Unofficial Portkey Archive

Author's notes: Lots of exposition. Hopefully, I was able to break it down so that it isn't confusing, or boring.

I know I promised this sooner, but suddenly there were all these errands!! So sorry about that. But here. I most certainly hope you like it.

Thank you so very much to my wonderful beta. She got this to me so much earlier than I released it, so it's totally not her fault! We both thank you for all the kinds words, the reviews, and the amazing response.

Also, thank you so much to the folks who seconded this fic for the Master List. ::great big hug::

Chapter rating: R

Standard disclaimers apply.

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Chapter Thirty-third: Daemons

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The nights preceding the meeting with Severus Snape were filled with activity. After Harry and Remus explained everything to McGonagall, Arthur, and Shacklebolt, plans were quickly made to ensure Harry's safety. Explaining the circumstances of the horcruxes to Shacklebolt turned out to be surprisingly easy. Shacklebolt didn't show as much displeasure about it as they expected he would, though he was miffed.

"I'd rather not waste time dwelling on the fact that you should have trusted me with this information. However, be that as it may, perhaps I do understand why you did not. We shall leave it at that."

Harry was grateful for his boss's no-nonsense personality. Shacklebolt, at first glance, was an inflexible man who followed the rules with hair-splitting precision, but having worked with him in the last five years, Harry knew better. Shacklebolt stuck to his wands when he believed in something, and while he may seem rigid and unyielding, he was, in fact, just incredibly deliberate about his choices. He placed careful thought on the causes he supported, the decisions he made, and the people he trusted. Once he decided that something was right, he would adhere to it without fuss or folly. Hence, he wasn't going to throw a hissy-fit because he was only now told about the Horcruxes. The important thing was he was told. Anything else would be useless drama.

In the meantime, Hermione used most of her waking time creating the wards for the Strigoi chamber. By nine of the following night, she was reasonably certain that her computations would hold and she recommended that they put the wards up immediately.

"That thing needs destroying," she said, the way one would say that a plant needed watering, or how the laundry needed hanging out to dry. They'd been too long amidst conflict, it seemed, to so calmly pronounce the destruction of a rare and precious artifact, or worse yet, to call it a "thing".

Gryffindor would bemoan the loss of his staff and Ravenclaw would bemoan their complete disregard of history.

So they hurried on over to the Department of Mysteries, set up the wards, shoved the case in the Strigoi chamber and unraveled the staff by simply knocking the cover off the case with brute magic. There was no need to remove the staff from its warded nest.

The wards outside the chamber held. The wards were perfect. Hermione had done it again, but as was the tendency of most disasters, the problem only became evident when it was too late to do anything about it.

Everything looked fine in the beginning, of course. Harry, Remus, Hermione, Dedalus and Shacklebolt watched as the Strigoi eagerly approached the staff. The staff pulsed with power and the Strigoi latched on to it looking immensely happy about its meal. The staff's glow began to recede to a dull sheen, and Shacklebolt actually said, "It seems to be working."

But that indeed qualified as speaking too soon. The moment the words escaped Shacklebolt's mouth, the Strigoi gave a terrified shriek.

Harry was immediately alarmed. He didn't even know Strigoi had a voice to shriek with.

When the staff appeared to flare with magic, Harry could do nothing but watch, stunned at how the creature morphed from one shape to another in rapid succession, sometimes cross-morphing into two or three animal-forms at once. The Strigoi flailed and struggled, obviously trying to detach itself from the staff, but it could not.

Harry felt the grip of Hermione's hand, the panic in her eyes. He doubted if she felt concern for the creature; he could tell that her fear stemmed from somewhere else-knew that the press of her fingers on his arm was not for the dying Strigoi. He felt an overwhelming need to do something, just so she wouldn't be so afraid for him; just so she could see that he wasn't at the mercy of Voldemort's Horcruxes, and that he wasn't about to give up anytime soon.

"Good lord, is it supposed to do that?" Shacklebolt cried.

"No," Harry said, raising his hand and pressing it to the wards. If he was going to detach the Strigoi from the staff, he had to cast his spell within the wards. As it was, the lead cage was going to wreak havoc on his accuracy. He was about to push through when Hermione yanked him back.

"Don't," Hermione hissed, getting between him and the wards. "We don't know how badly your magic would react to the staff's magic. We can't risk it, Harry. Let it go. The process has failed and there's nothing we can do about it now."

"She's right," Remus said, his brows knotting with worry. "She's right…"

The creature faded as it turned into mist, thinned, and scattered into nothing.

The staff pulsed once more then it settled, the thrum of its power pushing lightly against the lead and the wards surrounding it.

"It appears we've encountered a set-back," said Dedalus with surprising calmness.

"Indeed," said Harry wearily. With the Strigoi gone, Harry walked through the wards, unaffected by the staff's power. He could see the others through the wards; saw the fear in their eyes as he felt his scar tingle. It was probably glowing again.

He undid the sealing charms on the lead chamber and got as near to the staff as he dared without touching it. With mild magic, he gave his wand a small flick and replaced the cover on the case.

The staff's power was shut in, the faint traces it left in its wake receding almost immediately.

He could see Hermione moving to cross the wards and he shot her a warning glare.

No.

She saw it, understood it and sighed even as she glared right back.

He wasn't going to let her through the wards with the danger just so recently contained. He might not feel any residual magic, but there still might be, and considering what Hermione had told him, it had a very negative effect on her.

Harry left the case in the chamber and removed the glamour. The chamber now looked nothing more than block of lead.

He stepped out of the wards and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "Merlin… as if we didn't have enough problems."

"At least we didn't blow up an entire Quidditch Pitch, this time," muttered Remus.

Shacklebolt looked askance at them. "Should've known you had something to do with that. No wonder McGonagall hadn't a kind word to say about you two for weeks after that."

"Ron was there, too," Harry said. He wasn't sure why. Maybe there was merit in distributing the blame, after all.

"More's the pity. That means three people, not just two, were fool enough to explode an entire Quidditch Pitch accidentally."

"I reckon we'll not be trying to dunk that staff in the potion, then?" Dedalus asked thoughtfully.

"Not unless you want to make a crater out of the Ministry," said Harry.

Dedalus smirked. "Don't tempt me."

"We'll keep the staff here for now. I'll get Ron to come over and put his best sealing charms on it… in the meantime, we better start research on how to destroy that thing."

Remus nodded. "I'll search through the archives of the MRI."

"I'll contact McGonagall and explain the situation to her," said Shacklebolt. "Perhaps she can start research on it as well."

Harry took Hermione's hand as he told them they'd be in 12 Grimmauld Place, looking through the Black family library.

"My place is here," said Dedalus. "And you can be sure I'll put my best resources on it."

Their prospects certainly weren't bleak, but did they have the time to spare? They could only hope.

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They hastened to the library at 12 Grimmauld Place and scoured the shelves for whatever material that might help.

Harry dug out one of the many books Bill Weasley had recommended to him for curse breaking and piled them all on the long work table. Hermione hauled books about forbidden potions and magical poisons. Lucien and Solomon carried all the books for her.

They had a sizable stack of books by the time they were done with the first pass, and it wasn't long before he and Hermione were engrossed in the books' darkly worded pages. Lucien and Solomon had their own books, and while they did make an effort to focus, Harry could tell that their minds often wandered.

The rasp of old paper as Hermione flipped the pages of her book was the only sound that broke through the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Harry found it surprisingly easy to focus on his work. He thought maybe he'd be distracted and aware, having Hermione so near and in the one place she was totally herself, but he discovered that her presence was more reassuring than distracting, and that this productive silence they shared was comfortable.

They scribbled notes on their parchment, checked cross-references and flagged pages, all the while sitting side by side and making full use of what time they had.

It was two hours later that Solomon finally stood up and said, "That's it. I need a break. May I, Hermione?"

She exchanged brief glances of amusement with Harry before she said, "Sure, Sol. Take as much time as you need. Harry and I can handle this. Lucien, you want to go with him?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Lucien muttered, following Solomon.

They both promised that they wouldn't be long.

When they were gone, Harry leaned back on his seat and took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Found anything yet?"

She bit her lip. "We've only been looking for two hours…"

He smiled tiredly and realized with mild amazement that he'd had his hand on her lap during several intervals as he read passages and quilled citations. He rubbed lazily at her thigh with belated awareness, knowing that in spite of the dire times and everything that was happening around them, he was so very glad that the sense of reassurance he felt was reminiscent of the companionable silences they shared all those years ago. Though there were many things that they couldn't ever have back, the most important things had never left them. It went into hiding for a time, maybe, some feelings hiding deeper within them than others, but retrievable, and that just bolstered his belief than spending the rest of his life with her would never ever come close to being as dismal as she predicted.

