Thirty Five: The Cry Heard At Night

I realise that my friends here on TPP will see this chapter as just the last in a long line of chapspam. A little history here.

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah...

The Order meeting finally broke up in the early hours of the morning, with each member slipping away into the shadows, each with their roles to play. Although they both felt drained from the emotional ride of the previous two days, Severus and Hermione spent the next hour talking with her parents, making sure they were well. The Grangers were still weak but rallying. Severus concluded it was the knowledge that their beloved daughter was alive which speeded up the healing process as much as Fleur's potions.

As he watched his wife interacting with her parents, he came to understand even more her loving, courageous heart and strength of character. The Grangers were courteous, even kind to him. They listened to the incredible events that had brought them all to Shell Cottage, and offered good advice. And every time he saw the stunned gratitude in their eyes, Severus felt a fierce validation for all that he and Hermione had endured. Funny that he had never considered the idea of having in-laws, much less in-laws like the steady, pragmatic Grangers, but now he was grateful for their presence and practical counsel.

When Hermione related all that Severus had been through, his mother-in-law looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Severus. I don't know many who would still be standing with the burdens you've had to carry. You poor dear man." She pressed a hand to his cheek. It was a gesture he would have batted away as a young man, but which humbled him now. He had never been mothered, even as a child; it was strange to him that it should feel so welcome.

"The choices I made created those burdens. I'm not blameless by any means," he answered, unable to lie, even by omission of the truth. Then Hermione placed a gentle, warm hand on the inside of his arm. The skin there was pale and perfect; no mark, no scars. His body was healed, and felt innocent, newborn. Her thoughts drifted and rolled in tandem with his, and the sweet assurance that she was with him, her mind anchored firmly with his, filled him with a peace that superseded even the astonishing events of the past few days.

There was a sound, and the four of them turned to see Harry Potter standing in the doorway, looking sweaty and terrified. "He knows," he said without preamble.

For a moment, they stared at one another in silence. They didn't have to ask who Harry was talking about. Severus had discussed resuming Occlumency lessons the day before, and although Harry's ability had strengthened, he still wavered when pushed too hard. "What does he know?" Severus asked grimly.

Harry absently pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "The Horcruxes. He feels a change."

"How do you know, Harry?" Hermione asked, a queasy feeling of fear pooling in her chest. Severus clasped her wrist in his hand, and Harry's eyes followed the gesture as if he, too, were calmed by it.

He stilled for a moment to gather his thoughts. "It took me a long time to go to sleep, so I know I was dreaming, but it was more than a dream. I was seeing through his eyes. It was the moment you came back to life." He looked at Severus in awe. "I was...I mean, he was afraid. I mean, truly terrified. But he didn't know why. It was just this overwhelming feeling of fear. And then it was a weakness, as if his legs didn't want to support him."

Harry paused. "Then everything in the vision changed. I was at Malfoy Manor, and suddenly it was as if a dagger had been driven through my chest. I could actually feel something being pulled out of me, like a vital organ."

Severus nodded. "That must have been when I destroyed the locket. It was one of the earliest-made Horcruxes; probably one of the most powerful. It stands to reason he would feel its demise more intensely."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I could feel his anger and his rage. He knew exactly what was going on. He was furious..."

"Do you think he suspects you are a Horcrux as well, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry grew very calm, and closed his eyes. "I don't think so," he said finally, his voice quiet. "To be honest, I don't think he was even thinking about me. I just kept seeing that snake of his, Nagini."

He paused, then he opened his eyes, realisation dawning. "And then the snake touched him, and he pulled it close, almost as if he was afraid something would harm it." Harry grimaced at the memory. "And that's when I felt the real fear take over. He was angry, but he was so afraid he was almost out of control."

"What's this about a snake?" Martin Granger asked. He and his wife had been following the conversation closely. "Is it one of those Horcruxes too?"

