FIC: Abyssal Blaze [Hermione, Luna, Neville, Snape]
Title: Abyssal Blaze
Author: celina_rose
Prompt: # O25 by sirmioneforever
Characters: Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape
Word Count: 7000
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Character Death
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This was an absolutely lovely prompt to write for, and definitely something I’ve never done before. I hope I have been able to do it justice, and hopefully my pacing is not too fast. A big thank you to the mods for organising this lovely fest, and to my beta R.S. for reading through it!
Summary: There is a bitter chill descending over magical Britain which seems to be more than the usual winter cold. Several people are reminded of when the Dementors roamed free but it can't be them as they've been banished, or have they?
Hermione was jerked awake by the train halting at Hogwarts station. She stared at the empty compartment blankly for a few moments. The first time that she had been in one of them, she had run into the two people who would later become her closest friends. The last time she had been here, however, was associated with unpleasant memories. Just after the end of the War, when the entire Wizarding World had been in chaos and her own little world had been falling apart.
Alighting from the train, she noticed that it seemed to be unusually cold, even for the chilly Scottish fall. She had not been to Wizarding Britain in a while, and had hence initially chalked up the chill to the effects of travelling in a carriage with open windows. However, now that she stood on the familiar station, she got the feeling that something was inexplicably wrong.
It wasn’t just the bitter cold. The air itself seemed to be shadowed by gloom. The skies were definitely darker than she remembered. It was as if someone had washed a little colour away from the world.
Years of dealing with a Dark Lord had sharpened her intuition, and had taught her not to ignore it. Deciding she would speak with Minerva about the situation as soon as she got the chance, she cast a quick warming spell on her cloak and walked towards the little village that neighboured Hogwarts.
As she walked through Hogsmeade, she wondered if it had always been this quiet. She had been looking forward to coming here again. It was always far more lively than the grey castle. However, on this particular day, there were hardly any people on the roads, and even those that were seemed almost melancholic. There didn’t seem to be any joy in the entire village.
She smiled warmly at a young boy of about seven who was running across the street before her. The little child stopped in his tracks and looked at her. Instead of returning her smile, as she had hoped he would, the boy simply stared at her sadly from his large azure eyes, before running back into his house.
She paused for a while, looking at the cottage the boy had disappeared into, then decided that the stroll wasn’t worth it. She took out her wand, and apparated right to the gates of Hogwarts. The large metal beasts creaked and croaked, reluctantly opening the doors for Hermione.
Her uneasiness only intensified as she walked into the large stone castle and found her way to the Headmistress’ office. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, stating her name.
A curt "Come in" led to the gargoyle opening the door for her, and soon enough, she found herself standing in front of the Headmistress. The older witch stood up to embrace her, and Hermione’s keen eye caught a hint of the burdens that had given Minerva a somewhat haggard appearance - one only a careful observer would notice.
Returning the hug, and subsequently enquiring absent-mindedly about the Headmistress’ health, she began to look around the small office. It looked very different from what it had looked like in Dumbledore’s day. Nonetheless, it clearly belonged to a very busy, albeit meticulous, witch. Inside it, she felt far more comfortable than she had in any other part of the castle, or even in Hogsmeade. It felt fairly safe and much like the Hogwarts she remembered.
Thinking about this reminded her that she had to speak to Minerva about the uncanny cold she had felt outside. Warily, she brought it up.
Minerva’s eyes inadvertently widened when Hermione spoke about it.
"It’s just been there for a few days. The Prophet also spoke about it once or twice, but everyone is sure that it is simply a cold year." Minerva tried to brush it off, but her voice wavered slightly. Hermione considered pushing the matter, but eventually decided against it. She needn’t have bothered to think of a change of topic, for the other woman had already begun to hand her the schedule she would have to follow and the classes she would be teaching as a Muggle Studies Professor. Minerva began to explain the accommodation arrangements, but Hermione smiled and told her she knew where most of the teachers’ quarters were.
Minerva shook her head in response.
"It has all been shifted around since the last time you were here, I’m afraid. Professor Snape no longer occupies the dungeons, even though he still teaches Potions. He now lives on the third floor, in the corridor next to the one where the Room of Requirement is. It was originally to be allotted to the Muggle Studies teachers, as I am sure you know. Now, however, you will have to stay in the Astronomy tower, on the floor below Professor Sinistra’s classes. Winky will take you there," Minerva said, sorting through the parchments on her desk.
Hermione put her doubts aside for the time being and followed the house elf who had apparated beside her, through the winding halls and staircases and into the tall tower. She wondered what her younger self would have thought about Winky being her elf. She had long given up SPEW, her ideas having fizzled out soon after she realised that most elves wanted to serve.
Her rooms, she found, were modestly, but adequately furnished, and they led directly into the classroom where she would be teaching. She was somewhat glad that the Ministry had decided to reintroduce Muggle Studies only in the NEWT years for the first few academic years, before making a decision on whether the younger students should also be taught the subject, since it meant that she too would have some time to reacquaint herself with everything.
She sat on the bed and took out the schedules and papers she had been given, determined to at least plan out her lessons, given that the school would reopen in two days. As she settled down, a gust of wind blew open the window, letting in the freezing air.