"I love you," he said quietly. He'd said it to her before, yes. He couldn't even count how many times, but this felt like that first time he told her, when her arms were elbow-deep in soap-suds and she was washing dishes the Muggle way. At that time, it was all he wanted to say to her. No explanations; no justification; just that it was, and he meant it with all his heart. She had looked up at him over her shoulder, utterly mesmerized, like she couldn't believe that he'd said it, like she'd never dared to hope he'd feel such a thing for her until that moment.

It had happened only five years ago, yet it felt like ages since, having gone through so much, but now seemed more real; more certain in spite of the million uncertainties. He remembered every single thing that had gotten them to this moment, but he still wouldn't be able to explain how they had arrived. Here, where things between them felt so much more solid in a world that could crumble at any given time.

She seemed just as surprised now; like during that first time he told her, but he doubted if her reasons for that surprise were the same. She leaned over, brushing some hair off his forehead with a gentle flick of her fingers. "I love you, too, Harry."

He turned on his seat to face her, taking her hands and rubbing his thumb lightly on the ring on her finger. He looked at it, the matching bands gleaming softly in the dimness of the library. "Some day I'll want to make these rings mean what they're supposed to mean."

She didn't pull away, and she turned on her seat so that they would be face to face. He looked up and saw sadness beset her eyes through her small smile. "Some day. And when that day comes I'll let it mean what they're supposed to mean."

He kissed her, lips touching with the gentle stroking of their tongues. When they separated, the sadness in her eyes was still there. He pushed some hair off her forehead. "What are you thinking?"

She hesitated then rubbed her nose on his chin, his lips and kissed him briefly before replying. "That I'm happy."

He smiled, a hint of weariness straining at the corners. "Then why do you look so sad?"

"I'm not. I swear I'm not."

He wouldn't believe her. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it." His tone was undemanding, and his hand lifted her face to look at him, so that she couldn't lie.

Her eyes glistened but no tears spilled and he could see that this sadness wasn't new, that it had been plaguing her for years even when he hadn't been around.

"It's not something you can fix, Harry. And it's not something I want you to fix. It's wonderful and natural…"

It was confusing him, but Hermione was a soul of reason and sense. He urged her to explain. "Then why-"

"It's your mortality," she finally said. "You're mortal, Harry. Some people… they think mortality is a weakness, but it isn't. Mortality is a gift. It's like a box of special possibilities more profound than what eternal life could bring, yet… there are so many things and people conspiring to take your life; if I can't find the solution, they'll win and you'll die. And if I find the answers and save your life, I'd still have to hold you in my arms eventually as your mortality claims you. You'll leave me behind, and then-what? I'll move on? It seems wrong. I don't want to. I've tried that before, haven't I? And it didn't work."

He sighed softly, gently holding her face in his hands. "That's too far ahead, Hermione. You can't look to the end when it's only the beginning."

"I can't help it. It's my nature, and for me, it's not far away. I'm immortal, so a hundred years goes by fast for the likes of me. Everyone says that vampires aren't afraid of death, but that's only true if the death is our own. We're not afraid to die, but seeing the ones we love pass away… it makes mortality seem much simpler. I-I don't know if I can watch you die, Harry. I don't know if I'm strong enough for that."

He searched her gaze. "If it-if it happens that I'm-I'm dying, are you going to--?"

"I don't know, Harry. I don't want to. I really don't. This creature that I am-it's not something I want anyone I love, to be."

"Hermione-"

"It's a disease, at best. It brings the dead back to life, but we're never the same for it. And what if you come back different? It doesn't always happen, but I've seen it happen enough times to know that it can be the case with anybody. I've seen the meekest mortal turn into a vicious and ferocious killer after they rise. There's no guarantee. And then what if you know who you are and what you used to be, but you can't help the need to murder and give pain? What then? Do you realize that it means I'd have to kill you? It would be my duty, and ultimately, it's what you would expect of me."

He let her words sink in before he asked the question. "But you've thought about doing it, anyway, haven't you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat, like she was trying to beat down the awful truth so she can shape it into something more appealing. When she opened her eyes, he could tell that the truth hadn't changed one bit. "Yes, I have. Do you want me to do it, Harry? Just tell me you don't, and I won't. I swear to you, if you tell me that you don't ever want to be turned, nothing on this earth could make me do it."

Her words made him wonder, and he knew he had to choose his words carefully, because she would keep this promise. Heaven and hell could collide and she would let him die without her vampiric kiss.

He'd spent the last five years being amidst her kind. He'd played their games and watched them rule. He'd seen the side of them that was an affliction; the side that made them not human, and he often wondered, during those moments, whether vampires did indeed deserve to be considered such dark creatures. Still, that huge part of him that was so in love with Hermione couldn't despise them. He'd loved and still loves Hermione, who was in every sense of the word, one of them. It wasn't in his heart to loath Vampires because he knew that in spite of everything, they had the good and the bad just like any other sentient life form.

"I don't know if I want to be turned or not," he finally said. "I don't know, Hermione. When the time comes, it's something I'd have to leave to your judgment, or to fate."

She sighed wearily, shaking her head. "I was afraid you'd say that. You've been too long among my kind. You shouldn't have to look at it that way."

"Then don't turn me if that's what you believe."

"Harry-"

"I was given the choice when Janus turned you."

Her lips pursed momentarily before she spoke. "That was different."

"I just wanted you to live. On hindsight, that was selfish way to decide it and I should have considered what it would be like for you, but I couldn't change any of that now even if I wanted to, and I can't sit here and regret what I've done. Not when I have you here right now."

"So you're not going to tell me-"

"I don't know if I want to be turned or not, and that's the most honest thing I can tell you."

She hung her head between her shoulders, burying her face in her hands. "I'd have to live with the choice, whatever the consequences."

Gently, he rubbed her arms, kissing the top of her head and told her it was going to be alright in a soft, soothing voice.

After several minutes, he risked a smile and was glad to see her return it.

"And what do you think I worry about?" he asked, chuckling lightly. "When I'm old and gray, you'll still be the sexy, gorgeous woman that you are, and we'd look like a wonky couple. Disgusting, even. What then? Are you going to have a strapping young lover on the side?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I would never do that to you."

"Even when I can't… you know?"

"Harry!" she looked scandalized, but she was laughing, too. "That's not-well, if you must know, then yes, even when you can't… you know. And I don't care if we look wonky to other people. You'll never look wonky to me."

"Well, that's just sweet, and I'm absolutely touched. Come here." And he took her on his lap so they could have a properly lazy snog.

Harry sighed contentedly as they kissed, taking comfort in the gentle intimacy

When they separated, he held her close and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

"You know I love it when you think, don't you?" he asked softly.

She made a slight sound through her grin. "Yes."

"Your mind knocks me off my feet and there's nothing that I think you can't figure out."

"Oh, stop it," she whispered, chuckling. "You're embarrassing me."

He smiled, pressed his lips to her brow and spoke. "But sometimes you shouldn't think. Sometimes feeling is more important. Sometimes you just have to given in. Thinking too much robs from the blessings of now. Understand?"

"Escapism?"

"It's not. It's seizing the moment; appreciating what we have and not tainting it with the dreadful possibilities of what's to come."

"Possibilities…"

"That's all they are."

She sighed, and it sounded so weary that Harry understood the true measure of how hard the last five years had been to her. "Harry… death and taxes, remember?"

He laughed and was surprised at the confidence and certainty of his thoughts. "In the Wizarding World? I don't think so."

She stared at him, her gaze filling with wondrous disbelief. "There you go again… doing that thing where you make me believe the impossible. And I know it's not just me. It's everyone who has ever seen you fight, or heard you speak. And I have it on good authority that your smile can do wonderful things."

His eyebrow arched. "What authority? Witch Weekly?"

She smiled, the sadness which remained no more than what Harry saw in everyone's eyes in these dark times. "My authority. Is there any other?"

"How silly of me, of course there isn't, but with all due respect, I believe your judgment's a tad compromised."

Her smile turned into a smirk. "Because we sleep together?"

He smirked right back. "No, because I bought your good opinion with a pretty gold ring."

She laughed, grabbing his hair playfully and scrunching it in gently in her fist before slackening her grip and smoothing it back to its normally haphazard state.

He wove his fingers through hers, palm to palm and caught her honey-brown gaze with his emerald eyes. "Better?" he asked in a soft voice. He didn't need to explain what he meant. She would know.

Hermione nodded. "Much," she replied, leaning against him and closing her eyes as she made idle circles on the front of his shirt with her fingers.

After a long moment of comfortable silence, Harry forced his brain from the calming haze to move on to more productive matters.

