look out for one another. They protect each other..." Emotion overcame Molly, and Authur Weasley put a comforting arm around his wife. He looked as if he'd aged ten years since...since Fred.

"Actually, I just wanted to know if anyone had seen Hermione." Harry looked sheepish. "I don't remember seeing her before the final...well, you know."

"Well, you were a bit busy at the time, mate," Ron quipped. He thought for a moment. "To tell the truth, it's all a bit of a blur once we left the Shrieking Shack."

The two young men excused themselves from the Weasleys and went to the Infirmary. They scoured the Great Hall, the Gryffindor Tower, the library, the Room of Requirement. They checked the toilets, the classrooms and the dungeons. They searched the other houses. Panic set in, as person after person was asked, and no one could remember seeing Hermione Granger.

Out of desperation, they made their way to the Shrieking Shack. Entering the ancient building, Harry and Ron grimaced at the coppery smell of blood. There was a sickeningly sweet stench in the air. It was the smell of death.

They entered the room where the three of them had left Severus Snape dying on the floor. "Lumos," they whispered, as one, looking around the room.

To their shock, the body was gone. The only evidence of the hideous events of the previous night was a great bloody stain on the floor and Snape's discarded over-robe. It was saturated with blood. Snape, however, was no place to be seen.

"He couldn't have survived," Harry puzzled as they looked around the room. "He was dead. I saw him die."

"Maybe the Death Eaters nicked the body," Ron said quietly. They were perversely speaking in whispers, as if loath to be heard by anyone. "Dad said some of the Death Eaters escaped when You-Know-Who died. Some of them were still compos mentis enough to Disapparate from the grounds."

Harry frowned. "I thought you couldn't Disap..."

"Wards, mate," Ron said with an uncharacteristic Hermione-like flourish. "Snape lowered the wards when he left the castle. We have to face the fact that there are still some Death Eaters on the loose. They could have come and taken Snape's body."

"Why would they do that?"

Ron shrugged. "Harry, now that everyone knows he was Dumbledore's man, the Death Eaters aren't too happy with him." He grimaced. "Do you really want to know what they might do with his body, mate?"

Swallowing hard, Harry shook his head. The events of the last twenty-four hours were starting to crash down on him, and he was not surprised to see his wand shaking in his hand. "Let's go. Hermione's probably back in the Great Hall looking for us."

Nodding, Ron turned to join his friend, then froze. "Bloody hell, Harry!"

Harry looked back at Ron's ashen face, then followed his gaze to the far corner of the room. Partially hidden by the edge of the old bed, Hermione's beaded bag lay on the ground on its side, its contents spilling from the opening. It lay on a familiar looking swatch of fabric, and Harry recognized it as the hooded top Hermione had been wearing when they first came onto the grounds. It was torn and covered with sticky blood. Next to it lay three splintered pieces of slender wood. A wand. Hermione's.

His heart pounding, Harry rushed over to Hermione's bag and began to search through it. "Accio Headmaster Black's portrait!" He heard a rush of air and swore under his breath as the corner of the huge frame dug into his palm.

Pulling the portrait from the bag, Harry cried out, "Headmaster Black! Headmaster Black, please! We need your help!"

For a moment, Harry thought the Headmaster would ignore him, as was his wont. Finally, a low, subdued voice answered, "Whatever you want, it's too late. I have nothing to say to you."

"Sir, it's me, Harry Potter! Please!" He looked up at Ron, who was shivering with trepidation.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the imperious Headmaster walked into view. Looking at Harry solemnly, the Headmaster quietly intoned, "What do you want? What could you possibly want now?"

"Sir, please! Do you know what happened here tonight? Did you hear anything?"

The portrait eyes narrowed and grew angry. "Oh, now you're concerned! And where were you, Mister Potter, when the Death Eaters came to claim Headmaster Snape and found your friend here with him?"

Headmaster Black shook his head, closing his eyes. "Where were you when the screams began, Mister Potter? Where were you when they took their revenge out on your friend?"

The portrait looked at Harry with righteous anger. "Where were you, Mister Potter, when they killed your friend, Hermione Granger?"

The day of the mass funeral was cloudy and rainy, unseasonably cool for June, and the mourners in attendance almost instinctively huddled together. They stood quietly as Minerva read the roll call of the dead. It seemed to go on forever, and each name carved itself upon Harry's heart as surely as if it were being written by Delores Umbridge's writing pen. Instead of 'I must not tell lies', it wrote, 'I must not forget'...

Over fifty names of members of the Order were called. The names droned on and on. Many he didn't recognize. For a moment he wished not to recognize any of them. Then he chastised himself. The desire to forget them would be the greatest insult to their memory. No, he had to remember. Everyone had to remember so that another Tom Riddle wouldn't gain a foothold in the Wizarding World again.