Hermione turned to Severus. "We always surmised as much. I think it's a safe bet he's made Nagini into a Horcrux." She turned to Severus. "And now that the Dark Lord knows what's happening, he's going to keep the snake very close, to protect it from harm." Mentally putting all the items in order, Hermione started counting. "All right. The ring, the diary, the locket, Severus, Nagini, and you, Harry ... According to Dumbledore, there were seven. We only have to find one, possibly two more!"

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Why two? I thought..."

"I was an unintentional Horcrux," Severus answered. "Dumbledore wasn't aware of that when he surmised seven as the magic number of Horcruxes. And even that is conjecture. Seven seems to be the correct number, but we don't know for sure. There could be six, or sixteen, for that matter."

Harry looked tired and discouraged. Martin interjected, "At the very worst, your advantage is gone. If he knows about the Horcruxes, he can make more, can't he?"

Severus shook his head. "I don't believe he is able to make many more, Mr. Granger. Each time his soul is split, there is less and less to create the Horcrux. The older ones, the ones he made in the beginning, they were the ones with power. Now that they are gone forever, he's weakening. Soon he won't have the strength left to create any more. The ring, the diary, the locket. Those are the truly powerful Horcruxes. He glanced at the boy. "And, to be honest, Potter, you are probably one of the strongest as well."

"I know that," Harry said, and his shoulders slumped with such an air of defeat Hermione felt a surge of fear for him. He looked at them bleakly. "I know what my destiny is."

He sighed, and closed his eyes tightly. "I know these past few months haven't exactly been a trip to the seaside, but I have learned that life, no matter how difficult, is too sweet to give up easily." A tear slipped down his cheek. "It's so hard, knowing I have to die."

Hermione put her arm about his waist. "There has to be another way, Harry," she said reassuringly, praying she wasn't just feeding him false hope. "There has to be another way to defeat him."

"Weaken him, undermine him, most certainly," Severus agreed, his brow furrowed in thought. "Reg said that I could have also been the one mentioned in the prophecy. He told me I had fulfilled my part of it; perhaps that is enough. In any case, don't be so eager to rush to your demise, Potter. At least give your army a chance to get the odds on your side."

Suddenly Hermione sagged against him, and Severus could feel the fatigue settling into her body like iron. "Lass, you are beyond exhausted. Perhaps we should all rest now. We can discuss this at length in the morning." He turned to the boy who had once been such a bane to his existence. To his surprise he could only feel sad for Potter; the boy was on the verge of giving up. "Try and rest, Harry," he added. "You will need all your wits about you when our Occlumency lessons resume tomorrow."

Harry grimaced, but there was no real rancour between them anymore. He nodded to Hermione's parents, and squeezed her shoulder. "You get rested too, Hermione. We need that brain of yours in top running order."

"Goodnight, Harry."

As they watched a very dejected Potter leave the kitchen, Jean Granger turned to her daughter. "Come along, darling," she said, helping Hermione to her feet. "Do an old lady a favour and let me 'Mum' you a bit. I'll tuck you in. Good night, Severus."

He nodded as she led Hermione toward their room. Martin Granger stood as if to take his leave, but he then locked a keenly intelligent eye on Severus and said quietly, "I want you to be honest with me, son. How bad does it look? For our side, I mean."

Severus felt an unexpected warmth in his chest at being called 'son.' He faced his father-in-law and answered without hesitation, "It is very difficult to feel as optimistic as I have tried to appear, Mr. Granger. The fate of the Wizarding world lies on the rather bony shoulders of that seventeen-year-old boy." They both looked toward the door Potter had exited.

He sighed bitterly. "We've done everything we can to prepare him, but in the end, I'm afraid his destiny is to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb."

"But why?" Hermione's father frowned. "Why is it so certain this Dark Lord has to kill that young man in order to die himself? Why can't we, oh, I don't know, send in an assassin and blow the son of a bitch into a million pieces? Why do we have to just sit here and wait for him to make all the first moves?"

Severus opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer. His father in-law's question merely served to raise more questions in Severus' mind. Were they doing everything they could behind the scenes? Were they truly fighting the war the Slytherin way? For half his life, he'd been backing this prophecy, accepting that his part in Harry Potter's destiny was as iron-clad as the boy's. "I-I don't know the answer to that, Mr. Granger..."