"Maybe we should hit the gym with Solomon and Lucien. Blow off some steam. Lord knows, I never did learn to study for more than two hours straight."

She removed herself from his lap and sat back down among her books. "You go ahead, Harry. I'll stay here and continue the research. I'd be impossibly preoccupied otherwise. Go on, then. You need the practice, anyway."

"You're the only one who could train me properly, and you know I still need a lot of help on my Legilimens."

Her eyebrow arched before she grinned. "Well, some things don't change, do they? Still need my help with your homework, Potter?"

He laughed. "Yes. Now come on. I can't do this without you. And I do mean that. In everything."

She shook her head, though she was smiling. "You sure know what to say to a girl, Harry."

"Well, not just any girl. My girl."

Chuckling, Hermione pushed her books back and rose from her seat. "Two hours. And then I'm coming back here. This research is important, too, you know. We have to destroy that Horcrux, Harry."

He stood with her. "I know, but you know what I have to do after that, and I have to prepare for that even more. Right now, Remus, McGonagall, and the Department of Mysteries are trying to find the answer to destroying the Horcrux. That's a lot of people, but you're the only one who could help me in that gym."

"Always a man of action," she said, nodding. "Come on, then. Sword training for tonight and bit of Legilimens later on."

He flashed a grateful smile and she rolled her eyes, taking his hand to drag him to the door.

They headed out of the library, the fire dwindling to a safe glower.

The rest of the evening was spent on his training, the books momentarily forgotten. Whether Hermione forgot on purpose or not, Harry did not bother to ask. He was glad that she fully understood how he needed to do things, and that ultimately, Voldemort's defeat needed doing and perhaps even not thinking.

Every strike, parry and deflection was one stroke closer to keeping his sanity, and perhaps Hermione knew it. She drilled and trained him through the night with fists, swords and Legilimens.

He knew now how to manipulate the magic when it was there; saw how the magic could be bent. He tried various techniques; practiced the use of it. It was incredible even to him. Even if he couldn't consciously call the magic, using it and knowing how when it made itself available was powerfully heartening.

His Legilimens was still shaky. He'd always known how to reel in his power, and he'd always had some measure of control over it, but he still couldn't creep noiselessly into other people's minds. His mind magic was a force. He didn't have much subtlety. Subtlety was better suited to schemers like Snape and Voldemort.

But Hermione persevered with the Legilimens training, no matter how many times he failed in his attempts. She would get it right for him if she had to force her will on his magic.

They trained through the night, Hermione's determination inspiring him to do better, and it was only upon the coming of morning that they finally decided they deserved their rest.

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Hermione touched the vials of holy water lined up on the armoire shelves, her fingers hissing lightly as her skin touched the tiny corks that stoppered the tiny flasks.

"Careful," Harry said softly, gently pulling her curious hand away by her wrist. "The water seeps into the cork a bit. It could still hurt you."

She mustered a tiny smile for his concern, letting her wayward hand touch the lines of his chest, instead. She let the pads of her fingers run lightly over the tiny scars and the pendant she had made him wear before she ran them tentatively along the waist of his jeans.

Heat coursed through her where they touched, but it was residual from their earlier encounter, when their bodies were upon each other and the pounding-desire was all they could comprehend amidst the frenzy of their passion.

That evening, when she rose from sleep, her thoughts had been filled with anxiety. It was the night Harry would meet with Severus Snape, and there were a million things to worry about. She had stepped out for a bit to feed, and even that hadn't taken long enough to keep her mind from the cares the night brought.

Upon her return to Grimmauld Place, Ron (back from Romania, it seems) had told her that Harry was up in his room. So she had gone upstairs, knocked on his door, and waited anxiously for him to answer. When his door opened, she hadn't expected the flash of desire from within her and the need to have him posses her. She hadn't expected that she would be thinking such things in the face of more important matters, yet she stood there in the hall wanting him. And then she was in his arms, responding to his urgent lips as he closed them into his darkened room. His hands impatiently sought the edges of her clothes, tearing them off just as swiftly as she was yanking and pulling his off him.

There hadn't been need for words beyond the scope of what they were doing. The moaning and groaning between them had been enough, and occasionally, there were things that needed to be said just to heighten the sensations of the moment, but mostly it was frantic and hot, desperate and incoherent, wet and sweaty.

His hands squeezed her breasts and her fingernails raked down his back, an exchange of pleasure and pain. Hips crashing and tongues rolling against each other, there seemed to be no limit to how joined they could be.

His skin had been slick with perspiration, and her heated body was prickling with moisture. Whether the moisture was his or hers, it was hard to tell, but it wasn't as if it mattered. The sensations of him filling her where it had first seemed so empty made her forget the myriad details. To have him moving between her thighs and to hear him relishing the liberties of it was enough to shatter what little sense of reasoning she had-until that moment-held on to.

The bed strained to accommodate their torrid joining. Hermione grabbed the bed-railing as she let Harry make mad, rough and oh-so-forceful love to her. Perhaps she had felt the need to anchor herself, maybe for fear of losing herself to the sensations that threatened to spiral her out of control. Whatever the reason, the sex had been amazing, and however bereft of tenderness, she fully understood how it had still been about giving to each other and loving one another. It was something they both needed.

There were times after all that reassurance had to come in a less-than-wholesome package.

When all the gifts of their joining were given and taken, they lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sweaty, sated, and stunned. The imprints of Harry's hands and fingers began to blossom into bruises on Hermione's body, and the path Hermione's fingers had taken on his unbroken skin had begun to welt into angry red streaks.

Harry had reached over, lightly touching the mound of flesh where her breast began and where the bruise seemed so deeply purple. "Sorry. I didn't-"

She didn't let him finish speaking. She took his hand and kissed its palm just before she turned over and rested her head on his chest. His arms had embraced her then, and they stayed that way for several minutes before Harry forced himself out of bed to take a quick shower.

Now, she was standing within the open doors of Harry's armoire helping him prepare weapons that might come in handy for that evening's meeting with Snape. His hair was still wet, flecks of water dripping down his shoulders to follow the hollows wrought by the gentle lines of his toned body. She was yet to step into the shower, her body wrapped in swaddling blankets. Her bruises had disappeared and the welts on his body had eased away, though the redness was still evident where the welts had been.

Standing with him, being within the proximity of powerful things, she felt strangely impenetrable. The weapons on his shelves, all designed to defeat vampires and werewolves, hadn't repulsed her in the least. She had reached out and touched the vials of blessed water, perhaps hoping that it wouldn't burn her. Of course it did, but she still couldn't help but think that no harm could possibly come to him and her.

Goodness, but to feel him so in-control… so powerful…

She sighed and pushed back the wave of yearning that was creeping up on her again. "I ought to get ready, too," she said, more to herself than to Harry. Wrapped in nothing but the blankets of his bed, she thought it too easy to drop her trappings and try to seduce him, even if it was probably unwise to get him too tired.

Harry made no protest, smiling down at her before kissing her forehead.

She supposed he didn't think it wise to tempt him, either.

Surveying her clothes that lay strewn on the floor, she mundanely regretted the damage done to her designer blouse. Tears could be magically repaired, of course, but clothes were never the same for it.

She groped around for her wand. She would try, anyway. "Harry, you're going to be meeting Snape in half an hour… I do hope you remember not to trust him."

"I don't trust him in the least," he said, strapping knives to his arm. "I watched him kill Dumbledore, remember?"

She nodded. "And you can't take everything he says at face-value."

"I won't."

"And Harry-"

"Hermione, please stop worrying. You're making me nervous." He said while stuffing his invisibility cloak into his utility pack.

She smiled apologetically, finding her wand and waving it at the torn strips of fabric she called her shirt. "Sorry. Believe it or not, I'm not that worried, really. In fact, I'm fairly confident that you'll be alright, but I suppose I still feel the need to remind you to be careful."

He pulled a shirt over his head and grinned. "I'm always careful."

"Like hell you're always careful. I love you, Harry, but you can be a bit rash, sometimes."

"Less times now than before, I hope."

She would give him that. Harry had matured quite admirably in the last five years, and many people trusted him with their lives. She would trust him with his.

She sought the rest of her clothes and paused when she felt the presence of Draco at the door.

Frowning, she tightened the blankets around her and said, "Draco's outside."

The knock came and Harry sighed. He crossed the room while strapping holsters to himself. Opening the door, he was far from cheerful. "What?"

Draco began to speak but stopped at the sight of Hermione kneeling on the floor, nothing but blankets to cover her. Draco smirked and she glared, flashing him her middle finger.

Harry frowned, stepping between her and Draco to block Draco's view. "Can I help you?"