Headmistress McGonagall's voice droned on until Harry's ears pricked at the names, "Alastor Moody, Auror; Charity Burbage, Hogwarts Professor; Bathilda Bagshot, Wizarding Historian.... Amongst those killed during the battle,"Nymphadora Tonks, Auror; Remus Lupin, Member of the Order of the Phoenix; Colin Creevy, Gryffindor House; Fred Weasley, Member of the Order of the Phoenix; Vincent Crabbe, Slytherin House..."

Minerva took a deep breath and her voice shook. "Severus Snape, Headmaster." Her voice faltered. "Hermione Granger, Gryffindor House." The Headmistress stopped and turned away from the crowd, tears streaming down her face.

Harry, Ginny and Ron held each other and wept. Hermione, their brightest and best, gone, her body spirited away like Snape's, to be defiled, no doubt, by the remaining Death Eaters. "I don't understand it," Ron said, over and over, tears streaming down his face. "She was right behind me. What could have happened to her?"

Harry felt Ginny's arms around him, and he stopped trying to hold back his emotions, his anger. For days now he'd watched Snape's memories over and over in the Pensieve, and it sickened him. Dumbledore, pushing, always pushing him, then keeping Snape in the dark for the most important pieces of information. His taunting words:

"I prefer not to put all my secrets in one basket, particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."

"Always."

Dumbledore had used them all. For his godsdamned Greater Good. Harry felt that he'd never really known the older wizard, that he'd used Harry and Snape in the exact same way. Sacrifices had to be made, and they were the ones to do it. Once again, Harry had to wonder if they'd be here right now if Dumbledore hadn't given in to the lure of the ring and sealed his own fate and thus Snape's and Harry's as well. The portrait had attempted to engage with him several times. Harry refused to listen to or even acknowledge Dumbledore's painting.

And then there was Hermione. Yes, they'd taken her genius for granted. He and Ron had automatically thought she would be the one to find the Horcruxes, and she did. She'd been the one keeping them alive, the one who found food when they were so hungry rubbish bins started to smell like filet mignon.

Hermione had been the one who carried their lives in her beaded bag. Only she would have thought to create an Undetectable Extension Charm so that their very existence was safer. She had the medicines, the clothing, the preparation, the brains to keep them alive....

Harry's mind echoed with the words of Headmaster Black. "Where were you, Mister Potter, when they killed your friend, Hermione Granger?"

I was saving the Wizarding world, a truculent, petulant voice retorted. Harry despised himself for that voice. It may have been the truth, but it was a bitter truth, and it gave him no comfort. It was Dumbledore's voice.

The night of the final battle, Headmaster Black returned to his portrait in the Headmaster's office. He gave Dumbledore's portrait a withering look.

"Well, the deed is done, and I do think from now on I'll stick to this frame. I'm a little weary of treading the boards."

"Why, Phineas?" quipped Headmistress Berthanalia Bibble, 1754-1827. "I had no idea you had thespian leanings."

"Do try to keep up, Bertha," Dumbledore replied. He turned to Black. "And the Headmaster?"

Black put on a long-suffering expression. "Dead as a very dead thing. So is the Mudblood girl."

Dumbledore had the grace to look sorrowful. "A great loss, Phineas. Both of them. But sacrifices must be made in these desperate times."

"Yes, you would think so," Black retorted testily. "But all's well that ends well. For the Greater Good. Isn't that what you've told him all this time, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded enthusiastically. "Always for the Greater Good, Phineas. Always for the Greater Good."

The portraits settled back to their naps. The goings on of the outside world meant little to them now. The war fought on their doorstep was a minor distraction, a break in the routine at best.

For Phineas Nigellus Black, it had been a little different. He could not explain to his fellow former Headmasters and mistresses of his adventures of the past year with the three Gryffindors. The portraits would have listened attentively, of course. They had nothing else better to do, but it wouldn't have made any impact. They hadn't been there. They hadn't been anywhere in so long they'd forgotten how it felt to be anywhere but in their frames, smug in their safe haven of the Headmaster's chamber.

Headmaster Black settled down for his nap. Greater Good, bollocks. He permitted himself a little smile and a reminiscence before the lure of the painting faded the memories.

The Mudblood girl was covered in dirt and blood as she faced his portrait for the last time. "I heard you moving around. You were almost blasted into little canvas pieces," she said. "I thought you were the Death Eaters."

Black softened his tone. "I don't want the Headmaster vilified any more than you, my girl." The 'girl' looked slightly mollified and Black smiled, knowing just what to do. "But I also don't want you going off half-cocked. You and I need to devise a plan, Miss Granger, before the Death Eaters do decide to pay you a visit."

Yes, it had been a long time, but he was satisfied he was not too old to remember adventure. Or intrigue. Or the thrill of being clever. Headmaster Black settled into the painted chair more comfortably, feeling rather smugly pleased with himself.

He was a Slytherin, after all. And Slytherins look after their own.

A/N: Words in bold italics are direct quotes from Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling.

Title is from the Queen song, "Save Me", by Brian May.

Summary is from the song, "Matters Of The Heart", by Bonnie Raitt.