"Martin, please," he interrupted. "We're family now, Severus."

Family. The feeling of warmth grew to a point Severus knew was worth fighting every Death Eater in The Dark Lord's army to preserve. "I shall ponder your questions, Martin," he said. "You may have a very good point we've overlooked. Wizards sometimes don't see the trees for the forest."

Granger put a fatherly arm on Severus' shoulder. "I may not be a wizard, Severus, but I studied World War Two strategy. If there's anything we can chuck at this bastard, we ought to start chucking it before he realises what direction it's going to come from."

"I shall look to you for guidance."

The older man smiled. "Anything we can do, consider it done."

Severus bade his father-in-law a good night, and stole into the bedroom that had been allocated for him and Hermione.

He quickly undressed and slipped between the sheets to take her in his arms. His heart pounded with gratitude, and the firm resolve to come out on the other end of this hell alive and together. He pulled her closer, remembering how fine and strong she was, and how close he had come to losing her.

"Were you and Daddy having a heart-to-heart?" she asked quietly.

"Of a sorts. He wanted to know why the Wizarding world is cowering like children in the dark, and not taking the battle to the Dark Lord," he answered ruefully. "And I didn't have an answer for him. He's given me a lot of food for thought."

She shifted restlessly in his arms, obviously distraught.

"You're hurting. Let me ease you," he said. He chanted healing spells, wincing as she made a small whimper of pain. The residual pain from the Crucio was like a razor slicing at him through their Blood Oath; it was the kind of pain that went bone deep and days long. It could be up to a week before she didn't feel the cramps every time she shifted from sitting to standing. Severus felt impotent fury; a thousand years of Crucio would be too good for Bellatrix Lestrange.

Even as Hermione gradually relaxed against him, he sensed something was amiss. "This is more than Crucio backlash, more than pain. What is it? Talk to me, lass." When she did not reply, he added reproachfully, "We promised. No more keeping secrets from one another. No more holding back."

"I'm not, truly." Hermione held onto his hands. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she took a deep breath. "If we win..."

"Hermione..."

"If we win, I'm going to have to answer for Dumbledore, aren't I?"

A cold finger of dread scratched his spine like a nail on a chalkboard. "I don't believe the Order will allow it to come to that, Hermione. You've nearly paid with your life twice already."

She shook her head. "I've been thinking about this and I don't see any way around it. What you did as Headmaster is completely explainable. Our secret marriage, my parents, escaping from Malfoy Manor...all those things can go along way toward exonerating us. You've come back from the bloody dead, for Merlin's sake!" Her voice took on a frantic tone. "But me...I killed Professor Dumbledore in cold blood."

"Hardly cold bl..."

"That's how everyone will view it. No matter the whys or the excuses, the fact is that I took his life. It ... it may even mean time in Azkaban for me."

He drew his wife, his witch, closer to his breast, remembering all the times she had stepped between him and disaster. She had always been the angel with a flaming sword, guarding him against the forces of darkness. He could do no less for her now.

Ardently, he vowed, "I will walk into hell and back before I allow you to spend one day in Azkaban. The gods cannot be so cruel as to ask this of us."

Hermione sighed miserably. "I don't think the gods are listening to us anymore, Severus. I think we're on our own."

A wave of despair rose from her, nearly crushing him with its hopelessness. He held her tightly, rocking her, soothing her. "My love, my little witch," he crooned, desperately trying to banish the desolation in her spirit. "This is the Crucio talking. Tomorrow, you won't feel this way. I promise," he declared, praying it would be true.

He loosened his grip, and his touch became more languid, sensual. Thankfully she relaxed, her muscles uncoiling beneath his hands. "I want you to rest, and allow me to care for you," he murmured. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "I will hide you away. We'll go to the ends of the earth if necessary. We'll take your parents and disappear where no one will ever find us."

"Just like the song," she murmured huskily. "Just like your song." She eased against him with a soft sigh.

Severus' heart filled with guilty, protective love. He knew he was whistling in the dark; he would never consign her to a life on the run. She knew it, too. Whatever happened, they would face it here, but she was comforted all the same. Her faith in him had always been as huge and valiant as her heart.