"You're of great use to me, in fact, and it's part of the reason I'm here," Draco said. "I've thought about what your little sex kitten said, and I've decided that my interests would be better served taking her advice."

Humph! Hermione thought, sex kitten indeed!

Harry went silent for several heartbeats. She hadn't told Harry about the talk she had with Draco, and Harry was probably confused right now, but to Harry's credit, he didn't let on that was the case. "Oh? And how are you going to do that?"

"By telling you a valuable secret, of course, a secret no one but Professor Snape and Aunt Bellatrix knows, and me, of course. Mother knew, but-well, she's dead. I'm guessing Voldemort didn't manage to Crucio anything from her before he Avada Kedavra-ed her, else he wouldn't be so set on having me killed… assuming he wants to keep Professor Snape alive, of course."

It still astounded Hermione how Draco could bring himself to say it so casually. She hadn't completely recovered from her parents' death yet, and that was five years ago. She couldn't bring herself to talk about them, much less nonchalantly mention that she found them slaughtered in their attic. Draco was evil. He had to be, at least to be able to talk about how awful his mother's death was with a straight face.

Harry fell quiet, but Hermione could almost hear him thinking. "Let's hear it, then."

"Ever heard of an Unbreakable Vow, Potter?"

"I'm familiar with it, yes."

"Then you know that the breach of the vow by one of the parties would result in the death of the one who failed to honor the agreement."

Harry nodded.

Draco went on. "Six years ago, Professor Snape entered into an Unbreakable Vow with my mother to keep me safe. Aunt Bellatrix was the bonder. It's the reason Professor Snape has so diligently kept me alive and well, and it's probably how he keeps Aunt Bellatrix in line, because hell knows what the Dark Lord would do to his whore, keeping such an important secret from him."

"Does Snape know you know about this Unbreakable-"

Draco snorted, interrupting Harry's question. "What do you think? Of course he doesn't know I know. If I told him, he'd want to know how I found out, and I couldn't very well lie by saying mum told me. The lie wouldn't hold, and he'd keep prodding, and he'd find out about my secret. I'm serious about keeping this power I have under wraps, Potter. I don't want people knowing about it, not even Professor Snape."

"You don't trust him?"

"I don't trust anybody. It's my nature. But if you're asking me if you should trust him… well, that's different."

Hermione's eyes widened, surprised at the extent Draco was willing to go to "follow her advice." She rose from the floor and stood behind Harry, holding his arm in the embrace of hers. Draco's eyes flickered to her for a heartbeat, daring her to mock him. She didn't. She kept her face impassive. No judgments this time.

"How different?" Harry asked.

Draco swallowed, his steely eyes meeting Harry's gaze. "The old Headmaster had a tendency to know things, Potter. You think he didn't know about what I could do?"

Harry paused a moment. "He probably knew."

"He did. And the night I went to kill him, he showed me some of his secrets…"

Hermione's grip on Harry tightened involuntarily. But for that, neither of them flinched as they listened to Draco with rapt attention.

Draco went on. "Dumbledore was already dead, Harry. Or dying, perhaps. Months ago, when he destroyed something, it destroyed him too, but Professor Snape… well, he wasn't kidding when he said he could stopper death. I'm sure the first day of potions was as memorable to you as it was to every student in that class. Professor Snape is nothing if not captivating…"

"You can tell me about the finer points of your boyfriend later, Draco," Harry growled. "Tell me what you mean about Dumbledore-"

"It means what it means. Dumbledore was dead, dying-whatever! And Snape's potion was merely delaying it. Why did you think his hand wasn't healing? Why do you think he was telling you so many things those last few months? He knew he was dead, and he knew he had to pass whatever knowledge it was he had to someone else; someone he trusted; someone who would understand. Far be it I'd ever comprehend why he trusted you, of all people, but he did, and considering the old bag had the gumption to take death when it would be most relevant is something I could actually respect-"

"He deserved respect even when he was alive, Draco," Harry hissed. "Especially from you, you sorry-arsed git."

Draco didn't falter. "I'm a complicated man. I look at things differently, and I don't easily buy into the hype, no matter how twinkly and jolly Dumbledore is."

Hermione felt Harry tense, and she almost knew he would jump Draco right then. She squeezed Harry's arm ever so slightly to remind him.

Listen to what Draco has to say. Patience.

Harry did not relax, but he didn't make any sudden movements for Draco either. "I fail to see how Dumbledore's death was in any way advantageous, Draco, and I especially don't think that his death came at a good time. We needed him. I needed him. I-"

"Shut-it, Potter. I know you're not as dumb as you look, and I know you've turned it in your head over and over again in the last five years. What do you think Dumbledore was begging Snape for? Mercy? Surely you wouldn't believe that the great Albus Dumbledore would embarrass himself like that. And you call me disrespectful… there were a million reasons Dumbledore was better off dead by Professor Snape's wand and only one reason to keep him alive. The advantages of his death far outweighed his reasons for living."

Hermione listened to Draco's words with a mixture of horror and realization. Harry's shoulders were heaving, in his gaze fury and grief.

Her head was spinning; thinking, and she hated it that Draco was making a sick sort of sense. All of it, everything Draco was telling them, wasn't something Draco could have figured out by himself. Draco wouldn't have wasted his precious time pondering the existence of Albus Dumbledore. Someone would have told him about it; someone would have spoon-fed him the details… the secrets. The fact that the only one who could have done so was Albus Dumbledore was both amazing and unsettling.

It was the kind of secret Dumbledore couldn't tell Harry. Not then. Not when he was still so inept at Occlumency. It was the kind of secret that if Voldemort found floating in Harry's mind could mean the death of so many, the first of which was Severus Snape's, the rest of which would be because the Order would have lost its one chance to infiltrate Voldemort's camp. It was a secret more dangerous than Horcruxes, but Dumbledore needed the secret told, and who best to tell it to than to an Inaudio, so close within his reach?

Dumbledore trusted Draco with this secret. He trusted… but no, Draco wouldn't have told, not when Snape was his only chance of surviving; not when such a secret would endanger HIMSELF, too. Dumbledore, you clever old man…

She was overwhelmed by it all. When she told Draco that he should do his part in helping Harry, she hadn't thought it would be at this magnitude. She hadn't thought he would know something so tide altering.

"You only need one reason to go on living, Draco," said Harry in a controlled voice.

Draco scoffed. "Tell that to Dumbledore. He was the one who chose the alternative."

Harry was silent, his fist clenching. Draco scowled.

"Are you going to hit me?" asked Draco. "Typical Gryffindor, always resorting to fists before brains. You'll have Professor Snape at your disposal later. Surely you won't waste your time trading potions recipes with him. You can ask him whatever you want to confirm whatever I've told you tonight. Ask him about the Unbreakable Vow, and then ask him about Dumbledore. Don't tell him you found out from me, though. Last thing I need is for the git to have something on me. Do what you want with the information I gave you, but don't drag me into it."

Hermione could see in Harry's eyes he didn't need to ask Snape to confirm Draco's words. However much Harry's hate for Draco clouded Harry's mind with doubt, tonight, Harry trusted Draco's words.

"Better off dead by Professor Snape's wand…" Draco had said. Dumbledore was dead, or dying, because just like any Horcrux, Gaunt's ring had demanded a price for its destruction. Snape's potion had stoppered Dumbledore's death, and by doing so, Dumbledore was able to do what little he could to give Harry what he needed to win against Voldemort. In the end, it also gave Snape the opportunity to "prove" loyalty to Voldemort, at the same time save Draco's life. It seemed wretched to call it "killing two birds with one stone," but that was what happened, and as for the million other reasons to kill Dumbledore? Sacrifice. Britain, perhaps even the world, saved.

A million other reasons…

"You kept this information for years…" Harry said rather weakly. "It could have helped before."

"Screw you, Potter. Don't give me that shit. Would you have believed me then?"

Harry didn't reply.

Draco scoffed with smug satisfaction. "Thought so." With that, Draco turned and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry could see a bit of the graveyard from outside the gates of the church, as lonely and silent as each and every visit he'd given it in the last five years. He hadn't visited that often. He'd go months without every thinking of his parents' graveyard, but given certain occasions, like his parents' birthdays and on the anniversaries of their death, he'd drop by with fresh flowers, always the same lilies Hermione had bought his mother all those years ago. His visits never lasted longer than an hour, and sometimes, he found himself just standing over their graves, thinking about matters completely unrelated to them.

He'd visited quite a few graves in the last five years, anyhow. Too many people had died; the right and wrong reasons for their deaths bleeding into the wash of his emotions. He'd even visited the crypts of Hermione's parents, twice. He'd brought flowers for Hermione's mum, too. He didn't know why he did it, but it seemed like the proper thing to do.

