Chapter 10: King and Queen

Disclaimer: All you recognise is not mine.

A/N: Thanks for all of your kind reviews. They really pulled me up. :)

I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. I wonder what you will make of it since the plot is starting to thicken, so to speak. ;)

Thanks for the Latin to Soul_Bound. She kept me from being too cheesy. LOL

Also thanks to enchanter. She found a plot-hole of mine, which I have since corrected. Thank you so much! If anyone else finds one of those, please tell me!

Thanks as always to my betas, Ladyinthecloak and lux_astraea, who is newly with me on 'Wicked' to replace SnarkyRoxy. Snark sadly had to step down, but I hope that she won't leave HP fandom for good. Thanks also to Bi, my greatest fan and cheerleader when I'm down, and my little one, for being incredibly patient with me.

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Chapter 10: King and Queen

Hermione slowly made her way down the stairs from the attic, mind buzzing with all that had happened. After that night practising with the foil, her wand suddenly felt slightly foreign, something which had never happened to her before. Even after a summer of not using it, it always felt like seeing Ron or Harry again: a sort of pleased surprise and a never-ending source of comfort.

But now... It was strange. She rolled her wand over and over in her palm, stroking, rubbing, her touch whispering over the smooth vine wood, trying to get the feel of it back. Finally she grew impatient, tired as she was, and decided to cast a spell.

"Scourgify," she said, directing her wand at the small dots of dried blood on her T-shirt. They vanished, but it felt a little strange.

She yawned loudly, holding the other hand in front of her mouth as she descended the next flight of stairs, still musing about the peculiarities of spell-casting with her wand, when...

"Jimbo! What have you done with your pants?"

She squeaked loudly and in a very undignified fashion, like a strangled mouse.

"Ron! Do you have to startle me like that?" she huffed, annoyed, without thinking. Then she remembered that their relationship was a little tense at the moment and just barely kept herself from groaning aloud. She just wanted to go to bed and sleep for all eternity.

"Of course. Someone has to," Ron replied with a tense smile, and for an insane second she wanted nothing more than to launch herself into his arms, tell him the whole sorry mess she'd made of herself and cry until everything was better. It was a seductive thought, especially since she knew that he had feelings for her. But the second passed, and she wanted to go to bed before her tired mind did something incredibly stupid.

"What are you doing up? And why are your pants so... dirty?" he asked, and only then did she understand what he'd meant. She looked down at the remnants of her training pants. They were not only grass-stained, but muddy as well. She doubted even a Scourgify would get out the stains. Only with a supreme effort did she manage to hold back a frustrated groan. Maybe Molly could help. With a band of boys, she was sure to know a spell for that.

"Nothing. I... sleepwalked," she improvised lamely, but once he started, he was like a dog with a bone: he wouldn't stop until he'd gotten to the bottom of it all. But sleepwalking was a good excuse you could neither prove nor disprove. It was a wonder she thought of even this much in her current state.

"Into the attic?"

She shrugged, glad she'd gotten rid of the bloody spots on her shirt before he'd appeared.

"And into the backyard apparently," Ron continued sceptically with a look at her dirty training pants. "What were you really up to?"

It took all of her self control to not sigh impatiently just then. "Ron, I'm really tired. Can we continue this lovely interrogation tomorrow?" she asked with more bite than she'd wanted, but she was tired, so very tired right then.

Apparently it was the one acceptable response she could've given, for he immediately looked sheepish and nodded. But just before she could say, "Good night," to him, his gaze grew thoughtful and nervous, and she panicked.

Oh, no, he wouldn't. Not now! But it would be just like him to pick the one moment for The Talk that is the most inconvenient.

Although she was more than ready to bite his head off and make him hate her once and for all (she was very emotional still; that and extreme tiredness can do that to you), she just sighed quietly when he started, "'Mio... I mean, Hermione, I..."

She did her best to look patient and inviting to midnight conversation. "Yes, Ron?" she even added with what she hoped could pass as an encouraging smile.

That apparently did it.

