Many thanks to my lovely betas: hells456, trekkiesara, and daylight2. I couldn't have done it without them.
No copyright infringement intended. Just a bit of fun … really!
THE UNBREAKABLE BOND
Prologue
The newborn sun was just creeping up over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, majestic and at ease, its rays bright and pulsing with power. Streams of purest light coursed down, cutting through the haze, to the unruffled surface of the lake to warm it with gentle, golden caresses.
Every so often, a softly waving tentacle, snakelike in its grace, would arc up from the water and slap at it almost lazily. The giant squid was awake and at play.
It was a peaceful scene … idyllic, really … heightened by the early morning music of the birds, wafting through the air in delightful high-pitched trills and low warbles.
But, anyone who cared to observe need only sweep the eye over the rest of the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to sustain a nasty shock indeed.
It had only been a week since the final battle that had, at long last, sent to oblivion Lord Voldemort, the darkest, cruellest wizard ever known to the wizarding world. But, while all good witches and wizards heaved a heavy sigh of relief at the Dark Lord's demise, there was great sorrow, too. For, many, many innocent lives had been lost or permanently crippled in the events leading to his defeat. And, Hogwarts, the scene of the confrontation between light and dark, was nigh on decimated.
The grounds proper were pitted with huge, ugly black craters and toppled, spell-shattered trees. The Whomping Willow had been completely destroyed, leaving nothing but a pile of charred and gnarled wooden flesh, as if the venerable old tree had died writhing in unspeakable agony.
The Quidditch pitch, which had seen hundreds of years' worth of comparatively light-hearted competition between rival houses, was unrecognizable. Not one goal post stood, not one square yard was left untouched by the remains of devious and deadly hexes. The stands that had once housed the cheering crowds, had been burned to the ground and could be seen smouldering even now.
The castle itself was barely inhabitable, with gaping holes in its walls, making it seem like a large, lumbering, grey giant that had been ruthlessly brought down by its horrible wounds. The great hall itself, a room that had seen so much joy and harmless frivolity, no longer had its enchanted ceiling mirroring the current weather conditions … in fact, it had no ceiling to speak of at all.
But, the most heart-breaking damage had been done to Gryffindor tower. It seemed that Voldemort, being Slytherin to the core, still held with his house's abject hatred of Gryffindor house. Therefore, almost the first act of aggression he had enacted against the castle, after he and hundreds of Death Eaters had somehow breached the wards and stormed onto the grounds, was to blast the tower completely away with a particularly devastating combined curse, thus, killing every last first- through fifth-year student hiding there.
Many, many had died that day … and, the wounded, good God, the wounded! They had been in such numbers that when it was all over the battle field from far off had looked like a writhing mass of bloodied maggots piled one on top of another.
In truth, the magnitude of the carnage had been so overwhelming that even the most seasoned fighters had been literally sickened, and some of the uninitiated had been driven mad by the sight. It had been simply too much to take in.
As the weary and heart-sore survivors had gone about sifting through the rubble to rescue the wounded, they wondered within themselves … how would anything ever be right again? More importantly, how would the wizarding world ever pull itself out of the hellish pit into which it had fallen?
Chapter 1
Glick-ding! Glick-ding! Glick-ding!
With a groan of deepest discouragement, Hermione Granger let her hand creep out from under her blanket and grope desperately toward the brain-battering sound that had dragged her from her precious slumber. Without even lifting her head from the pillows, she fumbled for the old-fashioned wind up alarm clock for a full minute, slapping at it viciously until a well-placed smack sent the small tin tormentor flying across the room. It hit Hermione's wardrobe door with a bang, thus cracking its case open and spilling out its wiry, coiled guts, and silencing it forever ... or, at least until its wrathful owner cast Reparo on it yet again.
"Oh, God!" she gasped, rolling onto her back slowly, and further encapsulating herself in her sheet and blanket. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in days!"
Which, in fact, she hadn't. The need was so great in the aftermath of the war that she had agreed to forestall her future plans to stay on at Hogwarts to help her former professor and Britain's premier Potions master, Severus Snape, keep up with the demand for Healing potions. She had also committed herself to continuing to assist Madam Pomfrey, the school's matron, with the care of the over one hundred patients in the hospital wing.
Her days were full of constant, exhausting activity as a result, and precious little rest and recreation. The good news was that with all she had to do she hadn't much time for reflection … except in the mornings before her duties claimed her.
Hermione sighed deeply, and the terrible ache in her chest that haunted her days now returned full force. Her mind began grinding away, trying desperately to make sense of the chaos surrounding her.
