And Embers Rise.
“Courage is not a lack of fear. Courage is when fear takes hold with both, cold hands, and you feel it as surely as you feel the sun... and you do what is right anyway.”
Hermione sat on the damp roof outside her bedroom window. The warm breeze was sliding her saline tears across her jaw and neck, before evaporating them into the summer air.
She couldn’t fathom it.
Hagrid.
It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t be dead. It just wasn’t possible. He’s Hagrid, he’s part giant, he’s… a friend.
Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs. She brought her legs to her chest and buried her face in her arms. Her heart was pounding violently in her throat, forcefully pushing out her tears and leaving little room for breathing. Her mind spooled with memories from mere hours before, but that now seemed so long ago…
“Professor” what” where’s Hagrid?” she stammered frantically as she and Harry burst from the room, forgetting Ginny and flying down the stairs.
McGonagall didn’t look up. She was leaning into Madam Pomfrey, completely silent but for the uncharacteristic hiccups of grief.
Harry turned wildly to Lupin.
“Lupin?” he asked, his voice catching on the lump in his throat. “Where is he? He’s just” he’s in the kitchen… isn’t he?”
Lupin’s head hung low, his light brown hair obscuring his eyes. “Harry… I…”
“I’m sorry, Harry,” came Kingsley’s gruff voice. He was grasping the railing so hard his knuckles were turning white. “There was nothing we could do.”
Hermione began shaking her head, refusing to believe their words but unable to stop the influx of tears welling in her eyes. “No,” she whispered miserably, “that can’t” he’s part giant, he’s””
“Giants are not immune to death, Ms. Granger,” said McGonagall, startling Hermione. Her words sounded much rougher than her tone. She was quiet, the white of her eyes bloodshot and glassy. “He took the killing curse to the chest… no one can survive that.”
The teacher’s gaze shot to Harry as if acknowledging the rare exception, before anguish overcame her again and she turned stiffly away.
Pomfrey knelt to her side, whispering something indistinguishable. Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Mrs. Weasley, and Charlie stood silently, rigidly, their eyes averted and their faces pale.
Hermione turned to Harry and her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. His mouth was hung slightly open, his expression blank and ghostly white but for the unnatural brightness of his disbelieving green eyes.
“Harry,” she whispered, feeling a hot tear roll down her cheek. But she could think of nothing else to say.
The foyer reverberated with sick silence. Harry’s expression didn’t change. He kept staring ahead, color continuing to drain from his face.
Hermione was frozen. She couldn’t move. Every limb seemed to be missing as she stood against the wall, feeling as if she were floating.
It’s not possible…
“Who did it?”
Hermione blinked heavily up at Harry, surprised that he had spoken.
“Narcissa Malfoy,” muttered Kingsley, slowly lowering his head. “She… she came with her son. Her, Draco, Bellatrix Lestrange, and that Gregory Goyle boy””
“Bellatrix Lestrange?!" Harry fumed loudly, blood rushing in his ears. “She was at Hogwarts? Aren’t there protections against that?!”
Kingsley nodded sadly. “Yes, but… Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle are teenagers. Since no official arrangements have been made for the school to close yet, Hogwarts still recognized them as students and let them pass. When the gates opened for them… the other two must have followed behind.”
Pausing, Kingsley inhaled deeply before continuing. “Minerva and I… we were hiding out in Gryffindor tower so we could see if anyone was approaching the school… when Horace and Hagrid showed up… we told them to keep to the staff room, so the lower floors were covered…”
He choked on his words, his head pivoting back and forth on his shoulders in anguished incredulity. “They came tonight… it was nearly two… Minerva and I, we didn’t realize until we” until we heard them.”
Hermione was shaking now, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she surveyed the Auror with wide eyes. She wanted to turn around, to hold Harry and cry together, to run up and embrace Ron and be with alone with her two friends; but she was too shocked to move. Her blood felt cold in every vein.