"Lie back. Let me take care of you."

Obediently, she settled, and he sat up so that he could lean over her. He opened her robe, revealing her body. In the cool night air, her breasts grew taut and the tight nipples pouted enticingly, begging to be fondled.

He tenderly stroked her forehead, then her cheeks, his hands gliding over her smooth flesh, moving down the column of her throat in long, slow sweeps. His fingers skimmed over the edges of her breasts, down her ribs to her waist, and he repeated the motion until she was breathing deeply with each long pass of his hands. Her amber eyes were locked with his, and he stirred as he saw the pain in them gradually fade, to be replaced with desire. But still, he denied her breasts, choosing to stroke her belly; she made a soft, entreating sound that made his rigid cock harden to the aching point.

Another long, slow drag of his palms over her ribs, gliding over her belly, and her soft sound of entreaty changed to a gentle demand. As her pain and anxiety bled away, and arousal replaced fear, she presented herself to him in that open, trusting way that made his head spin with need.

Again, his hands cupped her cheeks, and moved down her throat, and this time moved over her breasts in a sensual caress that made her moan and arch her back. When he hesitated, she whispered, "More."

He breathed in deeply, his mind swimming with intense, intoxicating desire. "More, Lass? Would you like more?" he asked, his voice low and velvety. His hands swept upward, caressing and messaging her tender breasts, and she rose sensuously to meet his touch. Her expression transformed into utter ecstasy as he slowly encircled her nipples with the calloused pads of his thumb, making them crinkle into tight, hard tips. His mouth watered in anticipation of suckling the pert little buds. He could feel the sensation in his own nipples, and he had a sudden, swift desire to command her to lick and suck them, just to see if she could in turn feel the delicious teasing through their link. He teased the ruched flesh with the tip of his finger, reveling in the velvety nub, how it hardened and yielded for him at the same.

"Like that, do you?" he moaned softly, his voice little more than consonants and air. His heart was beating hard and heavy in his chest; he could feel the pulse of it in his aching cock. When she made a little inarticulate sound of agreement, he gently rolled her nipples between his fingers, crooning his desire. "Yes. Oh, yes, show me how you like it when I play with that sweet, little tit." Her body went boneless and he could scent her arousal, sweet in his nostrils. Hermione was writhing beneath him now, a siren of wanton, delicious lust. "That's it. That's my girl."

Soon his lips joined his teasing fingers, sucking and nipping, listening to the song of her arousal, playing her body to its tune. He nuzzled her until she was insensate, pushing him down to where he was needed. With a wicked smile, he placed a trail of wet, gentle kisses down the length of her body. He eased her thighs open and parted her glistening labia with his thumbs, revealing the succulent wet petals of her pussy. With a moan of longing, he lapped at her, suckling her clit like a tiny nipple, and she keened his name in a way that sounded like music to him.

He inserted his finger into her tight, slick sheath; she was hot and deliciously wet for him. He withdrew it, and slid it downward, until it encircled her tiny, puckered hold. "Good girl," he breathed against her thigh, as she accepted him. A second finger eased back into her hungry sex, and pumped into her slowly. She cried out and undulated against his movements as he returned to the sweet task of licking her pink cunt. Her hips rose from the bed, and she thrust against his face with abandon. A burst of emotion and pleasure radiated from her, spearing his body with its intensity and power.

Her hands scrabbled at his hair, pulling him closer, her thoughts flooding his with there, oh, there, Severus, pleasepleaseplease there oh gods yes...

She choked out a soft cry as her orgasm took her, flooding his mouth with her essence. He drank of her greedily, unwilling to pull away from her delicious sex. She collapsed back in wordless, gasping bliss as he worshiped her body with his caresses, making love to every inch of her skin with his fingertips. Each stroke of his hand was a song of desire, each touch a sonnet of his absolute devotion. Finally, at her feverish urging, he parted her thighs and entered her, nearly swooning at the feel of her silken cunt sucking greedily on his eager cock. He could feel her silent urging, and his control broke.