Yes, the war was finally over, and the side of light had been victorious, with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and one of Hermione's closest friends, delivering the death blow to Lord Voldemort in a spectacular show of power.
That day, Halloween of the year following Hermione's seventh school year, had been glorious and terrible at the same time. The wizarding world was, at long last, set free from its greatest scourge and a new hope was on the horizon.
But, so many are gone! Hermione thought, mentally wringing her hands, and feeling her tears slipping silently down her cheeks and into the hollows of her ears. She shook her head, as much to dislodge her thoughts from her head, as to remove the errant tears.
It was to no avail, the names of the dead, would replay themselves in her mind:
Parvati Patil, Fred and George Weasley, Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas … and the list went on and on, as Hermione's silent tears turned into sobs. In that moment, she completely succumbed to her grief.
If only I had been there, she thought irrationally. She let out a decidedly bitter, albeit watery, laugh.
No, she had been exactly where she should have been, doing exactly what she had been trained to do.
Hermione had decided shortly after her sixth year ended to devote her life to the magical art of Healing. She wanted to do something life affirming, something that would bring about a better quality of life to those whose lives she was destined to touch.
Research was, of course her first love, and she believed that she could integrate that passion into her Healing work, at some point. She had in mind to eventually leave the hands-on side of Healing and just work on improving Healing practices, spells, and medicinal potions.
But, all of her plans had had to wait until after the war.
Upon learning about Hermione's aspirations, her former Head of House and current Headmistress of Hogwarts had approached her with a proposition. Would Hermione be willing to assist Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, while learning rudimentary Healing practices? The Headmistress had it on good authority that Lord Voldemort would soon be making his final bid for power, within a year at most. Since Hogwarts was considered to be one of the most likely spots the Dark Lord might attack, it would be well if the castle was as prepared as possible for such an eventuality.
Several of Hermione's fellow students had been pressed into service; Padma Patil, Ginny Weasley, Lavender Brown, Hannah Abbot, and even Neville Longbottom had surprisingly offered his services.
And, the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's had agreed to wave some of the requisite training in the Healer's program for any and all who agreed to help. After all, wasn't practical experience the best teacher?
The icing on the cake was that Hermione's return to Hogwarts meant she could finish her magical education on schedule. But, the young witch had been torn, for she had wished to go with Harry and Ron on the search for the remaining Horcruxes. She had not been able to imagine not being with them on this important mission.
She had talked to her two closest friends for hours about it. Harry had been adamant. Hermione would do well training to be a Healer, and she would be making an important contribution to the war effort. Besides, if Harry and Ron needed help that only research could yield, Hermione would be well-placed to use her considerable talents in that area. The resources in the Hogwarts library would be only an owl away, if Hermione would agree to do the job.
So, in the end she had consented to stay at Hogwarts, much to Professor McGonagall's delight.
The year had been hectic, but fruitful. Hermione and her fellow trainees had made a good showing in their studies, and had felt fairly well-prepared to face whatever came their way.
What idiots we were, she thought bitterly, as she grabbed some tissues and began mopping up her tear-stained face.
Hermione winced as she remembered the final battle. She had practically bathed in what had seemed like litres and litres of blood, had done all she could to abolish the hideous pain of the curse-afflicted, and had witnessed so many horrifying deaths as she tried to triage the endless streams of wounded, some of whom were unrecognisable because of their wretchedly disfiguring wounds.
She had worked almost three solid days without a break, though at the time each minute had seemed to run one into another and Hermione had had no concept of time passing. There had been only her aching body, her overwhelmed senses, and her continually breaking heart.
She had not slept, and had hardly taken time to shove a stale biscuit into her mouth, or to swallow a cup of tepid, sugarless tea every once in a while. It was when Madam Pomfrey had found Hermione lying half on top of the mangled body of the recently dead Parvati Patil, sobbing and gibbering incoherently that she was ordered to find a corner somewhere and rest for a couple of hours.
As these memories replayed in her mind, Hermione's sorrow was now threatening to overwhelm her completely. She shook her head again and rubbed at her weeping eyes impatiently.
"Stop!" she commanded herself, throwing her covers back forcefully. "He is waiting…" The thought of the surly Potions master pushed her thoughts into a wholly different direction. And, she found she could not resist its pull on any account.
Yes, Severus Snape was back at Hogwarts, something that Hermione had never thought would come to pass … not after what he had done.
It was unquestionable that Snape had cast the Killing Curse that had ended Professor Albus Dumbledore's life. Harry Potter, hit by Dumbledore's Freezing Charm, had been forced to helplessly witness the whole grisly scene from under his Invisibility Cloak.
