Disclaimer: See Part 1
A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update this. I would love to hear opinions on my take on what the power Voldemort knows not is.
For Demosthenes- thank you for all the reviews!
~No Greater Love~
Part 3: The Beginning of Hope
There was something very surreal about having to go on with a normal routine after a night that had been both so traumatizing and so- precious.
Harry felt odd, off-balance in some way, as he made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast later.
He had lingered in Hermione's room after she'd left, partly because he didn't feel like returning to his solitary room - there were times when being Head Boy and having a room of his own was more curse than blessing-but also because he had simply wanted to stay. Wanted to stay in the room that, even in her absence, was somehow a place of comfort. He liked to see the stack of library books she had piled up next to the desk, the neat rolls of parchment covered in Hermione's familiar neat handwriting. The little things that spoke of the room being lived in, her scarf hanging from a hook by the door, her open trunk in one corner. All the little things that proclaimed, especially to him who knew her so well, "Hermione Granger lives here." So he'd lingered.
He thought he felt some curious glances as he sat down at the Gryffindor table and wondered if he looked different. Could people see that he'd had a dream that was quite literally life-changing? Was there something about him that said that someone loved him enough to die for him? It almost felt as if there should be some tangible visible sign of it. Surely such a love as Hermione's couldn't just leave him unchanged…
His somewhat confused thoughts were interrupted when Ron arrived, sitting in his usual spot across from Harry.
"Morning, Harry," he said, reaching for some bacon and eggs. "Where's Hermione?"
"She needed to talk to McGonagall," he answered absently, his mind suddenly registering that McGonagall was absent from the Head Table.
Ron paused in the act of bringing a piece of toast to his mouth. "You've seen Hermione already?"
Harry blinked slightly. "Why did you ask me where Hermione is if you don't expect me to know the answer?"
It was Ron's turn to blink, look a little confused. "I don't know," he finally said slowly. "I guess it's just habit. And then you usually know where she is, anyway, although how you keep track of her is beyond me."
Harry shrugged slightly in response. He did usually know where Hermione was; he was just attuned to her, paid attention to her…
He glanced at the entrance to the Great Hall as the door opened to admit a group of Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaw prefect.
He wondered what Hermione and Professor McGonagall were talking about, what they would be able to make of his nightmare… He hadn't quite understood what Hermione had meant in her somewhat incoherent explanations earlier but if there was one thing in this world he trusted completely, it was Hermione and her cleverness. She'd said she had an idea so he believed her, and believed, too, that her idea would save his life, somehow… Hermione had already saved his life so many times and she would do so again… Hermione and his faith in her, was the one constant in his life. It was what had made the nightmare so horrifically real; he knew somehow that such a sacrifice on Hermione's part could happen. Knew it and he hated the knowledge that because of him, Hermione was risking so much…
But then almost immediately, he could hear her voice in his mind, "It's my choice to make, my risk to take…" He sighed softly, almost as if he were already having this conversation with Hermione, responding mentally, I know it is, but I hate the idea of it. I hate knowing you're in danger because of me. I- I don't know what I'd do without you…
"Oi, earth to Harry!" Ron waved a muffin in front of Harry's face and he started back.
"Huh, what?"
Ron shook his head slightly as he buttered his muffin. "What's the long face for?"
"I- uh- Another nightmare," Harry explained quietly.
Ron sobered. "V-V- You-know-Who?"
Harry nodded, not saying anything more. He didn't need to say more; Ron knew how his nightmares of Voldemort tended to drain him. And this particular nightmare- he didn't know how to tell anyone else what had happened, or even if he wanted to. It was still too vivid in his memory, too intensely personal a memory to want to share it.
He only glanced up when Ron stood, cramming a last muffin into his mouth and swallowing it with a gulp of pumpkin juice. "Come on, Harry, time for class."
Harry had Potions first today, while Ron headed off to Muggle Studies, a class he'd finally agreed to take after much badgering on Hermione's part and encouragement from his father.
He grimaced as he headed down to the dungeons. He really was not in the mood to deal with Snape's dour grimness or blatant favoritism. At least, Hermione would be there. It was the only thing that kept him sane in N.E.W.T. Potions, her presence taking the edge off of Snape's harshness.
Where was Hermione? The question repeated itself in his mind over and over again, with growing urgency as slowly but surely the time until Potions was going to begin was reached. And still no Hermione.
He saw Snape look at the empty seat beside him with a glint of quite obvious satisfaction in his eyes as he marked something down in his notebook. Harry didn't need to see it to guess that Snape had just marked points off from Gryffindor for Hermione being late. And for once, he was too curious over where Hermione could have gone after her meeting with McGonagall to care overly much about Snape's unhidden enjoyment of taking points from Gryffindor. Where was she? Surely her meeting with McGonagall couldn't have gone on so long; she'd left her room more than an hour ago! But then it was as unlike Hermione to be late for a class as it would be for Ron to start singing Snape's praises.