“When we reached the first floor,” Kingsley resumed in a low whisper, “it was” I watched him fall.” He stopped, turning away and licking his lips. “He was fending off Narcissa and Draco at the same time… Horace had the other two… when they saw us, they fled. I took a shot at them as they ran across the grounds and” and I hit one of them… but I couldn’t tell which. It was just a shadow. The body fell to the ground but another ran back and hulled it off.”
Tears streamed freely down Hermione’s face at Kingsley’s description. It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe. Chancing a glance at McGonagall, she noticed the older woman was standing straight, her shoulders square in an obvious attempt to regain composure.
Hermione’s gaze flew across the rest of the occupants. They all looked stiff and morbid, like tombstones, the wretched expressions on their faces a living epithet to yet another lost soul fighting for their cause.
With a loud sob, Hermione flung around and ran into Harry’s arms. She felt his trembling hands rest lightly across the small of her back. Her tears ran down his bare shoulder before tracing the length of his arm.
“Where” where is he now?” Hermione heard him say, his chest rumbling against her.
“Still at Hogwarts,” mumbled Lupin, “Horace and Arthur are” they’re there taking care of him.”
Hermione’s stomach clenched painfully at the possibilities of what “taking care of him” could mean. Slipping his body in a tarp? Covering him with a sheet? Moving him to his hut?
With that thought, Hermione instantly remembered Fang. The poor boarhound would be heartbroken.
She felt Harry nod indistinctly, his cheek grazing her curls. Releasing him slightly, she stood back to look in his eyes. They were hollow and unseeing, but when they flickered to her face, something in them lit up before finally allowing a slow build up of tears.
He closed his eyes, squeezing them hard. His fingers clutched at Hermione’s shirt, balling the fabric up in his fists. “You said you hit one of them,” he gritted out, his eyes still clasped shut, “what curse did you use?”
Through her haze of desolation Hermione vaguely registered the true meaning of the question: did you get to kill one of them?
But she saw Kingsley shaking his head in her peripheral vision. “Not the killing curse,” he muttered, pain and regret evident in his voice. “I was hoping… I’d be able to catch one of them and use them for information.”
He finished speaking and silence rang in Hermione’s ears. For long, breathless minutes, no one said a thing, and all she could bring herself to do was press more tightly to Harry, hoping he would feel her and know he wasn’t alone.
But eventually, the silence grew too loud for comfort. He gently pried her away, unwilling to meet her questioning eyes. He didn’t say or do anything… but he looked resigned, defeated.
Hermione felt the loss of his body in the form of a growing hole in her heart; but she understood he needed some time alone. So she watched somberly, tears sticking to her dark lashes, as his retreating back moved up the stairs before disappearing into the darkness.
The breeze continued to sweep away her tears, but Hermione continued to provide more. She didn’t know how long she’d been out there now, but her legs were beginning to cramp.
Swatting away a rogue tear, she shifted to sit crossed-legged, careful not to slip down the steeping roof.
Her leaky eyes rose to the horizon, and between a row of houses and a scattering of tall trees, she made out a faint line of pink creeping along the earth. It was nearing dawn.
Heaving a deep sigh, Hermione sniffed and tucked her hair behind her ears.
But just then, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw Harry’s leg poking through the open window. Slowly, he climbed out, his body emerging one limb at a time.
He had thrown on a t-shirt, but otherwise looked exactly how he did a couple hours ago in the foyer: disheveled and drained. His eyes were still bright, but Hermione could tell he still hadn’t let himself cry properly.
He scooted closer to her, his legs straight and almost reaching the end of the roof. He leaned back against the house before pushing his fingers beneath his glasses and rubbing hard at his eyes.
“I went with Ginny to tell Ron.”
Hermione swallowed, the sharp pounding in her temples increasing as she visualized Ron receiving the news. “How did he take it?” she asked meekly, her voice raspy.
It took Harry a moment to respond. “Not well,” he finally muttered. Hermione could tell by his tone that he was struggling to speak through the tightening of his throat. “But Ginny’s… she’s going to stay with him again tonight.”