He stood alone in front of the wrought iron gates, the mists of night drifting around him under the dim light of the moon.

A single lamp post illuminated the sidewalk, and Harry wondered if the lamps had always been put out in this part of Godric's Hollow, or whether Snape had had a hand in it.

It wasn't by any means very late in the night. The many houses lining the surrounding streets of Godric's Hollow was still alight with sound, but the church more often closed a bit past seven. It was approaching eight-thirty in the evening.

The gates swung open easily as he pushed one side of it. The hinges were well oiled and the paint wasn't more worn than it ought to be. The walkway and steps leading to the front doors was swept clean of dead leaves and flower petals.

As he stood before the church doors, he took a tentative look over his shoulder. There wasn't an Auror in sight, and the fact that he couldn't tell exactly where Hermione and her Shadow Kin were made him feel strangely devoid of company.

But he knew everyone was there to watch his back. Hermione, Lucien and Solomon were there in case vampires and werewolves showed up. The rest, the Aurors, Shacklebolt, Remus, Ron, and Tonks were there to take note of every single presence within the vicinity. They were there with magical instruments tuned to detect magical signatures. They were there to serve as back up if things took a turn for the worse.

Harry reassured himself that he was well looked-out for.

As he peered through the stained-glass windows and the crack of the church doors, he could see the faint flicker of candlelight.

He fished a couple of Galleons from his pocket and pushed the door open. Unlike the gate, the door creaked, and its sound reverberated through the empty chapel.

The candles illuminating the petitioners' station bobbed brightly, casting dancing lights on the altar.

He looked around him, thinking that it seemed silly to tell him where to sit when the chapel wasn't big enough, nor crowded enough to need a designated spot to meet, especially since Snape knew Hermione wouldn't be able to unravel the letter during the day.

Nevertheless, Harry slid into the third pew on the pulpit's side.

He took in his surroundings, wondering if he should call for Vicar Roy, but he found that he couldn't bring himself to raise his voice in a chapel, which was strange considering there wasn't much religion in him to begin with.

There was a sound from the front, where the door connecting the rectory to the chapel was situated.

Vicar Roy emerged and his welcoming smile prompted Harry to smile back. "Late visit?"

Harry nodded, moving a bit to indicate that the vicar should join him. Harry supposed Snape wouldn't object to the vicar sitting for a while. This was the vicar's home, after all, and Vicar Roy never really stayed very long to chat. The man understood that at hours like these, people came to his chapel for solace, not company.

Vicar Roy sat, hands folded together on his lap, as if in prayer. He trained his eyes to the front, where the pulpit was. "I'm closing up rather late myself. The graveyard's night-watchman said he was expecting company and he thought maybe the chapel would be more accommodating for their meeting than his cottage out back. Tombstones don't exactly bear warm welcomes."

Harry stared curiously at Vicar Roy, stifling the suspicion creeping up on him. Was this really Vicar Roy or was this Snape, poly-juiced to seem like him? The fine lines on the old man's face seemed more weathered than the last time Harry saw him, but there didn't seem to be anything amiss from the haunted look the man usually wore.

Vicar Roy must have felt him staring because he shifted his gaze, meeting Harry's suspicious eyes.

The vicar did not seem to take offense. Instead, he smiled sadly. "Every time you come here, your eyes look to be carrying a burden heavier than ever. So young yet so weighted…"

Harry pulled his gaze away, unsure whether he wanted his soul read. There had never been any indication that the vicar was a wizard, but the vicar had always been adept at sensing certain things about him. Probably years of experience. Tens upon hundreds of parishioners, friends, and strangers who have come into his chapel seeking something had trained him to see beyond what his eyes beheld.

Fumbling for something to do other than meeting the vicar's gaze, Harry presented the galleons, shoving it into the vicar's hands and telling him it was for the orphanage.

The vicar smiled his small smile, blessing him and his kindness.

Face warming, Harry said nothing in response.

"I always wondered…" continued the vicar. "Whatever happened to that young lady you brought here those years ago? The one whose mother was Anglican."

Harry was mildly surprised. He looked up and saw the vicar examining the Galleons, and it prompted Harry to wonder whether Hermione had given her donations in the same currency. She might have-on occasion if not all the time, to be able to elicit some recollection of Hermione in the vicar.

"She… um," Harry began cautiously. "She disappeared for a while, but she came back. She… she came back…" That was all Harry could say, really. The thought that he would go into the complicated details of Hermione's death, rising, disappearance, and return was wearying in the extreme, and that was if Vicar Roy didn't throw him out of the church for telling such tales in the first place.

But Vicar Roy did not seem inclined to pry. He merely smiled and nodded. "Ultimately, that is what's important, isn't it? That she came back?"

"Yes. That's what I think."

"You must have her with you one of these days. I should like to meet her properly, even if she doesn't know whether she is Anglican or not."

"Actually, vicar… I reckon she isn't and that she's quite sure of it this time."

"Ah, well, like I said, I should like to meet her, anyway. The Lord distinguishes not between the sheep of His fold and that of another if one happens to wander into His flock, and so shall I follow His example, eh?"

Harry was inclined to believe that if sheep like Hermione wandered into this Lord's flock, this Lord-fellow would take notice quickly, especially when she began to feed off the other sheep. But of course he said nothing. "I'll-er, tell her that."

"Besides, whatever flock she returned from, what matters is that her heart remained true to the things the Lord taught us to honor. Love, kindness, honesty…"

Harry smiled faintly and thought maybe Hermione's life mirrored his own in a certain way. They both did what they had to do but never really forgot the things they fought for, which were things possibly similar to what Vicar Roy's Lord required of his followers. "Yeah."

The vicar nodded, patting his shoulder. "The path to righteousness is never easy, my son, but rest assured… Someone up there-whatever faith, creed, or theology you keep-is taking careful note. Everything comes bouncing right back, especially when you do well upon your fellowmen."

At this, Harry felt an urge to fiddle with the pendant on his chest and realized it wasn't there. He had removed it earlier for fear that it would react badly to the hallowed grounds. The absence of it now only served to bring it to the forefront of his mind.

The Oracle was a kind of theology; one that Yasmin seemed to keep and take very seriously, judging by the way she reacted in La Senorita when Hermione mocked it. Yasmin had lived the last five hundred years, successfully leading vampire society from one era to another, supposedly as a result of heeding the Oracle's advice. She had gotten along this far in her immortal life; surely, that meant the Oracle wasn't inclined to lead her astray. Then again, the Oracle was not a device that weighed right from wrong. It showed the way, whether the way was righteous or not, but did it ever mete reward? In that case, did it mete punishment?

The vicar, perhaps thinking that he had given Harry something to think about, seemed satisfied as he rose from the pew. The Galleons had smoothly disappeared within the confines of his dark robes. "I better be on my way. There are some things that need doing in the rectory. If you see Thaddeus, please tell him not to forget to blow out the candles when he is done with his guest."

With that said, the vicar left.

Harry was left to ponder on these matters until a rickety old man came through the door from the graveyard. The swish of his coat, followed by the heavy clop of his cane on the marble floor echoed through the church. His short grayish hair was thinning at the top and his face was heavily wrinkled. He was a rather tall man; slightly taller than Harry, and he held his shoulders straight in spite of the limp.

Without fuss, he slid up beside Harry in the pew.

"Snape?" Harry asked.

The night-watchman cleared his throat. "I don't recollect that name. 'Fraid you're stuck with naught but Thaddeus at this time, but a man, probably this Snape fellow of yours, gave me this, and he said that I should give it to the bloke who happened to be on the third pew from the pulpit. I reckon you're it."

Harry eyed the man warily and looked at the object in his hand. It was a grimy old broken record. It said "I'm Going to Make You Love Me," by the Supremes and the Temptations on the label. Harry hoped Snape didn't mean it. The thought that Snape was going to make anyone love him was enough to bring up Harry's lunch, dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast.

He stared at the Portkey, wondering if he should take it. He fished out his pocket watch and looked at the time. There was no time to make preparations for the trip.

Besides, he thought. Draco did say…

This was a trap. It had to be.

It was now or never.

Hermione's going to kill me if I use this Portkey.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, that has never quite stopped him before from doing what he thought was necessary.

"I suppose I am 'it,'" Harry said, taking the broken record. "Thanks for this. Erm, Vicar Roy said you should close up after you're done."

Thaddeus nodded, waving off his concerns with a gentle bob of his hand. "Aye. I'll get to that."

"Good. I'll just… think I could spend a few moments out on in the graveyard?"

"Go ahead. Not like you're going to disturb anything out there."

