Old Souls

Nothing gets Hermione's juices flowing like a Cause...

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"You just cannot imagine how horrible it was," Hermione said later that night in Grimmauld Place. Across from her chair, on the sofa, sat Harry and Ginny, their eyes gaping. She was bound by confidentiality to not speak of things she saw during open investigations and audits, but decided Harry should know about this. Of all the people in the Ministry, in the Wizarding world, the Chosen One might be able to do something about it.

Harry always insisted that Hermione come to Grimmauld Place whenever she was in London for work, for a cup of tea or a drink at least. It was a remnant from the war. Not knowing the whereabouts of his friends for long periods of time made him anxious, fearful that something had happened to him. Ron had joked about getting him a clock like his mother's, but Harry had just rolled his eyes and snapped at Ron that if it was wrong to be concerned with the whereabouts of his friends, he didn't want to be right.

Harry absently rubbed Ginny's stomach. She was seven months along with their first child, a boy. There was no question that he would be named for Harry's father. When he wasn't rubbing his wife's stomach, he was resting his hand on top of it protectively. Another remnant of the war, Hermione thought. Protective of everyone he loves.

The three friends, in their early twenties, had lived through horrors that most people could even dream of after a lifetime, let alone by their eighteenth birthdays. Friends at this age should be drinking cocktails and gossiping about friends and forging careers. Not cleaning up the mess of a war. Not struggling to recover from its effects.

"Their eyes..." Hermione went on. "They were so... hollow. So old. You know what I mean? These children have old eyes. There is no curiosity. No wonder. No love. Not even fear or anger. Just..."

"Devoid," Ginny whispered. Hermione nodded.

"And all of their parents are dead?" Harry whispered. The subject hit close to home, as Hermione had hoped it would. She hoped that if anyone could look past the parents to the plight of the children, it would be him.

Hermione nodded. "Or serving life sentences in Azkaban. Or Kissed." Harry shuddered. "Most of them do have living relatives, Muggle or magical, but none of them want to take them in. They're afraid of being associated with them, seen as supporting Voldemort, even after all this time. Most of them went so far as to change their own names. I looked it up in the records office after I got back. The children in that orphanage are the last in Wizarding Britain to have those surnames."

"I just can't believe..." Harry's voice trailed off as he contemplated the hand on his wife's stomach, feeling his son kicking beneath. "I just can't believe that the Ministry, the post-war Ministry, would do this to innocent children."

"You're surprised?" Ginny said. "I'm not. Some of the faces may have changed, but the bureaucracy hasn't. There are prejudices, grudges, things that just don't go away overnight. This is the same Ministry that let the Dementors guard Azkaban. The same Ministry that locked away Sirius for thirteen years without a trial. The same Ministry that gave that Umbridge woman free reign at Hogwarts. Kingsley's done a lot, but he can't change everything, and many of the same officials from before the war are still there. Hell, Harry, you see it almost every day. Complain about it almost every day, too," she said with a wink.

Harry sighed. "Orphans...war orphans...have enough to deal with as it is. Every day of their lives they experience loss and pain. They don't need mistreatment and cruelty on top of it. I mean, from what you've described, Hermione, they might as well have thrown the children in Azkaban with their parents."

Hermione nodded. She had thought the same thing during her visit.

"Nobody cares," she said sadly, staring into her glass of wine as if it held all the answers. "That's the problem. Nobody thinks about it. Everyone was so generous in their outpouring of support for the war orphans, of finding them homes, but they all conveniently forgot that the Death Eaters had families too, or at least some of them did. And you know that I have no love for them, and I'm glad that they are either dead or rotting in Azkaban. But..."

"Their children are not their parents," Harry said, finishing her sentence. "Yet they're being punished for it."

"I don't doubt that they grew up hearing the propaganda of their parents. But that doesn't mean they still agree with it. Or that they ever did to begin with. I mean, do either of you remember things you heard when you were three? And agree with it still? I know I don't!"

"If the war taught us nothing else, it's that people can change their long-held beliefs when given the right influence and motivation," Ginny said. Harry took her hand and squeezed it. They all knew who she was referring to.

"Speaking of whom," Hermione said. "I think he's working there with them. Snape." Their heads snapped up towards hers. "I mean, after he recovered from the attack and finally got out of St. Mungo's he just sort of dropped off the face of the earth and no one's seen hide nor hair of him for over five years. There's only one permanent staff member who takes care of these kids, or who teaches them at least. A teacher. And he demanded complete autonomy and independence. And confidentiality. The director also told me that he is not a man who negotiates. Now, who does that remind you of?"

