Chapter Eighteen

A/N: As usual, everything belongs to JKR, including all fully italicized text from HBP. Shellsnapeluver is a goddess. That is all.

Classes were all cancelled, and arrangements were being made to bring in the Hogwarts Express two weeks early to ship the students home. No classes meant that students wandered the halls freely, as it had been agreed that anyone who wanted to stay to pay their respects to Dumbledore would be given the opportunity. The Great Hall was packed with people during meals, and yet Hogwarts seemed shrouded in silence and emptiness. The prefects had no need to patrol the corridors; no student would dare to set off a firework or hex a classmate in the atmosphere of grief and defeat that hung over the castle.

The lack of routine immobilized Hermione. She spent most of her time sitting on a couch in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the fire. Sometimes Ron came and sat beside her quietly for a while, and then, just as wordlessly as he had come, he would depart again. She knew he kept a vigil at Bill's beside at night, and his eyes had a bruised, pouchy look, but she could not bring herself to speak to him about getting more rest. And who was she to suggest such a thing, as she had slept but two hours the night before?

In one of the few moments in which the three of them had been together since that night in the Hospital Wing, Harry had come to the common room and explained, in a dull and weary voice, that nothing at all had been gained in his and Dumbledore's quest for the Horcrux. He dangled the fake locket before them and then snatched it away again, stuffing it into the pocket of his robes. None of them had wanted to discuss it. It was too painful to contemplate--a gut punch that that was robbed of its power because they had already been pummeled beyond feeling. Hermione knew that she needed to consider it, to plan for it, but her mind would not cease its endless circling around Snape.

She had lain in bed most of the first night wondering at what Moody had said to her in the Hospital Wing. He'd left shortly thereafter and had given her no further message, no knowing look thrown back over his shoulder. He'd simply announced that he would be going to clear out their parchment from Headquarters; no one needed to ask why that would be necessary, and Tonks and Remus had volunteered to go with him. Then he had turned and hobbled from the room, leaving her staring after him as if he were the last piece of driftwood and all the world an ocean.

Had it all been in her mind? Was she so desperate to hear that the man she loved had not betrayed them all and killed their leader that she was inventing messages that were not there? Was Moody simply spouting the same mindless drivel that they'd all been giving each these last two days? It's not your fault... What he would have wanted... Or was it what she'd thought she'd heard in Moody's words, that the plan had gone exactly as Dumbledore had intended?

Did she, could she, trust Snape? She looked into her mind and saw his pale face; the lines drawn heavily across his brow; the long, hooked nose; his thin lips. And in her mind, those lips formed a single word, believe.

Harry knew, now, the identity of the Half-Blood Prince. Snape had screamed it at him as he'd run across the grounds to the Apparition Point. However, something in Harry's report of their exchange troubled her mind. It seemed to her that Snape must have known all along that Harry'd had his book. From that first class, when she'd known the counter-charm to Levicorpus, he must have guessed. And Slughorn... always going on about how brilliant Harry was in potions... Snape must have known. Why would he have left that book in the Potions stockroom? Snape was many things, but careless could not be counted among them. Unless he had intended the book to reach Harry... Her heart beat painfully as she remembered his words on their wedding night, He knows that Potter won't listen to me; the imbecile believes me a loyal Death Eater... Unless he had intended Harry to find it. Had it had been his way of training Harry, teaching him spells and techniques he otherwise would never have known, never taken an interest in? But if he meant for Harry to learn from the book, why had he revealed himself as the Half-Blood Prince, knowing that Harry would discount it all now?

But then, that was just senseless. Why should any lessons be discounted simply because of their source? Should she forget Extension Charms, disguises, Occlumency just because Snape had taught them to her? Yet, she knew that Harry would say yes, and that it was more important than ever that she never reveal where she had come by the knowledge that would keep them alive.

Believe.