He immediately backed off again, a panicked look on his face, "Uh... never mind. Good night, Hermione," he said and quickly trudged into the direction of his and Harry's room.

She blinked. No! It can't be... that is brilliant. Simply brilliant.

She had to remember that. He apparently thought better of trying to talk to her whenever she acted as if she were willing to entertain the idea of a relationship with him!

How... twisted.

Poor Ron, she actually managed to think. Good thing she didn't want him anymore, or she'd become seriously frustrated with him again. Honestly, to behave like that!

She tsked and, swaying slightly, made her way to her room as silently as possible so as not to wake Ginny and collapsed on her bed, already half-asleep when she hit the covers.

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Only twenty minutes later a tall form dressed in a shabby, mud brown cloak strode in a cloud of soot out of the fireplace into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

Dumbledore looked up from the parchment he had been perusing when his guest arrived.

The other man Evanescoed any trace of dirt from his person with a silent flick of his wand. Then he raised his eyes at the old man before him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Good evening, Severus. Please sit down," Dumbledore said and motioned Snape forward to one of the high winged-back chairs upholstered in fanciful colours and which were totally mismatched in front of his desk. Snape walked cautiously over to the one on the left, which was farthest from the door, and sank wearily down into it.

His eyes surveyed the room with its eccentric instruments, nosy paintings and its two occupants with one swift glance. It was easy to forget that he wasn't still sixteen and here to be punished. Easy that was until one looked at Dumbledore more closely. His hair and beard were whiter, and he looked more tired and resigned than he had back then. Then there was the matter of his right hand.

"So? How did it go?" Dumbledore said into the cold silence.

When after a long moment Snape continued to stare at his desk, Dumbledore knew something had happened, but decided to prod the other man into speaking regardless.

"I presume there is something you wish to tell me for you to actually visit me?"

Snape's head whirled around and he shot him a sharp glance. That had been unnecessary.

"So, have you been able to assess her potential?"

Snape nodded. "Indeed, I have. In my opinion she is ready. Time to put that overactive brain of hers to good use."

"Ah, very good. I had hoped for this. Miss Granger is a singularly intelligent and clever young woman."

Snape nodded again. This time very slowly, however, while staring into space.

The contemplative silence of the younger man and his intense study of one of the countless whirring gadgets in the room told Dumbledore there was more.

"Severus?"

"There are... complications."

"Ah, yes. You mentioned she was keeping something from you."

"She has been feeling guilty about the ramifications of their little sojourn to the Department of Mysteries. To be exact, she's been feeling guilty about Black's untimely demise and her role in it."

"Then your suspicions proved correct."

Snape shot him a glare. "My suspicions didn't even come close, I'm afraid. She has taken the responsibility for Black's death upon herself. She has invoked the Ritus Ultionis."

"How... unusual. Had she already done so, or did she do it in your presence?"

"I was present. She fulfilled all the requirements."

"But how...?"

"I don't know. I personally made sure that no book either here or at Grimmauld Place would contain this kind of arcane magic. That fact coupled with the way she spoke the invocation suggests to me that she knew instinctively which words to use." Snape let this unconventional theory fall on the table between them with a pointed look. "It was very unsettling," he added, turning his gaze away, looking about the room, clearly uneasy, before coming to rest on the Headmaster again.

"I'm sure it must have been. It's a disturbing experience to literally hold another person's life in your hand. I find it very curious, however, that she chose you of all people as her Witness, don't you think?"

Snape looked abruptly away.

Dumbledore sighed, then thoughtfully began to stroke his long, white beard.

"How very... interesting. And her being a Muggle-born. Were she of pure-blood or even half-blood descent, one could argue that even had she never heard of this particular ritual, she would have heard about other, similar ones and would know the basic procedure. But the way it stands, her clandestine sojourns to the Restricted Section could not have led her in this direction, and there are no other ways she could've learned of it. If that is indeed true, it could be one more clue to our puzzle. We know already that magic has a will of its own, or rather that it obeys Her will. But I'm becoming more and more convinced that magic sometimes really comes to those who seek it. How could she have known about the Ritus Ultionis otherwise? How could Lily Potter have known what to do that night? And how could Riddle..."