"But why would he do it?" Harry asked. "He hated their parents as much as we did. More so, probably. And he's probably responsible for the deaths or imprisonment of half of them."

"I think that's why he would do it, if it is him," Hermione said. "I mean, think about it. He hated your father. Hated him. Probably still does hate him. And yes he loved your mother, but I don't think that's the only reason he spent all those years protecting you. I think he felt guilty for the role he played. I don't think he ever stopped feeling responsible for orphaning you. We all know the guilt ate away at him for years, decades. I think that made him feel responsible for your safety. And you're right...he betrayed, killed, and passed on information leading to the capture of these children's parents. I could see him feeling the same responsibility to them that he felt to you. He would have been in a position to know if these people had children. Maybe he even met them. He definitely taught the older ones, and almost all of them were in his House. And didn't Sirius even say that, once upon a time, most of these people were his friends? Didn't your mother even say that to him, once? Maybe he feels responsible for orphaning his former friends' children."

Harry nodded slowly. "I hadn't thought about it that way, that he would feel responsible for those left behind. I always thought it was love and guilt for what his actions did to my mother, not what he did to me."

"Well, really, they are the same thing. And he'd be a monster not to feel bad about orphaning children," Ginny said.

Silence thundered. Each and every one of them was responsible for the death of several Death Eaters. For that they felt no guilt. But they had never considered that they might be depriving innocent children of their parents, vile and sick and evil as they were. The realization hit them all hard.

Their eyes met but they said nothing. They all knew they hadn't thought about that, they all felt horrible guilt, and there was no point in talking about it.

"You want to do something about it," Harry said finally, draining his cup of tea. He never drank alcohol and only kept a wine in the house for guests.

Hermione nodded. "I do. I can write a useless report that will be filed away in some drawer and never read, but I want to do more. I want to bring...attention to this problem. I want to change this. I mean it's not like we can force families to take these children in, but we could attempt to raise awareness. Get them some services they desperately need...counseling, healing, more teachers. The Ministry has not hired anyone since Maybe-Snape to teach these children. They rely on wizards serving community service for things like violating the Statute of Secrecy or misusing Muggle artefacts. There is no continuity, no stability. The place and the children remain, but everything else remains the same. That cannot be healthy. These children are traumatised by the war and they know, I'm sure, the legacy of their parents. They need more services than anyone else in that orphanage, but they get the least."

"Voldemort grew up in those conditions," Harry said softly. "What you're describing sounds a lot like what I saw in Dumbledore's memories of Voldemort's childhood."

Another long silence passed between the three friends.

"I don't know what happened to the ones who left. The ones who are of age or the ones who ran away before they came of age. I plan to look at Hogwarts' enrollment records; as an auditor I can do that without raising any suspicion. And I can look into what happened to those who have since graduated. Just to see if there's anyone the Ministry should keep its eye on. And to have an idea of what we're dealing with."

"I want to see it," Harry said. "Are you going back?"

Hermione nodded. "Tomorrow. I want to look at the medical records and try to interview the teacher. I'm almost positive it's Snape, which means he probably won't let me within ten feet of him. But I'll at least try to get him to talk to me. Especially if I tell him we want to help."

"I'll meet you there, then," Harry said. "Under the cloak. If I'm spotted there it might attract attention. And I don't think this is the right time for it."

Hermione nodded. Harry's fame had increased ten-fold after the war. Mobbed and hounded everywhere he went. Picture in the paper if he was spotted anywhere outside the Ministry or his home. That was the only reason he and Ginny had decided to settle in Grimmauld Place, despite the painful memories associated with it. It was still unplottable and protected by the Fidelius charm and anti-apparition enchantments, so it provided the Potters with enough privacy to live their lives and start their family.

"I'm glad you're coming," Hermione said. "I really think you'll be able to bring some much-needed attention, and funding, to this problem. You're a good friend."

"This has nothing to do with being a good friend or a bad friend or a celebrity or an Auror or anything else. These are war orphans, they're being treated abysmally, and I know that you're not the type to exaggerate or lie. I believe you when you say these children live in a prison. When I was their age, I lived in similar conditions, though not nearly as bad. So forget thanking me. I'm not doing it as a favour to you. I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do."

Ginny squeezed his elbow with a smile. She was proud of her husband. Lesser men would have let the fame go to their heads. Not Harry. Few men had his moral compass.