Despite everything, she wanted to believe. Hadn't he trained her? Hadn't he held her? Hadn't he... loved her? She'd thought he had. But worse than the idea that he had never loved her was the idea that she might have misjudged him, that he might still belong to Voldemort. For then, it would not just be Snape whom she could not trust, but herself.

***

Snape had proceeded directly to Malfoy Manor from Hogwarts. His foremost concern was to see to Draco's well-being. He wanted to be present when the boy appeared before Voldemort, wanted to ensure that the tale was told so that Draco appeared in the best possible light. The boy's skin had gone cold and clammy beneath his fingertips as they had Apparated, and he had taken on an alarmingly ashen hue.

When they appeared in the entrance hall, Narcissa flung her arms around her son, sobbing unabashedly into the poor boy's hair as she clung to his neck. Draco was in no shape to be standing himself, let alone supporting his mother, so Snape gently guided Narcissa from Draco's arms to his own.

"It's all right, Cissy," he said, not unkindly. Though he had no particular affection for Narcissa Malfoy, he knew that her love for her son was genuine. She had proven that the previous summer when she had come to him, against the Dark Lord's orders, to beg him to assist Draco. There was something about the fierceness of her urge to protect her son that called to him. Narcissa Malfoy was not a fighter by nature. She had been born into pureblooded society and accepted its customs. She had married Lucius and borne a son to him because she had been expected to do so. She had joined the Death Eaters because Lucius and her family had desired it. To defy the Dark Lord, to try to ensure that her wishes triumphed over his--well, it went against everything she had been trained to be. And yet, she stood here, in her own entryway, with the Dark Lord only a few rooms away and tried, against all reason, to subvert him. He wished, in a vague and buried sort of way, that his own mother had ever taken his safety into her own hands.

She sobbed deeply; her whole body trembled in his arms. Finally, he could stand no more. This was no time for histrionics--the boy still had to face the Dark Lord, and his mother's tears were doing nothing to fortify him.

"Enough, Narcissa," he said, disentangling himself and forcing her to stand on her own. "Pull yourself together. We are not finished yet."

He strode toward the ballroom with the Malfoys in his wake. A flick of his wand and his cloak bloomed out impressively around him as he approached the throne-like chair that the Dark Lord seemed to favor. When he reached the pale, serpentine wizard, he dropped to his knees with a flourish.

"My Lord," he said. "Draco has succeeded. Dumbledore is dead."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco and Narcissa falling hastily to their knees.

Voldemort's lips pulled back into a horrible approximation of a smile. "This is welcome news," he said. "Draco, approach me."

Snape willed the boy to find a shred of his former arrogance, and he watched, pleased, as Draco rose to his full height and faced the Dark Lord. He was deathly pale, but he did not tremble.

The maniacal wizard gazed at Draco appraisingly. "Tell me, Draco. What did it feel like to cast the Killing Curse?"

Inwardly, Snape swore. He had hoped that a bit more of the story would be told first, but it was clear that Voldemort already knew that Draco had been unable... but of course, that had always been his plan.

But Draco surprised him. In his usual haughty tone, he replied, "I didn't get the pleasure, my Lord. Snape, here, was so eager for glory that he cast the Avada Kedavra himself."

"Indeed?" Voldemort said with threatening politeness.

"Now, Draco," Narcissa purred nastily. "You mustn't blame Severus for his... rash behavior. How would it look if his own student proved to be a more powerful Death Eater than he?"

Snape bowed his head before the Dark Lord. He longed to retort, but he knew that if he were to survive this, he must not argue, but accept his punishment willingly. How had he allowed them to back him into this corner? He had risked so much to save this boy from himself.

"Severus..." the Dark Lord hissed. "I thought I had made myself clear that you were not to interfere in Draco's plans."

"Forgive me, my Lord," he said, choking on his words, on Narcissa's duplicity. "Draco's plan was well executed. I sought only to help him to complete it--to help bring you this victory you have so desired."