Severus rose on his arms, his hips swinging free, and fucked her wildly. He fucked her, not caring there were eight other people in the house and her parents were next door and he had forgot a Silencing Charm. He fucked her as if she had not been in pain only moments before. He fucked her with all the desperation of the reality they were forced to live, and the knowledge that death could claim them any day. He fucked her with the heady, rapturous craving of his soul, and because she craved him as well, answering his call with a passion as blazing and fervent as his own.

Her lovely breasts swayed with each thrust, the sight eradicating the last remnants of rational, sane thought. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and drove into her, pistoning his pleasure, his need, into her accepting, willing body. His orgasm danced ever closer, and her soft, urgent voice panted in his ear, "Come in me, Severus... Pound into me, just like that, harder, oh, gods, fuck me, fuck me, tear me apart..."

The muscles of his back tightened and burned as a thousand barbs of intense, boiling pleasure sank into his balls, pinpricks of light and heat and love and he choked out his cry of, "I'm coming in you! Oh, sweet, oh, gods fuck..."

The searing orgasm blasted over them both, mingling their choked cries of release, thrusting and thrusting his climax into her, leaving them breathless and spent. He fell against her and she clung to him, sweat-drenched and moaning. He kissed her passionately, his senses full of her, his groin aching with the pleasure of coming in the woman he loved so very much.

Looking down into her flushed, glowing face, Severus felt the last of the crippling fear melt away, and they held on to one another, knowing that they could face tomorrow a little less afraid.

He was back in the desert, the soft sirocco wind redolent with spice and the cool, coming night. He looked around the elaborate tent of his dreams, where he lolled on silk cushions in colours of rust and umber, purple and sage. On ottomans of tooled leather stood golden goblets encrusted with cabochons of turquoise and angelite, chiastolite and chrysoprase; they were sweating with the condensation of the cool wine contained therein.

In his arms, looking as lush and ripe as the fruit piled in the silver bowls at their feet, was his beautiful Hermione. She lay back against him, his chest her throne; her belly was round and full with his child, and with her hair entwining possessively around his wrists, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. His desire for her surged, and he cupped her heavy breasts in his hands, caressing her with his touch and his voice. He ached to show her just how much he wanted her. She turned in his arms and kissed him, stroking his body possessively. Soft chimes swayed in the breeze, and he wanted to stay in this warm, private place forever.

Dimly he heard the low, soft sound of music, like someone humming nearby. A shadow fell across his eyes, and he glanced up to see Reg looking down at them. He, too, was unspeakably beautiful, even more beautiful than Severus remembered. His deep violet robes swirled and floated in the wind, which lifted his hair like a black silk banner. Beside him stood Luna Lovegood, of all people, arraigned in turquoise robes. Tiny silver bells were attached to the sleeves and the hem; they made tinkling, ice-chip noises as the wind caught them.

As Severus and Hermione watched raptly, Reg started humming a tune that sounded both familiar and totally alien. He playfully pulled Luna into his arms and twirled her around. Their diaphanous robes danced around them capriciously, like magic. Reg hummed louder, and gradually she began humming along with him.

Severus exchanged a glance with his wife; she looked as pleasantly puzzled as he felt. "What are you singing, Luna?" Hermione asked, sounding sleepy and lanquid.

Reg and Luna gazed into one another's eyes. "He was a bard, after all, Hermione," she replied enigmatically.

Enchanted, Severus asked, "Who, Reg?"

Reg dipped Luna, and was rewarded with a peal of laughter that sounded like the tinkling bells on her robes. He looked up and winked at Severus. "Why, Beedle, of course. He was a bard, a singer, you know."

"No, I didn't know."

Reg pulled Luna upright, and they began to dance around again. "And the objects merely represent the voice."

"I don't understand," Hermione replied, still transfixed by their hypnotic movements. She leaned against Severus, and they watched and listened, like a king and queen being entertained for their amusement.