"Do you have to speak his name? I'm grateful for every chance I have to be outside his awareness, and yet you persist in..." Snape hissed angrily.

"Severus, you know very well why this has to be so, especially now," Dumbledore reminded him, adjusting the sleeve over his blackened hand with his left.

"Outwardly nothing can change. He mustn't know that I am aware of what is to come, or all will fail."

"Headmaster, I know several individuals with excellent libraries specialised in unusual branches of magic. If you would only give me permission to contact them, I could..." Snape began tentatively only to be cut off by the Headmaster.

"Severus, I have made my decision. There is more at stake here than one life."

"What about them? They are still only children, but for everything going according to plan, they will have to search for and destroy each one. They could easily come to the same conclusion you did – or at least one of them – and then what? They have served their purpose? If only the three of them are to do it, we need to know the way to prevent the backlash, or stop it, or there may not even be one of them left to fight the Dark Lord let alone Potter."

"I agree, Severus. You may contact any individuals you deem necessary after the current matter is resolved and in a way that won't blow your cover."

Snape gritted his teeth, but didn't bother to protest.

"That means we have to find a suitable candidate for the role of the Avenger. Anyone in particular coming to mind?"

"I know none of Black's relatives who can be trusted, who aren't dancing on his grave, not to mention someone who wouldn't take advantage of the situation and kill her for sport during the ritual; and fulfill the necessary requirements of course."

"What about Nymphadora?"

Snape snorted. "This is a serious business. Miss Granger will not be able to withstand the pressure for much longer. The ritual will have to be performed as soon as possible. We can't trust Tonks to follow it. She won't be able to do it. She's too soft. Unless she does it while tripping over something. We could build a parcours if you're willing?" Snape suggested sarcastically.

"Too soft like Molly you mean?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring the other man's sarcasm, then let the matter drop at the other man's icy glare.

"By all means ask her. But don't be surprised if it doesn't work. It's not as if Miss Granger's life is in any way important," Snape commented, bitter sarcasm veritably dripping from his mouth now.

"Good," Dumbledore replied, once more ignoring Snape's comments, "So the Ritus Ultionis, a Recognition and the induction ceremony all within one week. That will be hard on Miss Granger."

Snape nodded with a strangely grave look on his normally expressionless face. "Indeed. If the ritual works."

"Of course it will work. We must think positively. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about."

"To lose one so bright to madness would be a shame, indeed," Snape replied with a dark look on his face.

"Don't you find it curious that we are awash in pledges and oaths, vows and bonds this year?"

"You ask that as if it's a good thing."

"I think it might be. Magical promises like these are very powerful, as you well know. The power words hold in our world is immeasurable. It may be a sign that the importance of the power of words is going to increase significantly this year. It could be a sign that the Ways of Old are going to be brought back."

"Are you mad? The Ministry might be incompetent and full of bureaucracy and corruption, but in the Days of Old people were killing each other left, right and centre for power!"

"That is not quite accurate, Severus; you didn't listen to Professor Binns' classes back then, eh?"

"Does anyone listen to that old ghost?" Snape muttered disparagingly.

Dumbledore chuckled, but his eyes were serious. "Probably not. But we won't get rid of him, so he might as well do something useful."

"Useful indeed. He's managed to instill an unparalleled hatred for History of Magic in the hearts of every student he taught – even before he died. Quite an achievement. Not even I managed that."

"But then your subject is hard to really hate. The magic of the simmering cauldron..." Dumbledore trailed off in his teasing and came back to his original train of thought. "Severus, you were too young to remember, and even then it wasn't the same as when I was a boy, but to feel the air literally crackling with magical energy simply because of a word being spoken... It was breath-taking and awe-inspiring. But these days have long passed. The Earth and She are getting tired of us. The Wizarding population is fast declining, and the magic is slowly disappearing. It is undoubtedly hard for you to think about the Days of Old, considering your family history.