If Harry were ever inclined, he could disturb something out there, but he wasn't going to tell Thaddeus that. "Listen… I really need you to do something for me. Is that alright?"

"I'm a grave night watchman, son. I'm not exactly the busiest bloke in these parts."

"Right. I was just hoping-well, I'm going to step out for a while and… if I'm not back in twenty minutes, please go out to the front gate and tell my friends that-umm, you gave me a broken record and I used it. Tell them I've been gone twenty minutes and that I've got Tonks's-erm, lipstick with me. Just yell it out there. You won't see them, but they'd show themselves after you tell them what happened. Not until after twenty minutes, though. No need to worry them unnecessarily."

Thaddeus eyed him with a suspicious glimmer. "You're not one of 'em women-dressing blokes, are you?"

"Er… no. I can't stand the pantyhose. Too restricting." Harry didn't know where he found the balls to be snarky, but he thought it rather funny that Thaddeus was more worried about him being a transvestite rather than him mysteriously disappearing.

Thaddeus frowned, but the intelligent glimmer in the old man's gaze told Harry he wasn't fooling anybody. "Twenty minutes, then. Get you going, young man."

He hastened out of the pew and to the graveyard. He picked a spot that wasn't visible from the gate and hoped to Merlin he didn't have to stay longer than twenty minutes.

The graveyard was even thicker with mist. The wall lining the side farthest from the street restricted the flow of the slightest wind. The soil was a bit moist, Harry's trainers easily leaving imprints on the ground where he stood. He couldn't tell the fresh flowers from the dead ones under the poor lighting.

Taking one more moment for caution, Harry looked at the broken record.

You want answers? Then do it.

His lips pursed with determination. Clutching the Portkey, he activated it and felt the whoosh of magical transport.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry tumbled on a worn wooden floor, its splinters digging into the skin of his palms as he skidded slightly from the momentum. He swore softly, annoyed by his own inability to keep his balance. Over the years, he'd more or less mastered using a Portkey with reasonable grace, but it didn't surprise him in the least that Snape's Portkey was more difficult to manage.

Steadying himself, he gathered his senses and looked around him, trying to figure out where he was.

He was in a cramped room with an armchair and a sofa taking up most of what little space was available. The room was well lit with candles. To one side of the room was a narrow staircase; to another was a door leading to what seemed to be a kitchen even tinier than the sitting room. There was a wealth of books stacked up on standing shelves and shelves hung from the backs of doors.

The faint odor of sewage wafted through the air, masked by the delicate smell of tea and the pungent smell of brewing potion.

Harry's gaze affixed on the tiny window up front where through the bad street lighting, he could see packed houses with tall chimneys.

The sound of footsteps clopped through the room and Harry whirled to face the stairs, whipping his wand out as he did so.

He beheld Severus Snape descending the stairs looking absolutely unbothered by Harry's agitation.

Snape reached the bottom step, his brow furrowing ever so slightly above his hooked nose. His oily dark hair hung loose about his face in strangled clumps, though it did not look quite as messy as Harry's hair on his best day. The man looked older from the time Harry last saw him. A few white hairs seemed to be pushing their way out of the roots of Snape's crown, but everything else about the man was still as black as ever. Clothes, shoes, eyes-probably even his soul, though if Harry believed anything Draco said-which Harry grudgingly admitted he did-this demon wasn't quite as blackened as Harry might have originally thought.

Hermione's words came to the forefront of his mind: "Making angels of demons."

At this point, anything was possible.

The potions master did not halt in his step, turning casually towards the kitchen as if Harry wasn't holding his wand in a threatening manner.

"About time you got here," Snape said from the kitchen in his usual haughty tone. "A few more minutes and that Portkey would have been nullified."

Harry kept his wand trained to the kitchen door as he spoke. "How did you even know I was going to use it? You ought to have thought that I had no reason to trust you."

Snape reappeared with a dainty cup and saucer, a teaspoon swirling in it in a clockwise motion. He held no other cup.

He sat on the armchair, picking the teaspoon from its task and tapping it lightly over, but not on, the rim with a slight flick before setting it gently down on the saucer holding the cup. "I had no idea if you would use it, Potter. Just that if you didn't, it would be your loss, not mine."

That brilliant flash of arrogance reminded Harry exactly why he hated Snape so much. He wanted to throw down his wand and throttle the man with his bare hands so badly that it took everything in Harry's will to restrain himself. Still clutching the wand, more tightly now than ever, Harry swallowed his anger and forced himself to think rationally.

"You have twenty minutes to tell me what this is all about, Snape," Harry said. "Beyond that, I couldn't vouch for what my companions would do, and don't think they won't find me. They will. I've made sure of that."

Snape scoffed. "With what? A tracing charm? Those carnival toys won't work here. The house is enchanted to scramble tracing implements. Not to mention the fact that Apparating within the perimeter of my wards will have the lot of your Aurors Splinched beyond recognition. At any rate, if you're so eager to know where you are, you could just ask, you know."

Harry would give anything not to want to know, but the rational thing to do was to take Snape's offer. "Where am I?"

"New Mills, Derbyshire." Snape sipped his tea. "This used to be my home, but as you can imagine, I hardly stick around here long enough to get found out. Tonight is special. Do you feel special, Potter?"

Harry was about to make a scathing reply when Snape cut him off smoothly.

"But let's not waste anymore time on useless chit-chat. You have some questions, I believe."

Harry bit back the urge to tell him that he didn't ask for this meeting, but that would fall under "useless chit-chat." Organizing his thoughts, Harry began. "Did you enter into an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa Malfoy to protect Draco?"

Snape looked surprised, though his eyebrow merely arched as he continued to sip his tea. He answered after a moment. "Yes."

"And in doing so, did you have to kill Albus Dumbledore for it?"

"Perhaps."

"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore because he asked you to?"

Snape's frowned, looking horribly annoyed. "These questions are useless. I could be lying to my teeth and you would not have a clue-"

Harry reached out with his Legilimens, taking rude snatches from Snape's mind to confirm the truth behind Snape's answers. Harry was just about to accomplish just that when the old potions master predictably scrambled to heave him out and shut all his mental doors.

Snape rose from his seat, sloshing the tea over the rim of the cup and spilling it on the saucer. Snape's pallor momentarily dissipated in the flush of his anger. He stared daggers at Harry for a few heartbeats before he brusquely set his cup and saucer down on the burnish-worn coffee table. "Well, now. You did manage to learn a few new tricks, didn't you? Be that as it may, you're still asking the wrong questions. You have gotten this far, so make use of it, unless of course you're still leaving all the thinking to that Know-It-All, in which case I should have just sent for her. Perhaps then we'd get somewhere."

Satisfied that he had managed to rile Snape up, Harry gathered his bearings.

They stared at one another across the room and Harry found that he had to summon the courage to ask the one question that needed answering right now.

Finally, Harry asked it. "Am I a Horcrux?"

Snape sniffed haughtily. "Your scar contains it, but yes, basically, you are a Horcrux."

Harry felt his stomach drop, a wave of despair swallowing him. He didn't need to find out if Snape was telling the truth. Hermione already suspected it, and there was hardly a reason for Snape to lie about it, especially if he was working for Voldemort for real. He controlled his emotions, willing his legs to hold up. "Why didn't you just say so on the letter you left with Viktor?"

"Because knowing the kind of dunderhead Gryffindor that you are, you would likely fling yourself off a bridge or hang yourself in an effort to destroy the Horcrux within you, and you're useless to me dead, Potter."

Harry frowned. "I'm not particularly suicidal, you know."

"Aren't you? For the people you love, you seem to be. Next question."

Reigning in his temper, Harry complied. "Is the Soul Harvest dependent on the fact that Voldemort's made a Horcrux of me?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. When I first began manufacturing the spell, I relied heavily on theoretical magiks of a Horcrux inhabiting a living being. That the Horcrux hadn't adversely affected you; that it was Lily's magic that helped create it; that your situation was unique to the events, people and the magic influencing it. The Soul Harvest is specifically designed to work because of you and for the Dark Lord. It will work for no one else. It has taken me years, but I've managed to perfect it… in theory. You understand why I cannot exactly test it."

"Of course," Harry said sarcastically. He recalled some of the details in Snape's first letter; the one Snape left for Viktor. "Can it really make him immortal?"