The Dark Lord turned to Draco. "You have pleased me," he said simply. "You and your mother may leave us."

The Malfoys turned and walked from the room without so much as a glance at Snape, who remained kneeling on the marble floor. He fought to relax his muscles. The effects of the Cruciatus were much less severe if he did not fight it, if he simply submitted and let the Curse do to him what it would.

"You are lucky that you have been so useful to me, Severus," Voldemort said. "If I did not need you now, I would kill you as an example to my followers of what happens when they do not obey my orders."

Snape lowered his head until his hair was brushing the floor. "My Lord... I thought it was your wish that Dumbledore be killed at all costs. I thought--"

"Your problem, Severus, is that you think entirely too much. Crucio!"

Snape writhed under the Curse, twisting until he felt sure his bones would break under his muscles' insistence. He tried to force his limbs to stay fluid, while keeping the walls in his mind firm and rigid. The torture went on until he began to feel afraid--he could no longer sense the boundaries of his walls; behind his eyes, he found only heat and blackness.

When the pain finally subsided, he peered at the Dark Lord with reddened, watery eyes. Voldemort stared back implacably. He had not yet invaded Snape's mind, but Snape felt that he was considering it.

"You have always been a faithful servant, Severus. Others have doubted you, but I have always felt sure of your... loyalty."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you."

"However, I find now that I require a certain, shall we say, demonstration of your loyalty."

"I live but to serve you."

Voldemort chuckled. "How true, my dear boy. How true. You know, I think that I wish you to take over as Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

"If that is your desire, I shall do it gladly."

"Your spying has been useful in more ways than one. Among my followers, only you are well acquainted enough with the running of the school to orchestrate my plans."

"What are your plans for the school, my Lord?"

"Tut, tut, Severus. Do not play the fool. It does not become you. You know as well as I do that I wish to build an army, to... cleanse the school of the unworthy and train the rest..."

"I can do that, my Lord. It would not be difficult--there are sympathizers on the faculty already--they have not come forward because they feared Dumbledore, but now--"

"Yes, yes, I feel sure you are up to the task. However--" The Dark Lord paused until he looked up. When he did, the wizards' eyes locked on his own, and Snape could feel him invading his mind. Subtly, sneakily, he felt the foreign presence easing into the deeper recesses of his thoughts, testing, seeking, tasting... looking for Miss Granger.

"Before I entrust to you so important a duty, I want to be certain that you belong to me as completely as you say."

"Whatever my Lord requires," Snape replied.

"You have shown... a weakness... for Mudbloods in the past, Severus."

Lily. Snape nearly smirked at the irony. His masters played a single card. He bowed his head, in seeming contrition, and waited.

"You do not deny it?"

"When I was a much younger man, I did, as you know, harbor feelings for Lily Evans. But that is past, my Lord, so far past as to be in another lifetime. You showed me that there are other, much worthier, choices--"

"And yet, you have made no choices. You have never married, Severus. Why is that?"

"Some men feel called to support the cause by raising a new generation of fine, pureblooded witches and wizards. My calling has always been to serve you, to see that there was an appropriate world in which to raise them."

"A true teacher, then? Is that what you wish me to believe?"

"It is an abomination to teach magic to those who do not deserve it. If you have seen displeasure in my thoughts, it stems from being forced to share our gifts with the unworthy. But in a different world, in your world, my Lord, I would--"

"Enough. It matters not. There is a task I wish you to perform for me. Then, if you complete it to my satisfaction, you can return to your precious school and take up the position you claim to want."

"You need only to ask, my Lord."

"Your contact... Potter's friend?"

Every muscle in his body froze, but he kept his gaze steady. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Dispose of her family."

"Not the girl herself?"

"I think not. You bedded her, you said?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then she may trust you, yet. She will not wish to think that she has given herself to a traitor. She may prove... useful... down the line. So I will not ask you to tell her that you have done so, but for my own peace of mind--"

"Consider it done."