"The Clans had too much power and greedy as they were, abused it continuously. But the Clans as they were meant to be, ruled for over a thousand years before the lust for power corrupted them. They kept the families together, upheld traditions received from Her personally before our people could even measure time. The Ways of Old are very powerful and are not to be underestimated. They could help us if we are careful. All these recent events involving binding magic are too conspicuous to be coincidental. Perhaps we have received a sign. Maybe it is time to find comfort in old values and rituals once again."

Snape looked at him for a long moment, thinking. Then he nodded. "Perhaps."

"In any case we should focus more on the traditional Sabbaths and celebrations this coming year, starting with Miss Granger's series of rituals. It could make a difference."

"You will have to advise us on how best to do so. I doubt that any other living member of the Order has had any personal experience with the festivities and traditions as they were meant to be."

"I will give you and Minerva access to books and scrolls of accounts on such rituals. And I will add what I can. Pity we missed Midsummer and Lughnassadh. But then our organisation is not yet as populated with younger folk that would make such a celebration an experience indeed," Dumbledore ended with a smile, his gaze faraway as he was clearly thinking of one of those sacred holidays he had partaken of himself once upon a time.

Snape tried very hard not to think about the implications.

A pause, then Dumbledore asked thoughtfully, "You said she met all the requirements?"

"Yes. She's been neglecting herself, punishing herself. She didn't sleep until I gave her something of my own creation, she doesn't eat much, and she... The wound she received in the battle from Dolohov; she should have gone to a weekly check-up with Poppy. She hasn't. And she hasn't treated the wound herself at all. It was still open and bleeding when I left her."

"That was what she intended, subconsciously, though, wasn't it?"

"Of course, but I'll be damned if I let that girl kill herself over..." He took in a rattled breath and exhaled slowly. "Never mind. I gave her a salve which should heal the wound in a matter of weeks. Perhaps she won't even retain a scar."

"How exactly did you get her to confide in you? I would have thought your role would be enough to dissuade her from even thinking about doing so?" Dumbledore inquired curiously.

"It was. Especially with the Ritus Ultionis gnawing at her sanity. But I have my methods. You know that."

Dumbledore merely looked at him curiously.

"I didn't hurt her for heaven's sake!" Snape felt compelled to defend himself. "I was rough, but she won't even retain a bruise. It was necessary."

"I didn't say it wasn't, my friend. In all your time as a teacher at this school, not one student has come to harm when you could have prevented it... So what did you do?"

Snape hesitated, which spoke volumes in itself. "I... reinstated the Club. It seemed the best way to get her to open up to me."

"The Gobstones Club? Very interesting and fitting I suppose. And how is she faring? Nothing less than brilliant of course."

"Well, while it is clear that physical pursuits are not her forte, she is improving quickly. Nevertheless, she is still under-worked. Her usual pursuits do not satisfy her anymore. And should the ritual be successful, she will need an occupation more than ever. In my opinion she is now ready to explore her true potential."

"I see. What do you suggest?"

"Let her have a duty that demands her particular skills while honing the skills she does not yet possess. All of you always talk about her being the 'brightest witch of her age', but although she admittedly has the potential, it will have to be developed so she can make use of it. She could be a singularly powerful witch if we only take the trouble to train her."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"Which subjects?"

"Push her limits. All of her best subjects well beyond the advanced levels: Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, with special emphasis on Defense Against the Dark Arts and the Dark Arts themselves; plus the usual training after the ceremony."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts and the Dark Arts. What do you have in mind?"

"I have nothing unusual in mind, but for what is to come, someone will have to be prepared. Potter will never be able to do it alone. He will need help. And she is ideally suited for that purpose. We may also need a back-up plan, just in case."

"For what purpose?"

"You underestimate Potter's hatred of me. If I am to help them, they need to be convinced of my loyalty first. After... It won't be easy." Snape forced out, grabbing the armrests of his chair tightly.

"And considering what lies ahead, to know that there is someone to be trusted should the plan fail would greatly reassure me if it doesn't you," he replied icily.

Dumbledore studied him thoughtfully.

After a contemplative silence on Dumbledore's part, during which the younger man managed to compose himself again, Dumbledore asked, "What of Miss Granger? Does she trust you?"

"I think so, but warily. Once she was free of the approaching madness for a short while, she displayed a knack for analysis and a preference for using and trusting logic over emotions. She could be useful."

"Very useful if what you said is true."

"You want her to spy on Potter," Snape stated flatly.

"It would be the best way to keep tabs on the boy. He has a way of being where he shouldn't."

"And how pray tell are you going to get her to spy on her two best friends? Tell me when you decide to break the news to her. It should prove to be entertaining."

"Oh, you will be there. Tell me if you found it entertaining."

"I won't..."

"Before you continue that sentence, I think I have to remind you again of the consequ..."

"No... Of course you don't," Snape cut him off bitterly. "Damn you."

"Grindelwald became the most powerful wizard of his time because I didn't stop him in time. The same happened with Tom. I won't allow it to happen a third time. Understood?" It wasn't a question, not really.

Snape could've said that he thought these two wizards became so powerful because the Headmaster had an unfortunate habit of giving out lots of second chances to those who were undeserving while ignoring those who were deserving, but for two reasons he held his tongue. One reason he didn't wish to think about, while the other was one he never forgot: he, too, had been undeserving of a second chance when he had been granted it.

"Of course, Headmaster. I apologise."

"There's no need. No one said it wouldn't be difficult. You have a right to feel that way. But our plans have to be in place in time, or all will be lost."

Snape nodded in resignation.

Dumbledore watched him carefully and finally offered him one of his sweets.

"Liquorice Snap?"

Snape hesitated before taking one out of the glass bowl.

"I believe this one time I need one. But don't get used to it."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"I wouldn't dream of doing so."

A long moment passed while they chewed on their sweets in silence. Then they both got up at the same time.

"I will take my leave now. I am 'expected' at home," he bit out in disgust at the thought of Wormtail.

Dumbledore looked at him in concern, but then thought better of broaching another sensitive subject tonight. Perhaps an alternative arrangement could be found in this case.

"Of course. How will you get her to fall in with our plans?"

"I think I will use your approach. It has been most effective, wouldn't you say?"

Dumbledore looked at him in concern.

"Indeed. Just keep in mind that she is merely an eighteen-year-old with a serious case of guilt, whilst you were a bitter, suicidal twenty-year-old Death Eater. You will have to allow for some difference in your approach."

"I will keep that in mind. Good night, Albus."

"Good night, Severus."

Snape left, closing the door softly behind him.

The mask Dumbledore had been wearing throughout the meeting crumbled in a matter of seconds until only a very old and tired man was sitting in his place, looking weary, sad and full of regrets all at once.

Under the eyes of his watchful familiar, the man sat staring into the fire in the hearth until light filtered through the curtains covering the windows from outside.

He never went to bed that night.

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A/N: Well, I'm curious what your theories are on what they talked about exactly. And that ritual? Wonder what you make of that...

I would also be interested to know what you make of the title of this chapter. I had a hard time coming up with one till this one just popped into my head. Am very pleased with it now.

Since a WIP poses an unfair temptation for some readers, I let Shell, a fellow member of the Mob, give me a prompt in exchange for reading my fic. I call that a fair exchange. ;) The prompt is Ron's first sentence when he meets Hermione on the stairs. Was a challenge to come up with a good use for that particular sentence!

If anyone else needs some incitement of this sort, I found including this prompt in my story quite funny and invigorating for the plot bunnies. So feel free to join in. :)

As for the Days of Old/Ways of Old, I realise this may sound like 'The Old Ways' by Thalassa, which is incidentally a suberb story. But apart of the resemblance of the name, trust me it doesn't have anything to do with it. I just couldn't come up with a better name. If you can, mail me. :)