Hermione sniffled again and nodded imperceptibly. Returning her gaze to the trees, she took a shaky breath and allowed her lungs to fill with the sweet night air.
Birds were just beginning to chirp softly in the far distance, and the faint horizon was casting purple light on the dewdrops, illuminating them to look like the sky’s fallen effervescent tears.
Her tired, bloodshot eyes were seconds from closing when Harry’s low voice wisped her ears. “He’s the one who got me from the rubble after my parents died.”
Hermione turned to face him, a fresh wave of sadness engulfing her as she watched him peer out into the night.
“Did you know… when Lupin was teaching me how to cast a patronus in third year… I couldn’t produce anything the first few times. The memories I’d been using… they weren’t happy enough,” he divulged quietly, the wind lifting and releasing his black tresses. “Honestly, I didn’t have many really happy memories. I had to concentrate hard for the right one. …you know which one finally worked?”
Hermione knew the question was rhetorical, partly because his eyes were still focused on the trees… but she shook her head anyway, incapable of words.
“The memory of Hagrid telling me I was a wizard… and that I’d be leaving the Dursleys’.” He paused, and Hermione noticed his throat rise and fall with a harsh swallow. “He was the one, you know. He’s the one who told me. It changed my life. He changed my life. Hagrid was”” his voice caught, but he cleared it resolutely, “”Hagrid was the first person to ever stand up for me.”
His eyes grew dark and he wet his lips. Hermione felt her chest tighten painfully within her. The look on his face melted her heart. She wanted to scream out in rage, mostly on his behalf at how unfair life had always treated him.
Why this? Why this, of all things? Why did it have to be Hagrid?
She took a few steadying breaths, determined to fend off her tears this time, and determined to be there for him. “He loved you, Harry,” she said softly, pleading for him to look at her with her eyes. “He loved you like a son… just as Dumbledore did, and Sirius. You know that, don’t you?”
Harry’s brow creased together as he strained to fight his emotions. “That’s just it, Hermione,” he responded, in barely more than a whisper. “And now… his caring for me isn’t the only thing he has in common with Dumbledore and Sirius.”
Hermione felt sure her heart had cracked in two. She understood the meaning of his words, and they hit her hard in the stomach as slight nausea burned beneath her skin…
They’re all three dead.
Her will betrayed her as a faint whimper escaped her lips. Instinctively, she moved closer to him, letting her leg bump into his.
She watched him achingly, longing for him to turn his gaze upon her and let out what she knew was at the surface, clawing to break free. But he still didn’t look to meet her eyes… but he felt her watching, and soon his own were swelling with a sparkling liquid, drowning out his sea of green.
The second the first tear glided sadly down his face, Hermione leaned over and wrapped him in her arms. His sobs finally escaped him… Hermione’s gentle touch the last straw on his weakening strength to bottle himself in.
She held him tight, her eyes closed against his hair as she kept his face to her shoulder. He shook lightly in her arms, and she screamed inside at the feeling of helplessness that was tearing her apart. Running her fingers through his hair, she muttered what she hoped were soft, consoling words.
They sat like that, on the roof of Grimmauld Place with Harry surrounded by Hermione’s warm body, for a very long time. He made no move to separate, and she wasn’t about to push him away now.
Minutes, hours later, when the sun danced past the horizon and graced the couple with pink, warm beams, Harry was still sitting in Hermione’s embrace, utterly still and silent but for the steady rhythm of his heart.
Later that morning when the sun was floating high in the summer sky, Hermione forced open her burning, tired eyes, and sat up in bed.
Harry was beside her, his face turned into the pillow and his chest rising and falling gently beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She offered his sleeping form a saddened, weak smile before shuffling out of the covers and making her way across the room.
She was picking out a towel for her shower when her gaze landed on her old homework planner from last year. It was opened to April 1st, and in bold red letters she had written, “Fred and George’s birthday” watch out for pranks.”