It had all played out on top of the Astronomy Tower. A very nervous Draco Malfoy, who was clearly in over his head, had held his wand in a shaking hand, the jeers of his fellow Death Eaters pushing him to do as the Dark Lord had bid him. But, in the end, just as Dumbledore had surmised, he had been unable to kill the venerable old Headmaster. So, Snape, who had joined the party late, had stepped forward, a sneer of contempt on his face and had cast the fatal curse.
And, then Snape and Draco had run off like the dastardly cowards they were.
"And that, as they say, was that!" Hermione thought out loud. Sitting up and drawing her knees up to her chest, she let her head fall forward onto her crossed arms. She absently chewed at her bottom lip in contemplation. "Except it wasn't at all what it appeared … not even remotely so cut and dried."
Truth be told, she had had her doubts about Snape's guilt from the beginning. Even after hearing Harry's story, she had been unable to completely accept Snape's apparent culpability in the matter, at least not at first. Why? Because, for years she had been so sure of her Potions professor's loyalties and that certainty just wouldn't immediately yield to what appeared to be the incontrovertible evidence against him.
With the exception of her first year at Hogwarts, when she had initially believed, along with Harry and Ron that Snape was after the Philosopher's Stone, she had never wavered in her belief that Snape was on the side of the light. He had proven himself then and many times thereafter, and as far as she was concerned, he deserved to be trusted, even if he was unpleasant and sometimes cruel.
Then there was the fact that Dumbledore's faith in him had been unshakeable.
Eventually, however, it had sunk in that Dumbledore was really dead, and his death had most assuredly been at the hand of the wizard he had taken in, protected, and trusted. So, Hermione, just like everyone around her, had laboured under a terrible misconception for just over an entire year before the shocking truth finally came out.
There Hermione was, minding her own business, believing that Snape was the perfect bastard he'd always portrayed himself to be, and heaving a subconscious sigh of relief that she would never have to be in his odious presence again. And, the next moment, she was working side by side with the man, admiring his brilliance, and trusting him again with all her might.
"Well, perhaps it wasn't quite that simple," she murmured with a chuckle. She jumped out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. She stood before the mirror above her sink and noted the puffy eyes, the bushy mane of hair, flying unkempt about her pale face; the whole look was wild, almost frightening.
Just like my life, she thought.
She sat heavily on the edge of her bath, her mind wandering to the unforgettable day she'd seen her former Potions professor again for the first time since Dumbledore's death.
It had been an early morning at the end of July after her seventh year, right around Harry's birthday. She had only just finished her training with Madam Pomfrey for the time being, and was packing to make a trip home to see her parents. She had agreed to return thereafter to be of service to the school until the war was over.
Harry and Ron had been gone for a couple of weeks, and Hermione was feeling very lonely without them—not to mention guilty that she had stayed behind.
Suddenly, the familiar 'pop' that heralded the arrival of a house-elf made Hermione turn away from her trunk. Bobbing and bowing, the elf had handed her a note from Professor McGonagall requesting her immediate presence in the Headmistress' office. Hermione had thanked the elf and, shaking with sudden apprehension, had taken off at top speed.
Is it Harry and Ron? Dear God, are they all right?
She had shouted the password before she was even properly standing before the gargoyle guarding the magical spiralling staircase. Hermione had barely been able to contain herself as she watched it jump away. She had taken the steps two at a time, and had paused outside the great oaken door only long enough to quickly brush off her robes and give her hair a hasty pat down, before knocking lightly.
She had not realised then that she was standing on a precipice of sorts, that the world as she had known it was about to be turned upside down. Now, as she looked back on it, she knew she would never forget that pivotal meeting as long as she lived.
"Enter,"
Professor McGonagall's reedy Scottish brogue beckoned. Hermione
did as she was bid as the door magically swung open to reveal the
Headmistress standing behind her great monstrosity of a desk, looking
somewhat tense. And, right beside her stood none other than the
imposing dark figure of Severus Snape himself. Hermione
fought to keep her face impassive, as she squashed the gasp that
threatened to escape her. She met his eyes with deceptive ease,
refusing to display her internal discomfiture. He swept his trademark
black cloak to his sides, and crossed his arms over his chest,
looking down his nose at her imperiously. "Very good, Miss
Granger," he mockingly crooned in deep, velvety tones. "You are
in possession of a great deal more self-control than I had ever
believed possible." His face was the very picture of disdain, his
black eyes glittering coldly. The portraits of the esteemed
former Headmasters and Headmistresses all gasped in chorus at such
rudeness … all except Dumbledore's portrait. He did not appear to
be "at home", at the moment. Hermione set her jaw,
thrusting her hands behind her back in an attempt to hide her angrily
clenched fists. "Professor," Hermione returned evenly, in
greeting. The only sign of her fury was the narrowing of her
eyes. Snape only sneered at her nastily. "Surely it has not
escaped you, Miss Granger, that I am not your professor any longer.