The door opened and he looked up, expecting to see Hermione, no doubt with some perfectly valid reason for why she was late but saw, to his shock, Dobby.
He heard the vague murmur of surprise go around the room at seeing a house-elf interrupt a class of all things and a class taught by Snape at that. But Dobby, for once, didn't bow or greet Harry with his usual enthusiasm. He sent Harry a glance out of his big round eyes but bowed instead to Snape.
"Dobby is sorry, sir, for interrupting but the Headmistress- she asked me to bring this note to you." Dobby held up a sheet of parchment which Snape took with a look of ill-concealed surprise.
Dobby bowed again, glanced again at Harry and then backed hurriedly out of the dungeon.
Harry's attention was fixed on the note Snape was now reading, with a very disagreeable expression on his face. And somehow he knew that the note was excusing Hermione; he couldn't quite explain why he was so sure of this but he was. Hermione must still be talking with McGonagall over her idea. He felt a surge of hope. They must have thought of something; nothing less significant could have induced Hermione to skip a class or McGonagall to allow it and excuse it moreover.
He remembered Hermione's hurried words before she left- The protection that love gives you- it hurts Voldemort and it's his weakness; it always has been. Giving your life for someone you love gives them a protection, in their blood… how to do that, a spell maybe…
Had they found a spell to duplicate that effect? Could it even be done? He was so used to thinking of his fight with Voldemort as being the last thing he did, so used to thinking he was going to die fighting Voldemort that the hope he felt, tentative as it was, felt alien and strange. He couldn't let himself hope too much-shouldn't let himself hope too much. His faith in Hermione notwithstanding, he wouldn't hope too much…
"Very well," Snape's sneering voice cut into his thoughts, "since Miss Granger has decided there are more important things than passing her Potions N.E.W.T, we will continue without her. Mr. Potter, you will be partnered with Mr. Malfoy today."
Harry suppressed his instinctive grimace and changed seats, ignoring Malfoy's malicious smirk and the Slytherins' triumph. This was going to be the longest Potions class ever.
Harry left the dungeons in a rush, partly to escape Snape's harsh criticisms, even harsher it seemed without Hermione's calming presence by his side to take the sting off, but mostly because he needed to know. The last hour in Potions had been an eternity; he could have sworn several times that time had simply stopped, and he'd be stuck there in the Hell that was the dungeons forever. Until finally, Snape had dismissed them with a last sneering glance at him.
Transfiguration was next after a break of a half-hour so he hurried up the stairs and down the corridors that led to the Headmistress's office.
He panted out the password, "Josephine Damling" (the name of one of the earliest Headmistresses of Hogwarts, Hermione had told him) and then rushed up the stairs and into the office, forgetting even to knock.
McGonagall and Hermione looked up when he burst into the room and for once, McGonagall didn't sizzle him with a reproving glance or insist he stepped outside again and entered properly after knocking. Instead she only said, her tone dry, "Ah, there you are, Mr. Potter. I've been wondering when you would show up."
He flushed slightly at her tone but could only say, honestly, "Sorry, Professor, but I had to know…"
He met Hermione's eyes and knew she understood, seeing in them also an apology for not being in Potions, knowing how much he must have hated it without her there. He smiled slightly at her before sitting down in the chair next to hers, looking curiously at the old and yellowed parchments spread out on the desk between McGonagall and Hermione. It was covered in symbols and some odd alphabet he only vaguely remembered seeing in some of Hermione's Arithmancy textbooks and old history books.
McGonagall relented enough to nod at him. "Very well then. You do have more right to know all this than anyone else, after all."
She paused, her gaze moving from Harry to Hermione with an uncharacteristic softness in her eyes. "You should count yourself fortunate to have such a friend as Miss Granger."
Harry relaxed a little for the first time in Professor McGonagall's presence, enough that he moved his hand to cover Hermione's resting on the desk, feeling her little intake of breath at this gesture and sensing her surprise. He hardly ever initiated any sort of physical contact with people and certainly not in public; he wasn't quite comfortable with it but somehow, at this moment, none of that mattered. Not now, not in the aftermath of his nightmare and soul-deep recognition of his feelings for Hermione. He couldn't quite explain it; all he knew was that he could- he needed to- show some of what he felt for Hermione even through this, the smallest of gestures and caresses. "I do," was all he said, quietly, in response. But the sincerity of his softly spoken words was clear and somehow changed the atmosphere in the office.
He saw Professor McGonagall glance at his hand covering Hermione's and when she looked back up at them, there was a subtle difference in her demeanor, a sudden flicker of-could it be hope?-in her eyes before she resumed her usual brisk tone.