Hermione almost managed a short laugh, but her heart still felt much too heavy. However, it did cause her to suddenly remember something” Harry’s birthday.
Flipping to the end of the planner, she frantically reached the month of July and scanned the pages hoping to recall today’s date.
Several pages after the highlighted date of Bill and Fleur’s wedding, her fingers stopped turning the sheaves as she eyed the scroll hurriedly.
July 26th.
“The 26th?!” she shrieked silently. Calming herself, she strained her mind to think of something fast. But she’d need at least an hour to come up with a proper idea, so she decided to think it over in the shower.
When she emerged, wrapped in a white cotton robe and her soaking hair draped around her shoulders, she felt confident in what she’d thought of.
She was prevented from ordering the necessary items at that moment, however, as Harry was right in the center of the room, changing shirts.
A deep blush crept up her neck and landed hotly on her cheeks as she struggled to tear her eyes away from his bare back.
She cleared her throat, and he turned around. “Oh, hey,” he murmured, slipping his head through the circular opening.
“Morning,” she returned faintly, feeling inexplicably weak in the knees. Biting on her tongue, she forced herself to think straight. “Get enough sleep?”
Harry shrugged. “Probably not,” he admitted, sitting on the bed and slipping on a pair of socks, “but it’ll have to be enough, because I’ve got a lot to do.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “You do?” she asked curiously, “like what?”
Heaving a deep breath, Harry stood from the bed and hastily did up the sheets. “Like preparing to leave.”
Air caught in Hermione’s throat as she watched him unblinkingly. “Leave?” she questioned mildly, feeling a great sense of loss swarm her insides, “where are you going?”
Harry stopped fumbling with the covers and walked to stand a mere foot in front of Hermione. He looked her directly in the eyes, his arms rising to grasp her hands. “I’m going to Voldemort’s orphanage,” he told her quietly, his voice still weighed down by the previous night’s occurrences.
“To look for the Horcrux?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. I just”” he paused, letting go of her and running a hand through his hair. “”I just can’t sit here ‘preparing’ any more. I’ve got to do something. I’ve done all the research I can. And I’ve got an idea, at least… though it’s a bit dodgy.”
Hermione knew he was referring to his plan of using a dementor, but didn’t feel now was the right time to tell him she’d figured it out. “When are you going?” she asked, fighting to mask her anxiety.
Harry looked away to the far side of the room. “Tonight.”
Hermione tried to make herself appear sturdy, but his single word was secretly making her experience ever fear she’d ever had for him all at once.
“Will you be telling the others?” she asked quietly.
Predictably, Harry shook his head. “No. They’ll just want to have meetings and plan it out and take more time… but I can’t wait any more. It’s got to be done now.”
Hermione breathed in deeply before meeting his gaze and giving a single nod of consent. “I understand,” she said, “but I’m going with you.”
For a silent moment, Hermione thought he was going to argue. But something unidentifiable was flickering in his eyes, and instead, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged on one corner of his mouth.
“I know.”
The moon was wide and orange, illuminating the grass with a soft blanket of light. The wind had picked up and it tangled itself in Harry’s unruly hair as he and Hermione slipped out of the house through a first floor window.
Racing to the street, they flew past a row of lampposts before resting along a line of trees. Harry instantly whipped out his Firebolt from beneath his Invisibility cloak. Mounting the broom, he draped the cloak over him like a tent and allowed an opening for Hermione.
She climbed on after him, clutching her hands around his torso and burying her face in the crook of his neck.
Harry suppressed a shiver. Then kicking off from the ground, they shot up into the air, the sleek watery-feeling fabric pressing lightly against their skin.
Nearly forty minutes later, they landed in a circular patch of grass that was surrounding a tall stone monument. The trickling of the liquid was all Hermione could hear as they cautiously slid off the broom, hiding it in a nearby bush.