Gradually Reg and Luna slowed their whirling, twisting dance, and when they came to a gentle halt, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, a gallant gesture full of affection. Then they began to sing together. Severus couldn't make out the words or the tune; it was as if he were hearing it underwater. To his surprise, Hermione joined in the song, her voice just as mysterious and incomprehensible. She sang along, lifting her wand like a conductor's baton, sketching out the time with a series of geometric patterns.

Then suddenly, Reg and Luna vanished, leaving he and Hermione alone again, and there was nothing: no beautiful tent, no pillows, no wine or fruit; only the wind and the fading sound of singing borne away on the desert breeze.

Instead of feeling abandoned or afraid, he was filled with wild elation. He turned and scooped up Hermione in his arms, laughing exultantly. She had done it, she had found...

"...the way! Oh, lass, you did it!" His eyes flew open, and he sat up, wide awake, laughter still bubbling from his lips. Hermione was grasping his arms, her face alight with excitement.

"I was there, Severus! I was in the desert, with you and Luna and Regulus Black..."

"What did you do?" he asked hoarsely. His body was thrumming with joy, but he had no idea why. "Do you know what happened?"

She shook her head. "Not a clue! I knew it was wonderful and thrilling, and ..." She stopped, and they embraced. "That was no ordinary dream, Severus."

"No, I don't think it was, lass." Severus closed his eyes, trying to recapture the vision, but like so many dreams, the more he grasped at it, the faster it unraveled. "It was as if we'd been given the secret to defeating the Dark Lord for good and all." He ran a shaky hand through his oily hair.

Hermione put her arms around him again, and they held one another tightly. "I know! I just felt it was something so simple, yet so very important." They sat up together, and he tucked the covers around her as she began to shiver in the night air. "Severus, what or who exactly was Beedle the Bard?"

Severus took a moment to gather his thoughts. "He was a story collector. Children's stories. Fairy tales and the like. Have you never heard of him?"

She shrugged. "When I first discovered I was a witch, I tried to find out everything I could about the Wizarding world. I vaguely recall hearing the name. I suppose I just assumed it was the Wizarding equivalent of Mother Goose or Aesop's fables. In the Muggle world, pre-school children are read these stories by their parents. With Wizarding kids, I suppose it's the same with Beedle The Bard."

A memory stirred. "Hermione, the night Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley broke into the Headmaster's study and tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, Miss Lovegood told me you should read Beedle the Bard. She actually took a copy from the bookshelf and gave it to me." He lowered his head. "I'm afraid I was so distracted, I took it to our room and tossed it aside. I'm sorry, but I don't even remember what I did with it."

She stroked his back consolingly. "I'm sure we can find a copy. It sounds like every Wizarding home has one..."

A soft tapping at the door made them jump. They hastily pulled on their clothes, and opened the door. Luna Lovegood was standing at the door, looking as if she were no more concerned about the hour than the cause and effect of a falling butterfly in China. In her lilting, sing-song voice, she said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but after that dream, I think we have a few things to discuss."

At Luna's request, Severus roused Harry, Ron and Neville to join them. They congregated quietly in the kitchen, and while the kettle boiled for tea, Hermione's parents wandered in. Eventually, as the dawn drew nigh, Bill and Fleur joined them.

"Luna, we've all read Beedle the Bard ever since we were children. How can a fairy story bring about the downfall of You-Know-Who?" Bill asked.

"We have a war to win," Severus said, decisively, and his lips twisted in dark humour. "At this juncture, if Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump hold the key to the Dark Lord's defeat, I'm prepared to start cackling."

"Actually, the Story of the Three Brothers is the key," Luna began. "Death tricked three brothers into asking him for special favours. The oldest brother asked for the Elder wand, which rendered him invincible. The second brother asked for a way to recall the dead, and he was given the Resurrection Stone. The youngest, cleverest brother asked for a way to hide from death, and was given Death's own Cloak of Invisibility. The story was told to prove that you can't cheat Death for long.

"But some believe the brothers actually existed, and Beedle's story is a kind of biography. The three items became known as the Deathly Hallows. Does anyone have a quill?"