Kindly leave off the inappropriate title." He sniffed as though he
had smelt something bad. Hermione wanted to kick herself for
such an obvious slip up, and her cheeks coloured with anger, much to
her very great embarrassment. "Fine," she replied with a
touch more rancour than she'd meant to show, "sir!" Her
eyes locked with his in challenge. He merely snorted and turned away
to address Professor McGonagall. "Much as I've enjoyed sparring
with the formidable Miss Granger," he said acidly, "perhaps it
would be best if you informed her why she is here,
Minerva." Professor McGonagall's eyes wandered nervously
between Hermione, one of her favourite Gryffindors, and Snape, the
consummate Slytherin. She looked as though she was suddenly unsure of
something … as though she was engaging in something of an internal
battle. Suddenly, she drew herself up, her eyes becoming quite
determined, her mouth drawn into its customary thin line. "Yes,
Severus," she agreed in her usual brisk manner, "I believe you
are quite right." She turned to Hermione and indicated one of the
chintz chairs before her desk with an impatient wave of her hand.
"Please be seated, Miss Granger. This may take some time. Tea?"
she asked as an afterthought, her hand resting lightly on the silver
teapot on her desk. "No, thank you, Professor," Hermione
replied somewhat abruptly, as she took her seat. She felt anxious to
hear what the Headmistress had to say. Snape, damn him, picked
up on her eagerness and pounced on her like a cat stalking a mouse.
"Ah, yes," he purred nastily, "no doubt the resident
know-it-all can't wait to hear how the murderous Potions professor
came to be back at Hogwarts, instead of rotting in a cell in
Azkaban." Another collective gasp came from the portraits.
"Here, now!" Professor Dippet cried indignantly, shaking his fist
in outrage. But, Hermione was not at a loss. She glared at
Snape, her face a mask of calm. "I thought you weren't a
professor anymore, sir." she replied coolly, triumph in her
eyes. "How dare you!" he hissed, his tone dangerously
soft. Plainly he did not like to have his own barbs thrown back at
him. "Really, Severus!" Professor McGonagall interjected
with utmost exasperation. "Why must you bait her so?" Snape
only glared at McGonagall, turned his back on the entire scene, and
strode over to a mullioned window, his very form exuding hostility.
Hermione, meanwhile, only internally celebrated her little victory in
their word war. She did not allow herself even the tiniest of
smiles. Professor McGonagall turned back to the business at
hand. "Where to begin?" she said as she took her own seat at her
desk with a huff. "I suspect it would be best to begin at
the beginning," Snape said dryly, from his self-imposed exile by
the window. He did not turn around. "Yes, Professor
McGonagall," Hermione readily agreed. "I would like the whole
story, if possible." Snape snorted contemptuously. Both
women pointedly ignored him. "All right, Miss Granger, the
beginning it is," McGonagall agreed with the air of one who has
decided to plunge in, sink or swim. Hermione shifted
unconsciously in her chair, thus getting a bit closer to the
desk. "Let's start with the night that Professor
Dumbledore," she hesitated, turning her head a bit in Snape's
direction, "died." Hermione watched, transfixed, as the
Headmistress shuffled some parchments on her desk unnecessarily. The
action gave the impression that the Headmistress wanted a bit more
time to gather her thoughts. Snape shifted uneasily and
coughed, while the portraits murmured ominously. The room positively
seethed with tension. "All right," Hermione encouraged
calmly, her gaze not leaving her mentor's now set face. "Well,"
McGonagall continued, somewhat shakily, "it seems that the events
of that night were not as straightforward as they
appeared." Hermione nodded in acknowledgement. "There
is just no delicate way to put this, Miss Granger." Professor
McGonagall's hand fluttered momentarily to her forehead before
falling to nervously fiddle with her tea cup. "The long and the
short of it is that Severus did not murder Professor Dumbledore."