"It can. There have been obscure theories relating to the harvesting of other souls to obtain immortality. Vampires drink blood to sustain a livable existence. The exchange of mortal blood and vampire blood creates immortality. The drinking of mortal blood by vampires to revitalize their bodies is tied to the blood-soul theories. Living blood is the channel upon which they take what makes a soul immortal. They do not have to take souls whole, as you know, but the blood makes them beautiful and powerful. Without that essence, they become worn husks; nothing but ugly creatures that thirst endlessly. So the theory of taking someone's soul to sustain one's own body is feasible, and the fact that souls somehow replenish themselves when you leave a large part of it with its owner helps the theory along. The charms and potions infused in the ritual of the Soul Harvest will allow the Dark Lord to infuse your soul into his, destroy you, reclaim his former 'health', for lack of a better term, and seal his immortality without the bother of turning into a vampire."

"And this will only work for him?"

"Only him. It won't even work for you. The spell wasn't made for you, after all. You're only an ingredient."

Harry sucked in his breath. "What use is this information to me, then? Other than doing everything to prevent Voldemort from getting his hands on me?"

"There is a moment in the spell where your soul and the Dark Lord's are removed from your body. Essentially, at that point, your soul and his aren't fused yet, and it means that the Horcrux is removed from you altogether. If your body is bereft of your soul, your body becomes inanimate. But you can get your soul back into your body, Horcrux gone to boot, and you can destroy the Dark Lord once and for all."

"In theory."

"Of course. Nothing is absolute. If your soul does not go back, you lose your opportunity to kill him and he becomes immortal and powerful. I'm quite certain that he could still be killed, but probably not through any ordinary means."

"Excellent options," said Harry, sarcastically.

"Impatient, as usual," said Snape in a silky tone. "The removal of both souls from your body shall be precipitated by a fast-acting potion that the Dark Lord himself will give you to drink. Perhaps you can just let him do that and hope that once your soul is infused into his, you would be able to retain enough of yourself to destroy him from within. Of course, that also means you would be destroying yourself. It is a partially unsavory outcome, but at least you might be able to stop him once and for all. Unfortunately, there's no guarantee that any part of you will remain once he melds his soul with yours. It boils down to the fact that I manufactured the spell for him and no one else. There was no help for it. He was constantly looking over my shoulder the entire time I was creating the spell. Any deviation-such as one that would allow you to keep your faculties once you're fused with him-would have gotten me a quick trip to what Dumbledore called the 'Next Great Adventure.' Forgive me if I don't find anything particularly great about it."

"That's some option."

"It gets worse, I assure you. I have, through no easy means, created-not a counter-acting potion, but a supplement of sorts. I will give you this potion shortly."

"And what does this supplemental potion do?"

"It draws your soul back into your body after the first potion separates it from you."

"But?"

"Well, well. You've acquired some intelligence after all."

"Just get to the point already."

Snape picked up his cup of tea again and waved his wand at it. Harry saw smoke rise above the rim in swirling wisps. Snape took his time.

Harry said nothing, seething in his silence.

Snape sipped more of his tea and finally spoke. "The Revivisco potion is taken before the soul harvesting potion is ingested, otherwise… well, you can't exactly move your body about without your soul in it, much less get it to drink the Revivisco potion without the Dark Lord noticing. The Revivisco potion, once taken, will activate once your soul and the Dark Lord's are separated. Your soul comes back to you, Horcrux-free, and the Dark Lord's soul-fragments are vulnerable, free from their protective vessels. How you will use your time back in your body is up to you, but I suggest you make quick work of destroying the Dark Lord. You will only get that one chance."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Why? Is there a time limit on it?"

"This is where it gets worse, Potter. I am uncertain about the Revivisco potion's… after effects. As you might imagine, to have one's soul torn from one's corporeal form is unnatural in the extreme. Its effects are usually most unsavory."

Harry knew this, but he needed details. "How unsavory?"

"Think about it, Potter. If you happen to get your arm torn off, you simply can't sew the arm back on by its skin because there are nerves and muscle and bones that will need mending, too. If you don't put everything back the way it used to be, the arm will simply shrivel, die, and fall off, possibly taking the rest of the body down with it. The Revivisco 'sews' the soul back on, but I could not be sure if the potion does so completely… I know not whether there is magic powerful enough to fully understand the mechanics of what binds a soul to one's body. I can only make an educated guess, make the potion as effective as I can, though I cannot be sure if the mending of the rift between your body and soul would endure…"

Harry's breath caught as he realized exactly what Snape was trying to say. "You're saying I could die."

"Sooner than you'd like, if you wish to be accurate."

"And why can't you just give me a potion to remove Voldemort's soul fragment from my body? Why does it have to tear my soul from me, too?"

"Are you not listening to me, Potter? I am not without the Dark Lord's supervision. He insists on certain specifications and I have to deliver such to him."

Harry refused to give in. "Is there a potion to remove his soul fragment from me without removing my soul with it?"

"In theory, there is."

"But?"

"But you still need him to call his soul from you. I told you… this spell and all the potions that precipitate it-it was designed for him. He is the only one who can make it work. The potion he will give you would come directly from his potions lab, not mine, even if I was the one who fashioned the recipe. The Dark Lord trusts no one. I can only give you the Revivisco supplemental potion. It is the best I could do."

Harry's hands balled into fists. "Your 'best' sucks. Can't you make adjustments to the potion? Make it so I don't need Voldemort to do it?"

"As usual, you fail to understand the implications of everything I've told you. This isn't like copying and pasting an entry on to an existing recipe to make a slightly different dish, Potter. If you want me to make such a potion, it will take another few years. I have to start from scratch. Everything I have done regarding this spell had to do with the special conditions surrounding what happened to you, your mother, and the Dark Lord on the night of October 31, 1981. What you are telling me to do right now is to force a square peg into a round hole. It will take years to formulate a potion that would do what you want, and both of us haven't got that much time! I'm on the verge of being 'disposed' of and with the spell done, the Dark Lord is likely to launch his greatest siege any day now! Once you face him, I'm completely done for. It's either I escape or I do not. But that is not your concern-"

"You bet it isn't," Harry hissed menacingly. "You're telling me that I have to die to save the Wizarding World. That I have no other option-"

"Don't be silly. There is another option. You can refuse to take any potion and draw this war out until you find a better solution, maybe. Never mind if more lives are taken through the course of the prolonged war. You still get to be the Boy Who Lived."

That was about it. Harry realized that he wasn't a little boy anymore, that he was taller than Severus Snape and bigger. It took all but two strides to reach the potions master, grab him by the collar of his robes, and shake him.

Snape's cup rolled from his hands, shattering to the floor at the same moment Snape's wand went flying from the potions master's grip. He paled more than usual, though he comported himself with surprising dignity in spite of his undignified situation.

The surprise on Snape's face was evident and Harry realized that he was better than Snape now, stronger and more powerful.

Too bad bringing him in would put Voldemort on alert, or I'd have hauled him straight to Azkaban.

"Now, you listen to me," Harry said through grit teeth. "If you think for one second that I ever wanted to be the Boy Who Fucking Lived, then you have absolutely no idea who you're up against. The Wizarding World is a responsibility I'd only too gladly give up to someone who says he could do this better than I can, but no one's stepping up. Nobody could do it, so I'm it, Snape. I'm it, and that just means I have no choice. Boohoo-fucking-hoo for me, then, eh? But believe it or not, I'm over it. It doesn't make things any less crappy than they are, but I'm not going to let you stand there and tell me that I'm some punk who wants attention. I do want to live, and if I do, it won't be for fame and glory as the Daily Prophet habitually puts it, so don't give me shite because I have so much more to live for than you do." With that, Harry let Snape go none-too-gently.

Snape stumbled back slightly, caught his balance, and straightened his robes, saying nothing and never minding the broken shards of teacup at his feet. His recovery time was impeccable. "The Revivisco potion is about ready. From the moment you drink it, it will remain active in your system for a maximum of seventy-two hours and shall be activated at the right moment after you ingest the Soul Harvesting potion. Have you destroyed the staff yet?"

Harry debated the merits of telling Snape.

Snape decided the matter for him. "If you have not, or if you cannot, then I've now given you a way to do it. I hope I don't have to explain how."

Harry didn't reply, instead, he brought forth more questions. "Why did you address all your letters to Hermione? You could have addressed the letters straight to me."

"Aside from the fact that the Know-It-All's tolerably more intelligent than you, you mean?"

"Just answer the question."

Snape lifted his nose haughtily. "I needed to give her proper motivation to seek you. I had to bring the two of you back together. I didn't know where she was, but I had the means to reach her through Krum, and Henry Dresler."

"You know Henry?"

"Of course I do, Potter. You're not the only vampire expert on this side of reality."

"Does Henry know you?"

"Not likely. When I thought about using him to deliver my letter to Granger, I wasn't sure if he'd do it or if Granger would trust the letter when she got it. It was a shaky plan, but I thought maybe I had to try. You must understand that at that point, the letter I left with Viktor wasn't a sure thing, either. I was doing all I can with the least risk of getting caught. When I tipped Henry's werewolf about the burning of the Granger home-"

"You were the informant?"