"Miss Granger was hoping that there was some sort of spell which could give you the same power over Voldemort that your mother's sacrifice first did, the one which saved your life and made your touch painful to him." She paused before continuing, speaking slowly and deliberately, her gaze holding Harry's. "She suggested, and rightly in my opinion, that this power which Voldemort knows not, is at its most basic level, the power of self-sacrifice. It is the power not simply of love- as powerful a force as that can be- but the power of a love so deep and so true that a person will risk everything without a second thought for that beloved person." She paused again, now looking at Hermione, although she still ostensibly addressed Harry, her voice gentler than he had ever heard it. "It was the power of your mother's sacrifice in her last moment of life and it was that same feeling, the willingness to risk all which had the combined effort of sending you to the Department of Mysteries in your 5th year and which sent Sirius Black to follow you."
He flinched involuntarily at the mention of Sirius and what had happened at the Department of Mysteries, feeling his heart clench as it always did at the thought of his godfather. Sirius…
He felt Hermione's hand squeeze his and returned the pressure, feeling a surge of gratitude and yes, love, at this silent gesture of support and sympathy. And realized yet again how glad he was (inadequate as any words were to describe the depth of his relief) that Hermione had survived that encounter in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius's loss had devastated him; he missed his godfather every day, missed him and mourned him. But he knew now that Hermione's loss would kill him. There was no real life without her by his side; he needed her… Needed her as much as he needed oxygen, food, water… Without her, there was nothing; he was nothing…
McGonagall nodded at Hermione who continued, as he turned to face her, his hand still holding hers. "I thought that there had to be some way of invoking that power without the actual death of someone, some sort of spell possibly. I asked Professor McGonagall and we think we might have found something that will work. Professor McGonagall needs to look into it further and consult with Professor Flitwick and the Order but we think we've found something!" Her voice rose slightly at the end, betraying her own hope and excitement.
McGonagall coughed, interrupting. "Yes. However, I would caution you both not to allow yourselves to hope for miracles. This spell is not only very ancient, dating back almost to the beginning of magical times, but requires a great deal of skill and magical ability, which makes it nearly impossible for even the most highly trained wizards to perform. There has actually never been a recorded instance of this spell being performed successfully so it would not do to hope too much."
Harry nodded almost numbly. He couldn't quite believe it. A spell that might allow him to defeat Voldemort… He was almost afraid of the surge of hope he couldn't help but feel. Even the stirrings of hope he'd felt before were nothing to this; they had been vague, unfocused. This was different; this was real, almost tangible. An actual spell.
McGonagall glanced at the clock and straightened, her usual crisp demeanor back in place. "For now, you both must promise not to mention a word of this to anyone else, including Mr. Weasley. We must not allow ourselves to talk of this with any certainty." She looked pointedly at both of them, adding, "I trust you understand."
"Yes, Professor, of course," Hermione spoke first.
Harry nodded again. Of course he wouldn't tell anyone about it- wasn't sure he could. Not quite yet. The hope was still too new, too frail, to put into words.
Professor McGonagall nodded her approval and then said, briskly, "Very well then. It is nearly time for class to begin so I will see you both then."
Harry and Hermione both stood up and were about to leave when McGonagall added, "Oh and Miss Granger, good work." The corner of her lips twitched in what might have been called a smile.
Hermione flushed. "Thank you, Professor," she said quietly, "but I didn't really do anything. Harry gave me the idea for it."
It was Harry's turn to feel himself color as he looked at Hermione. It was so like her to disclaim any credit. For all her occasional bossiness and her tendency to think she was always right (although to do her justice, she usually was), she was also modest.
He squeezed her hand (which he still held, somehow reluctant to let go) and they left the Headmistress's Office together.
"What did I miss in Potions today?" Hermione asked, a frown marring her smooth forehead. "Was Snape mad?"
He shrugged it off. "We covered the Feverous Potion today. He was annoyed, yes, but what could he do when you had a note from McGonagall?" There was no need to mention that Snape had seemed to take particular pleasure in tormenting him that day, seeming to know that without Hermione (and especially with Malfoy as his partner, smirking and sneering the entire time) any barbs which Snape sent his way stung all the more.
Hermione didn't look very reassured by his casual response but refrained from commenting. He knew she was wondering how Snape had taken his annoyance out on him; she knew what Snape could be like, and he managed to smile at her.
They were silent for a moment, a comfortable silence though, until he asked, quietly, "Do you think I can do this?"
She stopped to look at him, lifting her free hand to touch his cheek softly. "I believe in you, Harry. I don't know if this spell will be the one you end up using but whatever happens, I believe in you. And you can and you will win in the end. I believe that, above all, have never doubted it." She spoke softly but there was a world of confidence, of faith, in her tone and in her eyes.
She believed in him. Such a powerful statement somehow. Even if he doubted himself (which he did), wasn't sure of his own strength or his own abilities- she believed in him. And he trusted her, believed her. And that gave him more confidence in himself.
Maybe, he thought, after all, her greatest gift to him was just this: her faith in him which gave him strength and made him believe… Her faith in him that allowed him to hope…