Hermione was out of her seat as though someone had prodded
her with a hot poker. "But, I thought …" she began
squeakily. "Oh, he did kill the Headmaster. Make no
mistake." McGonagall eyed her seriously. "But, it was not
murder." Hermione could not stifle the gasp that fought its
way out of her. "But how …" she began again. She turned wide,
questioning eyes to the now ramrod straight back of the Potions
master. She saw his hands grasping the stone window ledge so
forcefully that his knuckles were white. "I don't
understand ..." she said, but she was stopped by Professor
McGonagall's upraised hand. "The truth, it seems, is that
Severus was acting on Dumbledore's orders. He killed him because
the Headmaster ordered him to do it." Hermione sensed
desperation building up inside her. She felt that if she did not
receive the answers to the questions tearing through her mind right
at that moment, she might implode. Her questioning eyes once again
sought those of her former Head of House. "I have known for
some time, almost a year …" her voice trailed off for a moment,
as the venerable old witch appeared to lose herself in
memory. Hermione waited impatiently for her to continue. "You
see, shortly after I took residence in these offices, I found Albus'
Pensieve. I debated with myself as to whether I'd any right to look
into it … if there was any pressing reason to do so. And, I decided
that I must, being as how I was taking up the reigns, not only as
Headmistress of Hogwarts, but as the head of the Order of the
Phoenix, as well. I reasoned that it was just possible that Albus had
stored away memories pertinent to my work in one or both of those
capacities. So, I looked. " Professor McGonagall looked down at her
hands which were now folded together on her desk top. After a
moment, she cleared her throat, and bestowed a small apologetic smile
upon Hermione, who was still watching her with owlish
eyes. "Anyway," continued the Headmistress, "one of the
memories revealed that Severus had had to make an Unbreakable Vow to
Narcissa Malfoy that he would do all he could to help Draco carry out
the mission the Dark Lord had given him to murder Dumbledore-- up to
and including killing Dumbledore himself," the professor finished
in a somewhat strained voice. "Albus felt that Severus must fulfill
the vow, and ordered him to go to any extreme to do it. Severus
fought Albus on this decision, wishing instead to come up with some
kind of deception," McGonagall said softly. "But to no avail.
Albus insisted," she finished with a sigh. Hermione could
hold in her questions no longer. "Isn't an Unbreakable Vow just
that—unbreakable?" she asked timidly, softly. "Yes, Miss
Granger, it is." replied the Headmistress solemnly. It was obvious
that she knew what Hermione was really asking. "And, had Severus
not fulfilled his vow, he would have died. But, he was willing to do
so, rather than be the one to kill Albus Dumbledore." Hermione
felt as if she had just sustained a heavy blow to her chest. She
could barely catch her breath, as she found her eyes unwillingly
turning to observe her former Potions professor, who was now standing
very still indeed. But, other than his continued death grip on the
window ledge and a slight hunch to his shoulders, Snape did not offer
any other reaction to Professor McGonagall's speech. Renewed
grief over Dumbledore's death unexpectedly washed over Hermione,
flowing afresh over her like a powerful, cold wave, causing her to
have to fight to keep her emotional head above water. She squeezed
her hands together in her lap in order to stem the tide of her
feelings. Feverishly, Hermione tried to file all the
information she had just received. Snape hadn't killed Dumbledore
in cold blood. In fact, he had not wanted to kill Dumbledore at all.
It had all been done because Albus Dumbledore had wanted it so.
"Why?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling a
little. Without warning, Snape spun around, robes whipping out
behind him with the suddenness of his movement. He glared at her
intently. "For several reasons, Miss Granger." He strode
over to her purposefully, arms clasped behind him. "Can you not
think of them?" Hermione flinched at his nearness, but her
mind was instantly roused by the question. "Well, I suppose
one reason might be that your killing Dumbledore would cement your
position with Lord Voldemort." "Yes," Snape agreed
mockingly, as if to imply that Hermione's deduction was elementary.
"That would be one reason, but there's more." Hermione
chose to ignore his taunting, and instead furrowed her brow
thoughtfully. "Perhaps Professor Dumbledore wished to protect
Malfoy from committing murder," she said finally, looking to the
Headmistress for confirmation. She did not dare to meet Snape's
condescending gaze. McGonagall gave her a small smile. "Ah,
reason number two," Snape said coldly. "But, you are still
missing something." He leaned back on the edge of the desk and
folded his arms before him, as though he was willing to wait all day
for Hermione to find the answer. She could feel his eyes
boring into her, but she did not look at him. Finally, she had no
choice but to admit defeat. "I cannot think of any other
reason, sir," she whispered.
There had been more to say and more to hear, however. And, finding that she could not help but to let the scene play itself out in her mind to completion, she let her eyes slip closed as she lost herself in thought again.