"Will you ask Ron to come?" Ginny said. "You'd be almost guaranteed of success if you had the whole Golden Trio doing this. Solidarity and whatnot. And it might turn the heads of some of the Ministry bigwigs."

"Yeah, I'm supposed to see him tonight anyway. I'll definitely ask him, but I won't bet on him coming," Hermione said. "You know that, of all of us, he believed in the harshest punishments for the Death Eaters and believed the only good Death Eater was a dead Death Eater. I think he blames them all for Fred's death. I can't see him letting go of that. But yes, I will ask."

Ginny nodded, agreeing with Hermione's assessment of the situation.

"I'd best be going. I'll talk to Ron. And I'll see you tomorrow." Giving each one a hug and kiss on the cheek, she left.

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"Hermione!" Ron cried happily as he opened the door. He pulled her into a big bear hug and kissed her on the cheek. She laughed and reciprocated. He released her and gestured for her to enter. Ever since George had married Angelina Johnson last year, Ron alone had occupied the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley.

Their relationship had ended amicably five years earlier. Being in the same House, the intensity of the war, the isolation of their search for Horcruxes, and the experience of the final battle in particular had given them feelings of desperation and closeness that they had both mistaken for love. After things had died down and they both began to wrestle with their demons, they determined that not only were they no longer the same people they were before the war, they were not as compatible as they had hoped. Despite this, they remained great friends. It was a great source of comfort to Hermione that the Golden Trio was still together.

Ron invited her in and offered her a glass of wine, but she declined (having had two glasses at Harry's) and instead took him up on his offer of tea. They chatted for a bit about his work at his brother's shop and her visit with Harry and Ginny. At last she got to the heart of the matter and related to him her visit to the orphanage, her desire to help, and Harry's agreement to work with her and visit the next day. She extended the invitation.

"Hermione... I don't know..." he said finally. "I get what you're saying, I really do. And I think it's great, and I hope you succeed. But I don't think I can be a part of this." His blue eyes looked glassy and sincerely regretful. "I really am sorry."

Hermione nodded and patted his arm. The war had matured Ron in ways she never thought had been possible. He could still be his old self (funny, gregarious, an idiot) but he now had the capacity for introspection that had surprised even him. The old, pre-war Ron would have railed about her plan, asking why these children of murderers, rapists, and terrorists should be given the time of day, and that they were no better than their parents. The post-war Ron knew better. He had the wisdom to differentiate between the father and the son. He also knew himself well enough to know that he could not participate.

"I understand, really. There's no pressure. I just wanted to extend the invitation." She smiled.

"I don't want you to think that I'm, you know, blaming these kids for anything."

"I know you're not."

"It's just... knowing what happened, seeing those names, seeing their parents in their faces... I honestly don't know if I'll be able to handle that well. And the last thing, the last thing, I want to do is discover halfway through that I can't do it anymore and leave the two of you to pick up the pieces."

Hermione knew what he was referring to and decided to say nothing on the subject. Ron had never forgiven himself for storming out on them in the tent that night.

"Well, even if you did, it would be understandable. I don't know if we'll be able to do anything at all, or if we'll even be able to see this through, but we want to try."

He nodded. "Keep me updated on what happens, though. If there's anything I can do, you know, off on the sidelines..."

"You'll be the first one I call," she said. "I promise."

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Hermione had spent enough time with her best friend to recognise the emotion in his emerald eyes even when his face remained stoic. Today it was hard to read his expression, because there were so many emotions thrown in there together: fear, guilt, anger, anguish, helplessness, and determination were all there. Perhaps others she did could not identify. It wasn't easy in this light.

The children were huddled together in a corner, speaking in whispers. There were about fifteen of them, ranging in age from about five or six to about eleven, just old enough to begin at Hogwarts next term. The eyes, the same dead eyes Hermione had seen the day before, stared at them. Their hair was unkempt, their skin pallid, their clothes ratty. The clothes were surely donations, but likely rejects from other charity drives that had been sent here rather than thrown away. There were no windows and no natural light, just an enchanted low glow from the ceiling that looked almost like a black light. Had any of these children ever been outside?

Strangers were not welcome down here. Even though the cast of teachers, healers, and caregivers changed frequently, they had never got used to seeing new faces. They clearly were shaken, scared, and didn't trust them.

They were all in one big common room with a few tables and a couch that was losing its stuffing in one corner. Harry and Hermione had not gone far beyond the door before the children had stood up from their seats and ran to the opposite corner of the room, as far away from the new strangers as they could get.