She waited silently as Harry concentrated on listening to the sounds of the night. His eyes were dark and strenuous as they surveyed the area around them.
Finally, after a few long minutes, he cast her a satisfied look and gestured to his right.
They set off down the old cobblestone street, Hermione gazing around at the ancient looking houses. They was scattered far apart, tall, overgrown trees separating them, though they all shared certain uncanny characteristics.
Her legs worked to keep up with him as he made a sharp left and strode purposefully down a different, narrower road.
Five minutes later, he halted. Hermione followed his gaze.
Before them, towering from the earth like a stalagmite, was a massive structure with countless windows which peering down at them like knowing, black eyes. The moon’s light was filtering through passing clouds, casting a ghostly glow on the rippled glass panes.
Hermione instinctively reached for Harry, finding his arm and grasping it firmly. Harry’s wand was outstretched before him as he led her around the front and to the back of the building, where a much smaller one was attached.
There was a single wooden door above the steps of the smaller structure. Harry climbed the short distance, and Hermione noticed there were long, slithering vines pressed against the frame and wrapping around the handle.
Harry touched his hand to the door’s rough surface. It was damp and cool with the night air, but it was more the knowledge that Voldemort’s own hands had likely been in that very spot that sent an unnerving tremor down his spine.
Clearing his throat, Harry turned back to Hermione. Her features were arranged in apprehensive fervor, but the warm familiarity of the determination in her eyes relaxed his shoulders.
“Nothing seems out of place,” he said quietly, reaching for the handle behind his back, “but I still want you behind me.”
Hermione nodded indiscernibly as her throat fell with a thick swallow. She heard rather than saw Harry inhale a deep, bracing breath before he faced the door again, his hand slowly turning the knob.
A second of bated silence rang in Hermione’s ears as she watched him step into the unfathomable dark. She took one last glance behind her, content to see naught but the pale streetlamps within view, and followed.
“Shut the door,” Harry whispered.
She complied and immediately wished she hadn’t. If it had been dark before, it was pure, tangible black now. Not even the comforting outline of Harry’s lean frame met her wide, searching eyes.
“Harry?” she breathed, valiantly fighting off the note of fear she found caught in her throat.
“I’m here,” he whispered instantly, and she felt the air shift in front of her as his hand searched for hers. She reached out lightly, finding him, and entwined her fingers through his own.
Finally, Harry muttered a soft lumos and sparkling light graced the hardwood floor beneath them. Hermione blinked away the sharpness of it.
She watched closely as Harry lifted his wand and illuminated the room around them.
It was incredibly small, no larger than a closet, but a wide opening in front of them showed a long, narrow corridor which crept deep into the retreating black.
Dust filled Hermione’s lungs as she struggled not to cough violently against the invading particles. There was an old wooden bench to her right, but what kind of wood, she could not tell, for it was covered in a thick layer of gray. Hanging above it was a rickety, makeshift coat rack with six rungs, one of which was cracked and broken, its shaft dangling silently in the still air.
“We must be in the mud room,” Harry prompted quietly. “If I remember…”
His voice trailed off, leaving Hermione to swell with a flurry of combined astonishment and admiration as she watched Harry’s glowing eyes concentrate on the shadow that was invading the corridor.
Without another word, he strengthened his grip on her hand and pulled her forward, leading them down the hall. Hermione actively worked to avoid the grimy walls on either side, recoiling slightly as she watched an unnaturally large spider fall gracelessly from the ceiling.
Suddenly, Harry made a sharp left. But almost immediately, he halted, raising his wand high above their heads.
“Look,” he whispered, motioning before him, “that’s the main entrance. The stairs to Voldemort’s old room are just around the corner.”
Sure enough, Hermione could make out the form of a tall, double-paneled door in the near distance, two rectangular windows cut out above it, allotting the seeping light from the lamps to slink menacingly along the high ceiling.
In another fifteen steps they were standing in front of it, and when she peeked over her shoulder, the corridor from which they had come had already been swallowed whole by the thick night.