Neville instantly passed one to her, and she smiled her thanks as parchment was produced. She drew a symbol, which Ron recognized instantly. "Luna, didn't your dad have a medallion that looked like this at Bill and Fleur's wedding? The one Krum was going on about?"

Hermione frowned. "Going on about?"

Ron nodded. "He kept saying it was Grindelwald's symbol, like it was something evil."

Luna continued drawing. "It's not evil. Evil men have used it for their purposes, but it's not evil."

Martin Granger leaned forward and peered over his glasses. "Like the swastika used by the German Third Reich in World War Two. It was originally a Sanskrit symbol that meant 'to be good.' Cultures all over the world used it to represent fortune and happiness, but it only took about ten years in the wrong hands to change its meaning forever. To most Muggles now, it's a symbol of great tyranny and evil."

Luna nodded as she finished her drawing. It looked to Severus like a triangle with a circle inside. A line bisected both shapes. "My father is one of many Wizarding folk who wear the symbol," said Luna. "It helps to identify other believers on the quest to find the Hallows. Many people have died in the pursuit of them.

"According to the legend, the person who possesses all three would become the Master of Death. What would You-Know-Who do, if he believed that owning the three artifacts would make him Master of Death?"

"He'd stop at nothing to attain them." Severus shifted uneasily. "When we were at Malfoy Manor, The Dark Lord called Dumbledore's wand 'the Elder Wand.' He said it was the reason he wanted Hermione dead."

"That makes sense," Luna said with a nod. "According to the legends, the Elder Wand will only transfer its allegiance to the wizard who defeats its previous owner."

Severus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "When Hermione..." With the slightest hesitation, he continued, "When Hermione defeated Dumbledore, she would have become the de facto owner of the Elder Wand, according to legend."

"Hang on." The group turned to Harry. "You said, 'defeated,' not 'killed,' right?"

Hermione consulted the notes she'd been taking. "That's correct."

"Then technically, you didn't 'defeat' Dumbledore, Hermione. Draco did."

Severus crossed his arms. "Explain," he demanded flatly, and Hermione repressed another smile. His entire physical attitude was a holdover from his teaching days, and every person in the room who had ever been his student sat up a little straighter.

Harry continued. "When Dumbledore and I returned from the cave to the Tower, Draco disarmed him. I mean, physically took the wand from Dumbledore. He held him at wand point."

Hermione gasped. "Then Harry's right! I was never the 'owner' of the wand." She looked faintly stunned. "If he had killed me, the wand still wouldn't have worked properly." She bit her lip, looking pensive. I would have died for nothing.

Don't think that way, Hermione. Stay on task. We don't even know if Dumbledore's wand is the Elder Wand of legend.

"Right." She nodded, smiling shakily. "You're right, of course."

"I wish you two would stop doing that," Ron said, with a long-suffering air. "It gives me the heebie geebies."

Ignoring him, Hermione looked at Harry, understanding dawning. "Harry, when we were at Malfoy Manor, you fought with Draco and overpowered him, didn't you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "I did!" He blinked. "I don't believe it...I actually took his wand!" He left the room, and returned shortly with the wand in question. "If the entail follows the logical course, then technically the ownership of the wand would go to me."

Severus met Hermione's eyes. "So Draco defeated Dumbledore, and you subsequently defeated Draco. It seems you are the true master of the Elder Wand, Potter."

Ron gave his friend a pat on the back. "There you are, Harry. You've already got an invisibility cloak, and now you have the wand." Dryly, he added, "All we have to do is conjure up the stone and you'll be a one-man army against You-Know-Who."

"As illuminating as this conversation is, I think you're all missing the point," Luna said suddenly, cutting through the chatter like a knife through butter.

Hermione looked into the expectant faces in the room. "Severus and I shared a dream about Regulus Black and Luna. It turns out Luna experienced the same dream. Reg told us all that Beedle the Bard was a singer. He said, 'The objects merely represent the voice'.

"All of Beedle the Bard's stories would have originally been sung. A Bard is a singer of stories. Music is one of the most powerful magical carriers known to mankind. Didn't Professor Dumbledore say that?"

"'A magic far beyond all we do here'," Severus mused. "I must have heard the old man say that a hundred times."