They had the look of children who expected abuse. Hermione knew that Miss Glastonbury had lied about not letting anyone dangerous or violent near the children. Some of the "volunteers" had likely lost loved ones to the Death Eaters, and Hermione was willing to bet that more than a few took this as an opportunity for revenge.

"Do you think we should..." Harry began.

Hermione shook her head. "I think it would only scare them."

"I want to say... something, anything... let them know we won't hurt them."

"I don't think they'll believe us."

Harry nodded. "We should go, then." They turned and quietly left through the same door they came in, casting one last look at the children, who were looking visibly relieved that the strange visitors were now leaving. They took care to close the door gently and quietly, so as not to alarm them. They only turned around once the door latched, and they turned around to find themselves standing face-to-face with an imposing, tall, dark figure.

The murderous glare was one they had seen many times before, yet it looked even more intense than they remembered.

Hermione had been right, as usual. Severus Snape was indeed working with the orphans.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" he spat, arms crossed, glaring down at them. Though they were fully-grown adults, neither one could come close to Snape in height. They had forgotten just how tall he was. He was seething. "Who let you in here? Who are you working for? Is this some sort of spectacle to you? Some sort of exhibition?"

"No!" Hermione protested. "I don't know if you've been told, but I'm here conducting an audit, and..."

"And you thought you'd bring your friend with you to see the entertainment? A star tour of the Ministry's wonderful institution?"

"Not in so many words, but yes. I was here yesterday, and appalled by what I saw, and he wanted to see it too."

"Bring anyone else, did you? The press decide to follow you down here to expose them?"

"I'm here to see if I can help!" Harry protested. It struck him at this moment that they could have had this exact same discussion seven years ago, at Hogwarts, during a DADA lesson. The dynamic seemingly had not changed. Snape was on the offensive, accusing, and he and Hermione were on the defensive, protesting their innocence.

Curious how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

For a long time, nobody spoke. Finally, Hermione decided to break the silence. "Maybe we could... sit down somewhere and talk?" Snape snarled at her, and it looked like he was deciding whether to hex them right there or take them outside first and then hex them. Instead, he chose option three and led them through a door down the corridor, which turned out to be his office.

He moved behind the desk, steepled his fingers, and stared at them with his cold, black eyes, saying nothing. After all these years, and all this time away from Hogwarts, it still worked. Harry and Hermione both sat up straighter and waited for him to speak.

He looked... similar yet different. He no longer wore black from head to toe, but a white shirt, charcoal trousers, and a grey jumper. It looked rather... smart. A few wisps of grey hair here and there, and two jagged snakebite scars on his neck, but nothing drastic. His hair was shorter than they had ever seen it. It was soft and maybe one or two inches long and cut in a way that framed his face, rather than the oily black curtains that they had been so used to. At this length the hair flared out a bit and had, well, volume and shape. His skin was a healthier, albeit paler, shade, no longer yellowish. He probably spent most of his time in here. But those eyes, those cold, piercing eyes, had not changed a bit.

Hermione was struck by the fact that even though he was six years older, he looked nearly ten years younger.

He had been unconscious for hours in the Boat House before anyone had come to retrieve his body. Once discovered, everyone had been shocked to discover that he had lost less blood than they had feared (the snake's fangs, once examined, had apparently dulled and not pierced all the way through to his veins, though it had been a very close call) and that the poison had not killed him but rather caused him to slip into a coma. For a full year he lay in a vegetative state in St. Mungo's, blissfully unaware of the publicity and hero worship that followed. They almost wondered if he stayed unconscious purposefully so as to avoid it. Nevertheless, he had awakened on the war's first anniversary, surprisingly healthy, and then vanished into obscurity.

Finally, he spoke, slowly and dangerously as when he had been their professor. "You have breached my security, gawked at war orphans, and scared the shite out of them. Tell me right now why I should not hex you, Obliviate you, and then throw you outside on the curb this very instant."

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AN: Story is also posted through chapter 13 at FFN under the same username/story title.

Severus has been rocking the same hairstyle since he was, what, nine? It was time for a change.

Mature!Ron will be a character in this fic, as will the whole trio.

I preferred Severus's death scene in the movie to that of the book so that will be used in this fic, even though the rest will be book canon. I did this for two reasons: 1) I thought that they took an already-epic scene and improved upon it, and 2) I thought he was more likely to survive a rescue attempt if he was attacked on school grounds, rather than in Hogsmeade, which is, what, a mile or two away?

Coming up next: Our Heroes have a chat. Will they see eye-to-eye?