"Thank you, Severus. Your obedience pleases me. Do you wish to remain here until the school year begins? I am sure Narcissa would be delighted to have you as her guest."

"Narcissa's hospitality is unparalleled, my Lord, but I do not wish to impose on her for such a length of time. I am a private man with few social needs. If it pleases you, I will return to Spinner's End for the summer."

Voldemort looked at him, considering. "You are a wanted man, now, Severus. For your own protection, I think a Fidelius Charm would be in order."

"Indeed, my Lord."

"Very well. Place the charm and return to me with the secret. You shall stay in Spinner's End if that is your desire."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"You are welcome. And Severus?"

"Yes?"

"I will expect to hear news of the Muggles shortly."

"Certainly, my Lord."

***

When it came time for the funeral, Hermione took her place in line with the other Gryffidors, following Professor McGonagall out onto the grounds, into a world that had no right to be so bright or so beautiful. It was a perfect summer day. The trees had budded, and the wind carried the sweet fragrance of the flowers over the lush green of the grounds.

Chairs had been set up in widening semi-circles, and a great number of them were already filled by all manner of witches and wizards. Moody, Lupin and Tonks sat together beside Kingsley Shacklebolt. She saw Madam Malkin from the robe shop in Diagon Alley, several salesmen she recognized from Flourish and Blotts, and Argus Filch, who was wearing the oddest assortment of clothing she'd seen in some time and sitting beside Madam Pince, who was weeping silently into a long, black veil. The Weasleys formed a large, red-headed cluster to the left; even Percy had showed up to pay his respects, though he sat beside Rufus Scrimgeour in one of the front-most rows. Improbably, on the other side of Scrimgeour sat the barman from the Hog's Head, and--

The barman from the Hog's Head? Snape's voice sounded in her head. So, you are not aware that his brother Aberforth tends the bar at the Hog's Head? Had he and Draco been discussing Dumbledore? Was that Dumbledore's brother? Her stomach gave an almighty lurch. Why else would he be sitting in the front row? And if that were Dumbledore's brother then... Your foolishness very nearly destroyed the Headmaster's plan! The Headmaster's plan. The Headmaster's plan!

Harry filed down a long row of spindle legged chairs with Ginny right behind him. Hermione followed, nearly blinded by her own tears. She kept her eyes on Ginny's feet and edged along the seats. She sat down beside Ginny, and Ron took his place on her other side. Each of them reached out to take one of her hands, and she closed her eyes, tears still running unchecked down her cheeks and spattering her robes. The Headmaster's plan. The Headmaster's plan. She could think nothing but those three words, and they chased each other, tripping, dancing, screaming through her mind. The Headmaster's plan.

The merpeople had come to the surface of the Black Lake. The strange and garbled sound of their singing filled the air and seemed to Hermione to be an echo of her thoughts. She could not understand a word of their lament, but she sensed that it had to do with painful truth, with loss and confusion and war, with terrible sadness. Hermione glanced at Harry, who wore an odd look of complete attention and determination. The song of the merpeople seemed to be filling him with a sense of purpose, and she briefly wondered if it sounded different to each person who heard it.

But before she could examine others for their reactions, Hagrid was proceeding up the aisle that ran through the center of the chairs, carrying Dumbledore's body, shrouded in spangled purple cloth, in his arms. She stared at the limp figure, which looked so tiny compared to Hagrid's huge frame, as if it could answer all the questions that raged in her soul.

Had this truly been the Headmaster's plan? When he had called her to his office in September, he had told her that he did not expect to live much longer--in fact, he had said that Voldemort was forming a plan to have him killed within the year. She had not believed it, not believed it possible that anyone was powerful enough to kill Dumbledore. Perhaps no one was, not unless... unless he desired to be killed.