Stepping to one side, Harry let Hermione come up beside him as he peered thoughtfully at the lobby in which they found themselves. Seemingly floating above their heads was a large, crystal chandelier that was fiercely throwing the rays of ethereal light in every direction. It hung slanted in the air, one side missing two candle holders.
Nothing could be seen to their right, for the black was still too drowning. But Hermione had to work hard to suppress the chill that enveloped her when Harry stepped forward, his wand’s light revealing a long staircase that seemed to disappear into the ceiling.
Harry spared a glance in Hermione’s direction; she pretended not to notice, but quickly rearranged her features to look tough and resolute. Though there was currently no reason to panic or worry, the surroundings pressed upon her an indelible sense of foreboding. This was Voldemort’s quarters, as a child, no less, and the knowledge that his once-innocent feet had padded down these halls in his youth twisted her perception of reality. The barely noticeable shiver that ran the length of Harry’s arm assured Hermione he felt it too.
With a final breath, Harry moved towards the stairs and gently let his weight fall upon the first wooden slab. Predictably, it creaked and whined beneath his pressure, but he strode on to the next step without a flinch.
Down another corridor they went, walking a bit too briskly for Hermione’s comfort.
Finally, Harry turned to her and gave her a wry smile, motioning towards an ajar door to their right. “This is it,” he breathed, watching her closely.
She stared at the thin slice of air gaping between the door and its frame, then nodded her consent. Harry moved forward.
Pushing it open, the rusty hinges resisted his force for a moment before popping loudly and echoing off the walls. Hermione snapped her eyes closed, clutching her wand as she wished away the eerie sound.
But suddenly, just when her hand made to wrap more firmly around her wand, it flew from her in one swift motion, landing somewhere across the room without a sound. Instantly, hot fear pushed its way up her throat as she felt Harry’s wand forced from him as well.
Abruptly, a light came on in the corner. Hermione felt Harry tense as she stared wide-eyed around the room, taking in the dank, desaturated colors of the sleigh bed that sat beside a heavily curtained window.
“My apologies,” drew a sniping, silky voice… but its owner was no where to be seen. “I could not afford you the opportunity to use these.”
Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest. She could not yet see who it was that was speaking, but the voice was too familiar for comfort.
Then, tall and brooding, a figure appeared from one of the darkened corners of the room; both their wands were clutched in the man’s long fingers. As the light crept up his face, Hermione felt herself gasp in shocked horror.
Snape.
Author's Note: I'm explaining myself here so that my message reaches all readers. I received a number of flames after the last chapter. Some were lashing out about Hermione kissing Ron a couple updates back. I feel it is necessary to justify this choice. I didn't do it because I like tormenting my readers. I didn't do it because it was fun to write. Lord knows it wasn't. I did it because a "7th year" fic would simply not be realistic without keeping true to HBP canon. I felt, for the sake of my story's credibility, something had to happen between the two. If you are unaccustomed to realism in fan fictions, or prefer AU/non-HBP compliant fics, I suggest going elsewhere.
I would also like to clarify the second (though related) reason for the flames: Hermione's confusion. Apparently, this has been perceived by a couple readers as OOCness. I will willingly accept that my characterizations may not be spot-on. However, citing Hermione's confused feelings over Harry and Ron is not a valid choice. Hermione is not infallible. She is a wonderful character, and, in my humble opinion, a wonderful person; yet she still has flaws, and she still experiences typical human emotion. Portraying her confusion, I felt, was necessary to portraying a well-rounded Hermione, as opposed to the standard Mary-Sue version. After all, it is only natural for one to be confused in her state of condition.
I am always accepting of criticism, so I don't wish anyone to feel that I am closing myself off from advice. I merely request that you do, indeed, give advice, and not rude remarks.
To those who didn't flame, I thank you. 99% of you have been my lifeforce for continuing this story, and I hope you all realize I would not be continuing if it weren't for your kind assurances that I should.
-Sadie