Hermione shook her head in frustration. Something danced just outside her comprehension, and it was driving her mad. "It's like what we're supposed to do is just on the tip of my tongue. The wisest brother chose to hide from death. Where no one could..." she stopped and grew so still her mother looked at her in alarm.

"Hermione, darling? Are you alright..."

An idea, mad and unthinkable, blazed like a Lumos into her mind, illuminating the darkness and confusion with sudden clarity. It was completely insane, but..."Could it be that simple?" Hermione muttered to herself, oblivious to her mother's concern. "Have we had the power to defeat him all the time?"

Filled with power, Hermione started gasping, as if she'd been running. Her hair crackled with a corona of magic and excitement. Then tears spilled from her eyes, and she started laughing and crying at the same time. She felt feverish and dizzy.

Confused, Severus grasped her hand. "Lass, what is it?"

She could feel his apprehension and painful hope. "Sorry, love, but I understand what Reg was trying to tell us," she whispered. She snatched up the Deathly Hallows symbol Luna had drawn. The parchment fluttered in her trembling hand. "At least, I think so. Oh, but it's mad! Well, it sounds mad to me, but I know what to do. Why didn't I think of this before? All the time it's been right under our noses..."

"Hermione," Severus entreated, alarmed and thrilled by the wild, escalating euphoria of her thoughts. "Tell me. I don't understand yet. Tell us all."

When she explained, no one spoke. It took her three tries to get the wand movements correct, but when she succeeded, the resulting mayhem was enough to warrant an Order meeting to be called immediately. Patronuses were dispatched to the Order with urgent messages to come at once. It was a matter of moments until the Lupins and Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived, followed shortly by Molly and Arthur Weasley.

Everyone sat patiently while Hermione explained the story of the Deathly Hallows. "The actual items were legendary. For all we know, they actually do exist, but that's not the point of the story. Beetle the Bard was a singer, and his magic came from music."

"Perhaps you should show them," Luna said. "They will think you're a bit deranged otherwise, Hermione."

Severus had to bite back a laugh; the congregation did look perturbed. "It will make more sense if you allow one of us to take you with us."

"Take us with you? Where are we going?" asked Lupin warily.

Hermione smiled. "Where no one can find us."

"I'll do it, Hermone," Tonks volunteered. She stopped her husband's protests. "Hell, I'm ready to go to Bora Bora if it means we can end this." She held out her hand to Hermione, her intelligent eyes flashing. "Go on then. I'm trusting you. Show me this secret weapon of ours."

Gratefully, Hermione took her hand. "Thank you, Tonks." She stopped for a second to gather her thoughts, then softly sang under her breath, "Lay me low, lay where no one can see me, where no one can find me, where no one can hurt me..."

As she sang, she deliberately etched the sign of the Deathly Hallows into the air, and magic shimmered around her. There was a soft POP!, a rush of air and a sudden, brief chill, as if she'd just stepped under a shower of icy water.

Looking around wildly, Tonks barked a sudden curse. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded thunderously. Her hand was like an iron band around Hermione's wrist.

Hermione sighed in relief. It had been terrifying and thrilling the first time she and Severus had passed through the magical veil. Now, knowing they were able to do it effortlessly gave her a feeling of triumph she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

She and Tonks were in a ghostly, sepia-toned landscape of desert...or rather, they could see the desert, just as they could also see the kitchen of Shell Cottage superimposed against it. Between them was a soft, filmy veil of magical energy that hummed and shimmered hypnotically.

There was a feeling of tranquility, but also of anticipation. The very air around them shimmered with waiting, waiting... Every time Hermione came, she felt that same sense that something, or someone, was expected, but it wasn't her.

"Merlin, Hermione," Tonks whispered, awestruck, looking around. "Where are we?"

Hermione couldn't prevent the foolishly happy smile from dancing on her lips. "We're nowhere. We're not in the world, we're not dead; we're in between. And while we're here, we can't be seen, we can't be found, and we can't be hurt. We are in the Deathly Hallows."

Opening lyrics – Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen