What Is Right And What Is Easy.

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though.

A big Thank You goes to my beta-reader, Maggie, and my beta-reader and brit-picker, Melusin, who both are always encouraging, helpful, and thorough.

Chapter 9 – What Is Right And What Is Easy.

Hermione tumbled out of the fireplace in St. Mungo's and looked around, feeling numb. She wasn't quite certain if anyone else was injured, or worse, but she had heard the Killing Curse and saw Mrs. Weasley fall.

Harry was standing at the side of the room, looking as shocked and horrified as she felt. Her eyes searched for Ron, who stood in a group with his brothers, Ginny, and Fleur. He stood slightly stooped and looked at something in his hand. Hermione walked over and put her arms around him.

Ron took a deep breath, showed her the rose-coloured crystal that Dudley's girlfriend had given him and choked out between tears, "How could she have known?"

"I don't know," Hermione whispered, at a loss for words.

After a short while, a Healer came into the room and beckoned the Weasleys to follow but stopped Harry and Hermione from coming along. "Only next of kin, please."

"They belong to the family," Ron said angrily, but the Healer refused stubbornly to let Harry and Hermione go with them.

"Go, Ron, your father needs you now," Hermione whispered. "I'm sure we'll be allowed in later. She hugged him again, and so did Harry. Then Fred dragged Ron away, and the door closed behind them.

Hermione and Harry hugged each other, trying to get over the shock that Mrs. Weasley was dead. Molly Weasley had been like a mother to both of them, but especially to Harry. Hermione thought that it must feel to Harry like he was losing his parents all over again, only this time he was old enough to feel and understand the loss.

After a while, they sat down; Hermione was fighting back her tears while Harry was starting to mutter under his breath.

"Wormtail! It was Wormtail! I should have let Sirius kill him that night in the Shrieking Shack..."

"No, Harry, don't think that. You did the right thing. Remember what Dumbledore said."

"She would still be alive!"

Hermione didn't know how to reply to that, so she simply hugged Harry again, as much for giving as for receiving comfort.

They were still waiting for the return of the family when two Aurors came to question them about the attack. They learned that nineteen Death Eaters had been taken into custody, most of them not in any state to resist the arrest. None of the Death Eaters had been seriously injured or even killed, and Mrs. Weasley, as well as Percy, whose fate was as yet unclear, were the only casualties of the attack.

"The elves." Hermione suddenly remembered. "What happened to the elves? I heard Alouette scream, and Dobby was lying on the floor close to Mrs. Weasley and didn't move. Who is taking care of the elves?"

"No idea," the Auror said unfeelingly. "That's between the elves and their owners."

"They are our friends, and they don't have owners," Hermione said shrilly. "You can't just leave them there."

"We can, and we did," the Auror said irritably. "If you want to know what happened to them, go and look for yourself. We've finished investigating at the Burrow, so you'll have it all to yourself...and your elves." He glared at her and went away.

"Harry, what do we do? We can't just leave them there; Dobby is our friend, and Alouette... It's not really her fault." Hermione had jumped to her feet and was pacing up and down nervously, wringing her hands.

"You're right," Harry said. "But we can't go away now; Ron and his family need us."

Hermione looked at the floor. "Yes," she whispered. "But it could take hours before we're allowed to be with them, and at the moment we can't help them. But, perhaps we can help the elves." She looked at Harry pleadingly. "I'm sure Ron will understand. Harry... I have to go and look after them; I just have to." Her eyes had filled with tears again.

"I'm not so certain that Ron will understand," Harry said sadly, "but I won't let you go alone. I'll come with you. Dobby is my friend; he's always been there for me, even if I didn't always appreciate it."

They both smiled between tears, remembering the unorthodox ways Dobby had tried to help and protect Harry, and together they went to the fireplace to Floo back to the Burrow.

When they arrived in the deserted kitchen, Hermione looked around and gasped. She had been far too caught up in the fight to notice the amount of destruction that had occurred. Shards of glass were covering the floor of the kitchen and the adjacent lounge. The mid-September air that was drifting in through the gaping windows, though still warm, caused her to have goosepimples.

The lights were out; all the candles were lying on the floor with no charm to hold them afloat. The only light illuminating the ghostly scene was the greenish glow from the Dark Mark hovering over the grounds. The furniture was broken, and the big kitchen table was overturned and missing two legs. The crockery had been thrown out of the kitchen cabinet, possibly by her own doing, Hermione thought guiltily. There was rubble everywhere, but the elves had disappeared. The only sounds that could be heard were the sad wails from the ghoul in the attic.

"Let's go and look outside," Harry suggested. "If they aren't in the garden, then they probably went somewhere to get their injuries tended to. And if we don't find them there, then let's get out of here."

"All right," Hermione said and went to the back entrance, stepping over the broken door that had been blown off its hinges.

Although it was a moonless night and a cool mist hid the stars, the Dark Mark cast enough light to light up the grounds. Hermione walked a few steps towards the garden but stopped soon.

"Nothing," she said, slightly disappointed.

"Shush." Harry seemed to have heard something. They both froze and listened intently. From the distance, strange, muted sounds penetrated the night. A deep, low voice chanted something in a rather commanding tone, and two high voices whimpered and cried.

Slowly getting closer, moving soundlessly and hiding behind bushes, they reached the opposite side of the duck pond. They were both stunned by the scene before them. Alouette was lying on the floor, weeping softly. Dobby was sitting at her side, his face buried in his hands, his whole body wracked by sobs. His hats, clothes, and socks were stacked neatly at his side, and an old towel was wrapped around him like a toga. Severus Snape knelt facing the elves. He moved his wand over Alouette and chanted a spell in a low, singsong voice. Whatever it was he was doing, it seemed to be exhausting since sweat was streaming down his face, and his complexion was that of sour milk.

While Hermione was staring, Harry stormed off. "Snape," he cried, firing hexes while he ran. Hermione didn't know what to do; their defence lessons hadn't prepared her for an out-of-control Harry Potter. Hermione resolved to make a few suggestions to Peregrin Price if they survived this encounter and then ran after Harry.

Snape had jumped up, turned around, and cast a protective spell in one smooth movement. The spell deflected Harry's curses, and in the meantime, Snape moved away from the elves and attacked.

Hermione's joining the fight brought a grim smile to Snape's face, and while Harry and Hermione continuously bombarded him with hexes and jinxes, he darted and evaded, deflected and jumped. Hermione thought that he was even swifter on his feet than Price was. When Snape pressed forward to attack them, Harry started to talk.

"Picking up the leftovers, are you, Snape?" he snarled. "Where were you during the fight in the Burrow? Too many strong witches and wizards around for your taste? Easier to get hold of the old and weak, isn't it?"

"I see that you still haven't learned to use your brain," Snape hissed while deflecting one of Hermione's spells and attacking Harry. Harry, however, evaded skilfully and fired off a new barrage of hexes.

"Doesn't that worry you, Snape?" Harry continued. "Thirty Death Eaters attack, and now nineteen of them are in custody? How will you explain this to your master? Where were you during the attack, anyway?"

Snape sneered. "Don't concern yourself with things beyond your grasp, Potter." A red flash left his wand while he jumped to avoid one of Hermione's ice patches.

"Interesting, Miss Granger," he said. "Did you learn that in a book?"

Hermione ground her teeth and tried once again to pull her anger around herself like a shield, but found that she wasn't really all that angry, nor could she summon her hatred for Snape. She was too sad, confused, and tired and not in the best condition to go into another fight. So she was quiet and tried to find weaknesses in Snape's defences.

"There's no escape for you this time, Snape. We'll get you, and then you'll get what you deserve. I'll personally watch when you get the Dementor's kiss."

For a brief moment, Snape's face twisted into an angry grimace, but then it was calm and composed again, and he continued fighting efficiently against his two opponents.

"Dobby, why don't you help us?" Hermione asked, jumping out of the way of a yellow shower of sparks that shot towards her.

"Dobby cannot," Dobby wailed.

"Take Alouette and go, Dobby," Snape commanded, and the elf obeyed. He took Alouette's hand in his own and Disapparated.

"What did you do to the elves?" Harry screamed.

Snape smiled cruelly. "I've enslaved them, of course. But you wouldn't know how that's done, would you, Potter? Neither you nor your little friend here can look beyond what is taught to you at school, can you?"

"You enslaved Dobby? You filthy, cowardly murderer..." Harry was so angry now that he was at a loss for words. Hermione tried to warn him and cast a quick Protego, but it came too late. Snape immediately took advantage of Harry's moment of inattention and Petrified him.

"Elves can be enslaved when a wizard heals them," Hermione said. "It is a sad fact that once upon a time, free elves were captured and injured deliberately, then brought before their future masters who healed them and enslaved them at the same time. The elves' children, children's children, and their children, generations of descendants, inherit this enslavement until it is broken by receiving clothes. It's a bond of blood and obligation. Possibly, it was good for something once, but it has been abused by wizardkind for their own ends for a very long time." While she was talking, Hermione was constantly attacking and warding off Snape's spells, which seemed rather tame to her. She supposed that he was playing with her.

"Quite adequate, quite adequate," Snape acknowledged to her surprise, "but that would be expected from a bookish know-it-all like you." He mock-bowed towards her, pointed his wand at his own shadow and used Hermione's confusion to attack her mercilessly while his now corporeal shadow mirrored each of his movements and cast off the same hexes and curses as the original. Under the continued onslaught of two Snapes, Hermione's defences wavered, and soon she found herself Petrified, too.

"You know," he said, bending over Harry and sneering into his unmoving face. "For a moment there, I thought that you had improved. But you still cannot control yourself, and you are no match for the Dark Lord. He'll be very disappointed when he next meets you. You will hardly be worth his while." He gave them both a final sneer and then Disapparated.

As soon as Snape disappeared, Fawkes the Phoenix Apparated in a red flash. He sat on Harry's shoulder and sang his comforting song; however, it took half an hour before the Petrificus Totalis had worn off enough for them to move again and release each other from the remnants of the spell. Harry shook from anger and humiliation, but Hermione was too tired to care much. Fawkes trilled a few final notes and Disapparated again.

"I wonder how he knows when he's needed," Hermione said pensively. "It almost looks as if he's watching you... Let's Floo back to St. Mungos," she suggested. "Maybe they'll allow us to be with the family, now."

Harry only nodded, and they walked back to the house.

Back at St. Mungo's, the Weasley children were all gathered in a separate room, a bit removed from the patients' wards. Bill was sitting on a couch, Fleur on one side, Ginny on the other. Both women had buried their faces in his shoulders, crying silently. Fred and George sat on another sofa and looked completely lost. Ron stood by the window and stared outside.

When Hermione and Harry entered the room, he turned around.

"Where were you?" he asked accusingly.

Harry told him the story while Hermione timidly took Ron's hand, but he shook it off angrily.

"Elves were more important to you than I... than our family... You'd rather go and play games with Snape while my mother..." His face was flushed.

"How could we have known that he'd be there?" Hermione said while looking at him pleadingly. "We had to look after the elves, don't you see? No one cared... The Aurors just left them... and I knew that they were injured."

"So what if they were? My mother is dead, and I needed you to be here... I needed you..." Ron's voice broke, and he turned away from her, trying to hide his tears but unable to hide the sobs that shook him again.

"Don't be angry with us, please," Harry said, putting his hand on Ron's arm. "We weren't allowed to follow you, and judging from the night when your father was attacked, we believed that it would be hours until we would be allowed to see you. And we had to do something."

"Leave me alone," Ron choked and pushed Harry's hand off his arm. Harry shook his head, walked over to Hermione, and put an arm around her. They both sat down on the third sofa, facing the other Weasleys.

Ginny looked up and smiled sadly at Harry. She started to say something, but Hermione thought that she knew what was coming and tapped her lips urgently with her forefinger.

"Oh, if you think we don't know that their break-up was a fake one, then think again," Fred said and gestured towards Harry and Ginny. "Don't worry, Harry, we won't tell anyone. As annoying as she can be, we prefer our little sister alive."

Ginny stared at him and started to cry again. Bill shook his head and closed his eyes tiredly. Fred flinched. "Oh, crap. I'm sorry... You know what I meant, Gin."

"Yeah," Ginny sobbed, "and I'd prefer Mum alive, too." They all started to cry again, more or less quietly.

After a while, Hermione thought she'd try again to make peace with Ron and walked over to him. He just looked at her, clenched his teeth, and tried to suppress the tears. She wiped his face and took him in her arms. As if a dam had broken, Ron started to cry in earnest, but he made no attempt to free himself from her. Despite all the pain, Hermione was glad they were still together, able to give each other comfort and love.

If Hermione thought that Ron had forgiven her, she soon was disabused of the notion. In the first few days that followed, he was very quiet and hardly spoke to her until his mother's funeral was over. It was a much shorter and less formal ceremony than the funeral of Albus Dumbledore, but the large number of people that attended showed how well-liked Molly Weasley had been.

After the funeral, they helped Mr. Weasley, Bill and Charlie to close down the Burrow. Fred and George had invited their father to stay with them, and Arthur Weasley had accepted gladly. He couldn't stand to stay alone in the place where he had been so happy with his wife, and he wanted to be close to Percy, who was still in St. Mungos and seemed to be in a strange stupor. Harry had offered to let him stay in his house at Godric's Hollow, but Mr. Weasley had declined, stating that he didn't want to be alone just yet. Bill and Fleur moved into their own flat that they had bought in Diagon Alley, and Charlie returned to Romania. Ron and Ginny went back to Hogwarts, together with Harry and Hermione. Hermione's eighteenth birthday had come and gone, unnoticed by anyone but Harry, who had found a commentary for The Art of War for her in a Muggle bookshop.

After a few more days, Harry and Hermione were ready to take up the search for the Horcruxes again, but Ron seemed to have lost all interest. Hermione tried to involve him in her and Harry's plans and speculations, but he only got angry when she did, and they inevitably ended up fighting. Ron couldn't forget that Hermione had thought of someone else while he and his family were in so much pain, and Hermione felt her heart break when she realized that Ron would never understand that caring for those in need was part of what defined her personality.

About six weeks after his mother's death, Ron began to show signs of his old self again. He became more active in their search and didn't avoid being alone with Hermione any longer. The first sharp pain of loss seemed to have faded to a dull ache. The rest of the Weasleys seemed to be coping as well. Charlie had invited Mr. Weasley to stay with him in Romania for a while, and Mr. Weasley had agreed, taking a leave of absence from his job. Percy's condition had improved slightly, and Bill had promised to look after him on a regular basis while his father was away. Fred and George had offered to take care of Percy, but the rest of the family had deemed it wiser not to rely on the twins' capacity for forgiveness and compassion.

By the end of October, the Horcrux search had, once again, reached a dead end. Harry wasn't making any progress with Professor Slughorn, and the interviews with older Order members revealed no new or helpful information. Hermione watched with sorrow as Harry oscillated constantly between depression and anger while Ron always remained somewhat remote from both of them.

Their classes were complex and difficult, and although, as Bill had predicted, nearly every subject dealt with advanced applied magic, their newly learned detection and deactivation skills were useless if there wasn't an object in sight where they could be applied. Their moods weren't helped by the fact that the last Defence Club training session had found them beaten mercilessly by a group of Slytherins led by Pansy Parkinson. Pansy had advanced to being one of the keenest students in the subject; she hung onto Price's every word and proved to be a rather clever strategist when she led her own small group, fighting against whoever was appointed as their opponent.

"Why does Price have to include the Slytherins in the Defence Club anyway?" Harry growled while they walked towards the Great Hall for tea.

"How could he exclude them? Their house is part of the school." Hermione knew what Harry was getting at but refused to support his ideas of banning the Slytherins from all lessons that dealt with advanced magic, especially Defence Against the Dark Arts that had defensive and offensive strategy as its main theoretical focus.

"Their house should have been disbanded," Harry sneered. "Everyone knows that it almost entirely consists of Death Eater sympathisers, and I can't see why anyone should teach anything to future Death Eaters. The less they learn about what we know and can do, the better."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "They aren't all future Death Eaters, and even if they are influenced by their families, they still have to make their own choices in the end. Have you forgotten Draco? He made his choice, and Dumbledore gave him the chance to do this. Do you really think that disbanding Slytherin house is something Dumbledore would have wanted?"

"Oh, stop referring to Dumbledore," Harry raved. "He wasn't infallible, as you well know."

"He was human, and he had compassion and understanding," Hermione grumbled angrily. "And that's something you're sadly missing as of late, Harry." She looked at him with glittering eyes and swallowed. "I want the old Harry back..."

Harry only shrugged and was silent. Ron gave her a quizzical look, patted her shoulder and followed Harry. Hermione, however, wasn't done yet. She went on and on about how each house deserved the same chance at being educated, how prejudice wouldn't help anyone, and how vile rumours could bring a whole house into disrepute.

"Do I have to remind you that Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, and that you yourself were almost sorted into Slytherin?" she finally managed to exclaim, and that stopped Harry in his tracks.

"Let it go, Hermione. The majority of Slytherins come from Death Eater homes and telling them which strategies we are learning is a big mistake. Mark my words."

"So how should it be?" she hissed. "A two-class education system after Potter? The harmless, tuned-down variety for the second-class Slytherins, and the finer points of wizardry taught to the more deserving houses? Is that it?"

"Why not? Harry at least tries to save lives while you are more concerned with theory and principles than with real life, Hermione," Ron threw in accusingly. "The Death Eaters who killed my mum learned their magic at Hogwarts. If they hadn't, she could still be alive."

Hermione went very pale. "Is that what you think of me, Ron? That I put theorizing over compassion? Do you really think that Hogwarts' education is responsible for the deeds of Death Eaters?" She swallowed down a sob. "You think that having principles is wrong? I thought you had understood... both of you... but the pain, I must make excuses for the pain... " Her voice trailed off, and she walked alongside the two young men in silence, eyes bright with unshed tears.

They didn't get further than the first floor when suddenly Kreacher Apparated in front of them.

"Kreacher has been told that the great Harry Potter," said the house-elf, who then mumbled under his breath, "the blood traitor," before continuing, "has been beaten in his lesson. Maybe Harry Potter needs Kreacher's service. Maybe Kreacher can do something for Harry Potter?" He paused briefly, then added, "And revel in his misery?"

"There you have it, Hermione. Another one of your hopeless causes. And where, pray tell, did you hear of this, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher has overheard it when Miss Parkinson, who is a friend of Kreacher's true masters, mentioned it to a house-mate."

"Just what I thought." Harry's face had turned red. "They stick together like glue, don't you see?" His voice was shrill from anger now. "How can we ever accomplish anything?" He gasped for breath but didn't leave Hermione room to say anything. "How can we ever get anywhere with Slytherins and Death Eaters and oh-so-faithful house-elves all banding together? This has to stop. I can't take this anymore." Harry took another deep breath, took one of his shoes off, and pulled a sock from his foot. He threw the sock at Kreacher, despite Hermione's attempt to prevent him.

"You're free. Now get out of my sight!" he screamed at Kreacher, who stared at the sock and started to cry and sob noisily, drops of snot running from his snout-like nose.

Hermione buried her face in her hands and sat down on the floor, her back against the wall. Ron just stood there, watching the scene with a cool remoteness that made him appear like a disinterested observer.

Kreacher was still wailing and sobbing when Peregrin Price turned around the corner. He seemed to have been on his way to tea as well.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

"Kreacher has been given clothes," the creature wailed. "Kreacher is disgraced. Kreacher will have to kill himself, now."

Price scrutinized him for a moment, then glanced at the students with an odd expression. "Don't do anything rash," he ordered. "I may have employment for you, Kreacher. You will wait for me in my office."

He waved his wand at the nattering elf, who said, "Employment? No decent elf seeks employment... The disgrace... What can you expect from half-blood filth?" And Kreacher disappeared.

Price turned around and stared at Harry coldly. "Do you really think that was a wise decision under the circumstances, Mr. Potter?" he asked scornfully.

"What's it to you?" Harry hissed defiantly.

Price moved towards him until their noses almost touched. "It is a very sad thing that I have to remind you of the danger of betrayal. Freeing Kreacher is a threat to the Order's safety and secrecy. It affects the Order and everyone who fights on our side. But you don't need to take these things into consideration, do you? Harry Potter makes his own laws and lives by his own rules, doesn't he? You foolish boy." He spun around and strode off towards his office.

Hermione had never seen Price so angry. But she couldn't blame him; he was right. Kreacher had already betrayed them once, and now freed, he didn't have any obligations to secrecy. But maybe Price could find a solution. If anyone could, he would, she thought. She watched how Price strode off, and how Ron and Harry stared after him sheepishly. She shook herself, took both friends by the arms and pulled them towards the Great Hall.

"There's no use crying over spilled milk," she said. "Let's have tea."

Wisely refraining from commenting, Harry and Ron followed.

Three days later, Hermione was sitting in the middle of one of the largest private magical archives in Britain outside Hogwarts, talking to a ghost who had read every book and every scroll in the archive. Harry had found the address of two brothers who had gone to school with Voldemort but hadn't been interviewed yet. The brothers lived in Arundel, just a stone's throw away from Arundel Castle where the archive was located.

Harry and Ron were to visit the two brothers while Hermione took the opportunity to get a good look at the archive. To their delight and amusement, they had learned that Harry's early and so often unwanted fame at least proved good for something: it opened the doors of the elderly wizards and witches they wanted to interview. Almost everyone was pleased to talk to the Boy Who Lived. He always gave as a reason for the questioning that he wanted to learn as much about his foe as possible, and this gave everyone he interviewed a pleasant feeling of self-importance.

Hermione, on the other hand, often asked questions that were either too blunt or too transparent to yield good results. Thus, no one complained when she suggested checking out Arundel Castle while Harry and Ron were visiting Silas and Alfred Bogmyrtle.

Hermione leaned back in her chair and looked excitedly over the stacks of old Daily Prophets, Quibblers, and Witch Weekly magazines; they were back issues that couldn't be found at Hogwarts except for the back issues of the Daily Prophet. The Witch Weekly collection was complete and reached back to the first edition. The Daily Prophet and the Quibbler collections were lacking a few early copies, but the years Hermione was interested in were complete.

She had decided to look as far back as 1942 – when Voldemort had murdered his father. While that crime seemed to have gone mostly unnoticed by the wizarding press, later events had been mentioned. Interestingly, it was the Quibbler that had reported the murder of Hepzibah Smith. Potentilla Lovegood, the then-editor of the tabloid, had asked some interesting questions about the significance of the lost heirlooms, but sadly the story hadn't been followed up. Witch Weekly had published a portrait of Hepzibah Smith and mentioned her interest in antiques, but while this all was quite interesting, it didn't really help in locating more Horcruxes.

Hermione sighed. Reading through all these papers and magazines was tiresome and inefficient. Not for the first time, she wished she had a spell that worked as a database search would on Muggle computers. Madam Pince, who was rather mellow towards Hermione, had taught her some very valuable locating spells, but there were none that could operate with keywords. Hermione sighed again and wished she had the leisure time to develop such a spell by herself.

"Have you found what you need? Or can I help you with something, fair maiden?" the blue-clad ghost asked. He was pleasant, knowledgeable, but also possessed an incessant curiosity that made Hermione uncomfortable. She had told him that she was interested in the lives of the Hogwarts founders and wanted to find as much information about them and their heirs as possible. While he was floating through the corridors between the bookshelves, she went on with her search for items old or important enough that they might be Horcruxes. However, by the end of the day, she hadn't learned anything new. She would tell Ron and Harry that she'd want to return here soon; she had found a few old scrolls referring to blood rites and spells based on sacrifice and wished to pursue the subject further. Ever since she had heard about the true nature of Harry's mother's protection, she had employed the idea that Horcruxes were only a coarse imitation of something much older that was based on love and sacrifice. And by looking for the original magic, she thought she might find out more about the Horcruxes, their creation, and how best to destroy them. Her hopes weren't totally unfounded either since, unlike Hogwarts, this library contained books about the Dark Arts.

Deep in thought, Hermione stared out of the window and watched the sun set. Harry and Ron would be here to pick her up soon, and she wondered if they had learned anything of significance. She was about to resume her research when the paper she was screening was taken out of her fingers by a pale and thin hand.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the owner of the hand said.

Hermione's head snapped up. "Snape!" she exclaimed in horror, her hand shot to her wand, but Snape had disarmed her before she had even finished the thought. Her former teacher was leaning nonchalantly against the table; two masked Death Eaters watched them attentively from a distance.

"What do you want from me?" she screamed, hoping that someone would hear her.

"I merely want to talk to you. In private," he added, and cast a spell that seemed to form an opaque bubble around them. "They can hear us, but no one will see us." He motioned to his companions. "If they don't hear me speak for a while, they will come inquire, so don't try to think up some fancy strategy."

"Get on with it. What could you possibly want from me?" Hermione snarled.

"Tut, tut, those manners." Snape smirked. "But manners can be taught..." He stared at her with unreadable black eyes. "Listen, Miss Granger, I will say this only once. It has come to the attention of the Dark Lord that you are a witch of outstanding talent and understanding."

Hermione made a faint noise of disbelief and stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Snape merely smiled his cold and cruel smile and continued.

"It seems that our mutual acquaintance, Wormtail, has born witness to your abilities. He has reported to our Lord how skilfully you disarmed Bellatrix Lestrange, and how efficiently you helped fight back the attackers at the Burrow. Furthermore, you are the confidante, maybe even the love interest, of Harry Potter, which about doubles your value."

"Much good will it do you," Hermione hissed. "If you think I would tell you anything about Harry, think again. What do you really want, Snape? Why don't you just kill me and have done with it?"

"Impatient, imprudent, impertinent as ever," Snape growled. "I would have been very surprised to really have found you so changed, but one like Peter Pettigrew is easily impressed." Snape stroked his lower lip with one pale, long finger.

"However, there is more than that. The Dark Lord has a suggestion for you. Apart from your little talent, you are still a Muggle-born witch. Now, everyone knows that the Dark Lord isn't fond of Muggle-borns, but for some time now, he has considered including the worthy ones into our fold, as you are magical, after all. He still wishes for the strict separation from all things Muggle and the promotion of pure-blood culture. However, he feels that a Muggle-born witch at his side will make the transition from the bumbling, incompetent fools at the Ministry to his own strict, but well-planned reign, more painless...smoother. He offers you fame, riches, and all the resources for knowledge and magical advancement you can possibly desire. Think about it, Miss Granger," Snape said when he saw her angry and disgusted face. "Not many are offered such an honour. It is in your hands to decide the fate of your fellow Muggle-born witches and wizards. You can help them better than anyone else. Isn't that a worthwhile goal for you to achieve?"

"And how many do I have to kill before I am admitted?" Hermione asked scathingly.

"Tsk. I'd have expected more from you, Miss Granger. Minerva McGonagall always praised your quick understanding so highly. You have a choice. Isn't it always important to Gryffindors to have a choice? You can move something. You of all people will understand that the wizarding world needs change. It is a corrupt, petrified society. You could be part of that change. You could be one to direct the way things will be going. Think about it. You will have the power to do good."

Hermione laughed harshly. "To do good? Who are you kidding, Snape? Your change comes with murder and violence. Your Dark Lord isn't elected as leader; he's trying to seize the leadership through terror, blackmail, intimidation, and murder. That is your 'good'. But not mine..."

"If you don't accept my proposal, you will die, Miss Granger. You will die, here and now. Think about it. Make your choice." He looked at her with a twisted smile, his bottomless eyes glittering strangely.

Hermione felt how cold sweat was streaming down her back and her forehead. She felt her knees shaking and was glad that she was already sitting. She had been scared and frightened many times in her short life, but never threatened with immediate death by someone who was capable of executing the verdict as soon as it was spoken. Her mind worked frantically. Maybe she could pretend to give in and try to spy on Voldemort.

"Don't even think of trying to deceive the Dark Lord of your motives," Snape said, sneering. "He is the strongest Legilimens alive, and if he finds any duplicity in you, he will kill you on the spot. And it won't be as merciful and quick as it will be when it comes from me..." From the distance, muted chuckles from the two Death Eater watchdogs could be heard. Apparently, they were following the conversation closely.

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed. Her heart was hammering madly, and she couldn't think clearly; her fear was clouding everything. A few more swallows and deep breaths helped to clear her head somewhat. She took another calming breath and summoned her courage, reminding herself of who and what she was.

"Go to hell, Snape. Go to hell, both you and your foul master." Her voice broke, but she straightened her shoulders and continued. "I shall not betray everything I stand for, everything I believe in, to secure a few years in seeming comfort for me, at the cost of everything and everyone I love. Kill me if you must but stop acting as if that inhuman madman were nothing worse than a ... a dedicated rebel who wants to better the fate of wizardkind. I won't turn to him... I'd rather die!"

"As you wish," Snape said, sneering.

The last thing Hermione saw before everything went dark was Snape reaching for his wand and playing with a lace handkerchief in his hand.

Epilogue of Part I

When Harry and Ron reached the entrance hall of Arundel castle, they were slightly disturbed by its silence. Where earlier there had been the busy hustle and bustle of the librarian, clients, and a noisy and curious ghost, there now was nothing but an eerie silence.

Quietly, they moved towards the place where they knew Hermione would be waiting for them. A quick glance revealed to Harry that Ron had drawn his wand, just like Harry had. They turned a corner and found the ghost stuck to a bookshelf, hanging upside down, apparently sleeping.

Moving even more carefully, they turned another corner and stopped in their tracks.

Hermione was stumbling towards them, her mouth opened as if she wanted to scream, but no sound escaped her. Her eyes were wide-open, horror-struck, and glassy. At her back, two masked Death Eaters stood, and between them, emerging from an area that was concealed from their sight, was Severus Snape.

Before either Harry or Ron could react, Snape raised his wand and yelled, "Avada Kedavra." Too shocked to move, Harry and Ron saw Hermione collapse, hit the ground, and then burst into flames. Snape laughed coldly, touched an item in his hand that was glowing in a bluish light, and disappeared together with the two Death Eaters.

"Hermione!" Ron screamed and ran towards her. Harry followed and put his hand on Ron's back, swallowing when he saw what was left of Hermione. There was a pile of ashes and a strand of hair.

"Hermione!" Ron whispered again and then broke down, grabbing Harry in a hug for comfort. Harry hugged his best friend back as hard as he could, his own tears running down his cheeks.

End of Part I.