Snape seemed terribly annoyed. "Well, who else would it be? It's times like these I remember how much of an exasperating student you were. You and Weasley, both. Dunderheads."

Harry bit back his acidic retorts and let Snape go on.

"I thought maybe the tip would be enough to get Henry's confidence, and I had hoped Henry would put in a good word with Granger. But then my meeting with Draco Malfoy presented a better opportunity, so I took that route instead. I figured that if you couldn't follow the clues, then I suppose the rest of the Wizarding World's doomed, putting their hopes on an idiotic, completely and utterly mediocre Potions-student…"

"You are a sick, sadistic-"

"The point being… you and Granger were already together, as Draco said. Nauseating, really, but there was no help for it."

Harry let Snape's words sink in. "What's so important about getting me and Hermione back together? Yasmin seemed to want it, Voldemort seems to hate the idea, and you've been doing your part. All three of you aren't exactly cherubic little Cupids, if you get what I mean."

Snape pursed his lips. "Quite frankly, Potter, I'm not very sure. All I know is the Dark Lord doesn't want you together, so I aimed to do the opposite, hoping it was some kind of important twist to this war. I don't know about Yasmin's reasons, and I especially do not understand why Janus would want to keep Hermione one minute and then seek to destroy her the next, but I've heard the Dark Lord and Janus speak of an Oracle. I can only hope you know something about it."

The pendant…

"I might."

"Then you would know better. Anything else, Potter? We seem to be running out of time, according to what you told me earlier. Twenty minutes, was it?"

Harry didn't bother to answer that. "What did Voldemort promise vampires to get them to help him?"

Again Snape averted his eyes, and Harry was surprised to note that it was because of embarrassment. "I don't know. The Dark Lord speaks of retaining my expertise on whatever matter they agreed on when the vampires are present, but he does not speak to me of it in private. I'm thinking his promises are false, both in meeting his end of the bargain with the vampires and in 'retaining' me, if you get what I mean."

Harry did. Snape was living on borrowed time now.

"Now, if there's nothing else, come with me. You're going to ladle the Revivisco potion into vials…"

"I don't have to take orders-"

"Be quiet, you fool. It's to your advantage I make you do this. You will take with you three vials. One for you to test-make sure I haven't put poison in it. The other two will be your surplus. If you ladle the potion yourself, you don't have to be afraid I've poisoned your surplus supply behind your back. Understand?"

Harry flushed, embarrassed. "Yeah."

Snape did not look the least bit appeased. He muttered epithets of the vilest kind about Harry's so-called intellect as he led Harry to the kitchen, which happened to be only a few steps away.

The cramped space had Harry standing almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Snape and it was evident that neither of them was too pleased by that, especially when they both kept knocking their elbows into things.

"You're a menace, Potter," hissed Snape, holding his ingredients table steady when Harry's hip rattled it.

"If your kitchen weren't such a bloody mess-"

"Just get the potion and go. I implore you."

Harry did just that, frowning as he did so. "I'm not exactly thrilled to stick around, you know. Bad enough that this place is inhospitable, you just happen to be around to make it worse. I believe I never told you this, though I've always wanted to: You bloody sucked as a professor!"

"And you think your opinion matters to me, because…?"

Harry snorted as he capped the first vial.

Snape frowned. "Can you not move any faster?"

Harry ignored Snape's prodding. He diligently continued his work, but he asked another question. "Let me just get a few things straight, Snape. It seems to me that with everything you've told me, you want me to-oh, walk up to Voldemort, knock on his door and tell him, 'Pardon me, but I think I'm going to drink that potion of yours now so I can make you immortal. Unbeknownst to you, I have ingested a second potion that would surprise you enough to succumb to my power.' How am I doing?"

"How you apply what I've told you tonight is your problem, not mine."

"Yes, but you've implied the course of action I should take." Harry capped the second vial and proceeded on to fill the third.

"I've implied nothing. At the risk of sounding like a complete moron, I'll say only this, 'You are the author of your own destiny.'"

"I've heard that said by two of the most intelligent people I know, in their own fashion. It sounded better coming from them. You make it sound like a cheap greeting card."

Snape's eyes narrowed but he made no further comment. "Are you not done with that third vial yet?"

"Just." Harry capped the third vial, tucking all three vials into his robe. What little remained of the potion in the cauldron fizzled and dried, disappearing into thin air.

"Good! Then get out. I've no further use for you."

Harry frowned. "Don't I even get a Portkey back?"

"Do I look like the Department of Transportation? Step out of the wards and Apparate, for Merlin's sake. Can you still not do anything sensible without someone having to telling you how? Some things never change, I suppose."

Harry grit his teeth. "Yeah. You're still an oily, unpleasant git."

"Good bye, Potter, and good riddance." With that, Snape swung his door open, pushed Harry face down to the side of the front-door's steps, and left him in the dark with a resounding bang of his door.

Swearing potently, Harry swiped out his Invisibility Cloak and draped it over himself. He walked a fair distance away, through the cobbled streets and low-cost brick houses. He reached a Fish-and-Chips shop, from which he could see the river.

A little further down, he found a spot to Apparate and disappeared with a crack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry reappeared in a dark alley, just a short distance away from the Anglican church. Keeping his invisibility cloak tight around him, he peered around the corner and saw a whole group of Aurors gathered around the front of the church. Hermione, Solomon, and Lucien hung further away with Remus, Ron, and Tonks. Thaddeus stood about, looking a bit displaced.

Harry checked his pocket watch and saw that it was five past the twenty-minute mark. He cursed under his breath, pulling off his Invisibility cloak and hastily made his way towards the group.

It was Hermione who saw him first, then Ron, who alerted everyone to his approach. Ron was rolling his eyes and looking exasperated. Harry couldn't exactly decipher the looks on everyone else's faces, but it varied between exasperation and sheer resignation, except for Hermione. She looked pissed.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him menacingly as he neared. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was likely to attack and bite his throat out.

"Erm," he said. "Hi?"

She went up to him and began whispering fiercely. "I am so angry at you right now! You can't possibly comprehend how much!"

Harry held his hands up in surrender. "I had to do it!" he whispered back.

They maintained their breathy debate, never minding everyone else who might overhear them anyway.

"You can't just do that sort of thing without preparing for the worse!" she hissed beneath her breath. "I knew you were going to do this sort of thing!"

"Look, I'm back aren't I? I'm unharmed and I got loads of vital information."

"Well, that's beside the fucking point, isn't it? If something had happened to you, do you think that would have mattered? You'll do this again! I know you will! So I'll have to punish you! NO SEX!"

"What!"

Is she serious? Harry thought, not without a bit of panic.

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, as much as we like to watch you two whispering sweet nothings into each others faces…"

Hermione threw up her hands and gave a long, exasperated sound, something between a sigh and a growl. "Forget it! Harry's right… he's back, he's okay, and all this is making me look like a cow! I'm over the whole thing, I swear…" She shot Harry a daggered look and crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "I was worried about you, you stupid git!"

Harry expelled a silent breath and shot Ron a relieved look. So it wasn't going to be as bad as he thought if she could say something like that.

Ron merely arched an eyebrow as he shook his head. Ron wasn't about to start yelling at him for what he did, but that was only because Ron was done yelling at him for such things. So were Remus, Tonks, and Shacklebolt.

With that, everyone began to pack up, Apparating one by one as soon as Shacklebolt gave clearance.

"Meet you in Grimmauld Place," Remus told him, gesturing for Lucien so he could be Side-alonged.

Ron took Solomon and everyone else Apparated away.

Harry draped his arm over Hermione and squeezed gently. "Sorry."

She glared up at him. "That was dangerous. It could have been a trap."

"It wasn't."

"It could have been. I can't believe you went and did it even after what we talked about earlier!"

"Well… to tell you the truth, I considered what Draco said…"

"Bullocks! You just needed a reason to go and use that Portkey!"

"That too, but I'm glad I did… I think."

"What does that mean?"

He recalled everything he talked about with Snape and he felt a whole wave of different emotions: Despair, weariness, sadness, hope, loss, fear, and many other things he hadn't sorted out yet. The worse of them must have shown on his face because her irritation quickly morphed into concern.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Let's go back to Grimmauld Place, alright? We'll talk about it there."

"Harry-"

"Later," he said gently. The look of mounting fear in her gaze pierced his heart and he stifled his dismal thoughts so he could manage a reassuring smile. "It's going to be alright. Ready to Apparate?"

Eyeing him doubtfully, she nodded, and holding her close, he Apparated them to Grimmauld Place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Stay tuned for the next installment!