Someone was delivering a eulogy before Dumbledore's body; Hermione could see the top of the wizard's head bobbing above the crowd, but she could not hear a word he said. Instead she heard the Headmaster's voice as it had been on her birthday, as he asked for her help.

"You realize that there will have to be some action on Professor Snape's part, some parting blow that delivers him safely to the other side?"

"If you chose to protect Professor Snape and his secret, I would need to believe that your faith in him would not be broken, no matter what he had to do to leave the Order. I would have to be confident that you understand perfectly that all Professor Snape does, he does for the Light. He and I have made this choice together because we believe that he will be able to protect Harry more effectively from the other side."

A sound escaped her, a rasping, whistling sob, and Ron put his arms around her, and she leaned against him. This was what was supposed to have happened, goddamn it. This had been the plan all along. She had no idea who she was crying for anymore. For Harry, who had lost the last of the piteous few father figures he'd had; for Snape, who had born the terrible knowledge of what he must do without every being able to share it with anyone; for Dumbledore, a man she had trusted with her life and with her fate, who she had believed would save them; or for herself--for she felt more alone with her secrets than she had ever felt in her life. What sort of a plan was this? She wanted to yell at Dumbledore's body, which was now encased in a magical tomb. Who set this kind of pain in motion?

The ceremony ended, but Hermione sat slumped, limp with fear and rage and sorrow, still wrapped in Ron's brotherly embrace. Dimly, she was aware that Harry and Ginny were whispering to each other next to her. There was an odd sound in both their voices, but she chalked it up to the day's events and paid it no mind. But then they were gone, and Ron was speaking quietly to her.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I think it's time that we tell Harry."

"Tell him what?"

"That we're going with him."

Hermione looked at Ron. When had he figured out what they were going to do? When had her boys grown up? She had the sudden urge to blurt out all her secrets to him. Ron, I--I married Professor Snape. He'll help us, I swear it--But, of course, that was totally senseless. He might understand where they were going, but he could never understand that.

"What about Lavender?"

"You mean if she's speaking to me after this?" he said with a small, rueful smile, releasing her. "She'll have to wait, won't she? She'll understand when she realizes where I've gone. And if she doesn't... well..." His voice trailed off.

"Do you think that Ginny knows?"

"I think he's telling her now."

Hermione looked over to where Harry and Ginny stood and watched as he walked away from her. Ginny's eyes were blazing with tears, but she looked... proud of him, and Hermione's heart clenched with love for her friend.

"Hermione, I know how much you wanted to finish school--"

"Stop it. You know that's not important."

He nodded slowly. "Come on. He needs us now."

She stood and crossed the grounds with Ron, nearly trotting, to catch Harry, who was dodging quickly among the trees to avoid Scrimgeour.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione called, and he slowed but did not turn to face them.

"Harry--" She closed the last of the distance between them and lay her hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Harry turned and looked up at the castle, and she followed his gaze. The huge, stone building seemed even more enormous with the late afternoon sun glinting off the towers. It was almost impossible to imagine that they were leaving it for good.

"We're coming with you," Ron said quietly.

Harry began to protest, but Ron simply shook his head. "The train leaves this afternoon. I have to go home for Bill's wedding, but after that--"

"After that, we go," Hermione finished for him. "Do you have a plan?"

Harry's words tumbled out of him in an angry rush. "I've got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven't I?" he said, his eyes upon Dumbledore's white tomb, reflected in the water on the other side of the lake. "That's what he wanted me to do, that's why he told me all about them... I've got to find them and destroy them, and then I've got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that's still in his body, and I'm the one who's going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way," he added, "so much the better for me, so much the worse for him."

Hermione nodded, though his words struck fear into her blood. Someday, somehow, she was going to have to tell him. She shoved the thought away. "I have to check on my family," she said. "But I'll meet you at the Burrow--two weeks at the latest."

She took Harry's hand in one of hers and Ron's in the other, and together they walked up to the castle to pack.