Hermione looked up, surprised. She had been sure that the window had been bolted, and no gales could open bolts. A shadow seemed to pass across the window for a split second. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and keeping her papers aside, walked over to the windowpane. She looked out, and seeing nobody, shut the window again and made sure to bolt it tightly.
Having lost herself in her work, as she often did, she did not realise that the time had flown by. Before she knew it, Winky was calling her for supper.
She walked down to the Great Hall, which was empty except for a few of the teachers, sitting down finally on an empty chair between Professor Snape and Neville.
The Herbology Professor was cheerily chattering away with Luna, who now taught Care of Magical Creatures, but Professor Snape was lost deep in his own thoughts, while his face was twisted into a scowl.
She finished her dinner rather quietly and returned to her rooms.
She grew quite busy with the students after school began, and eventually all but forgot about her initial misgivings. The Prophet too, stopped printing about the growing cold, and turned its attention to the Quidditch season.
Hermione was pleasantly surprised when Neville asked her for a favour, one day.
"Would you mind coming with me to collect the arcene flowers tonight? They only bloom once a month and I can’t do it alone. Luna said she was busy," he said.
"Of course," Hermione replied, smiling.
Over the course of the day, she realised she was looking forward to the prospect. It had been a while since she had been out in Magical Britain, and although it would not be quite like the old times that she secretly enjoyed, she felt it would be fun.
When night-time rolled around, she sent a short missive to the Headmistress through Winky, despite the fact that Neville had assured her that he had informed Minerva, and set off towards the gates.
She found Neville waiting for her there, and as soon as they were out of Hogwarts’ wards, they apparated to the arcene fields.
The air was filled with the scent of freshly blooming arcene flowers. The trees of the Forbidden Forest, that bordered the fields, swayed gently in the light breeze.
"You’ll have to hold down the leaves while I get the flower," Neville whispered, not wanting to risk alerting any creatures, magical or otherwise, that lived in the forests nearby.
Hermione nodded in response. She had brought her gloves, knowing the leaves were poisonous, and she put them on. She bent and gently held the leaves open, while Neville removed the silver petals of the flower as she did so.
They had barely touched the next flower when something made Hermione look up. She saw a dark figure looming on the horizon, illuminated by the silver moonlight that made it look somewhat terrifying. She was slightly surprised to find that while she knew exactly what the creature was, it looked somewhat different from what she remembered.
Neville had been completely engrossed in carefully separating the shimmering flower from the stem. He turned to her only when he noticed her hands trembling and the leaves almost slipping from her grasp. He followed her gaze and nearly started with shock. The figure floated towards them at an alarming pace, seeming to grow larger and darker as it did so.
"It can’t be..." he whispered, his heart filling with dread as he remembered all the times he had seen the creatures. Words and faces that had been long forgotten returned at once to haunt him. He breathed deeply, trying to convince himself that it was a mere illusion.
Hermione felt the chill getting colder as it approached, her own mind starting to give way to the aura of grief and pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a few more shadows falling over the arcene flowers to her left. Grabbing Neville’s hand, she instinctively took out her wand and apparated them back to Hogwarts.
They both let out a breath they didn’t know they had been holding.
"I thought-" Neville began, but Hermione cut him off.
"So did I," she said. "But now, I think we need to first make sure that the children will be safe."
Neville nodded as they made their way to Minerva’s office.
"Hermione! Neville! I thought you two were out collecting arcenes. You’re back rather early." She sounded surprised and somewhat dismissive, but both the teachers in front of her had noticed her face go ashen when she had seen their expressions.
Hermione cut straight to the chase.
"We were," she said. "But it just so happened that we saw a few friends along the way."
She spoke to the Headmistress coldly, for perhaps the first time in her life, suspecting that the older witch had known all about it for a while.
"There were Dementors in the field," she added quietly, seeing that she would get no reply.
Minerva did not flinch. The initial astonishment had worn off, and her face had returned to its stoic self. She stared at Hermione and Neville with icy, hard eyes, almost as if she was daring them to continue.
Hermione was not fazed. Minerva McGonagall may have been her mentor and her friend, but nothing could excuse the fact that the Headmistress had endangered the lives of hundreds of students. Provided, of course, that she had known about the Dementors beforehand, and Hermione was inclined to think that she had.
"You are free to use the owlery to send a message to the Aurors. What else do you want me to do, Miss Granger?" There was no hint of friendliness in her tone. Although it was rhetorical, Neville decided that her question merited an answer.
"Send the children home." It was not a request. Neville sounded quite unlike the timid boy that his former Professor had known him to be.
"Why?" asked a deep voice behind them.
They turned to find Professor Snape standing in the doorway, with the usual frown on his face.
Neville inadvertently shifted slightly away, but Hermione had a large smirk on her face. Having known the Potions Master for years, she knew she could count on his support in the matter.
"Dementors are on the loose, Professor. Near the Forbidden Forest," she explained.
He paled, as she had expected. He also tightened his grip on the door frame, turning his knuckles white as he did so.
Hermione could see the gears turning inside his head. She knew he was a clever man, and it would not take him long to link the freezing weather, the Headmistress’ rather erratic behaviour, as well as the Dementors. She also knew that he would know exactly the amount of pain that the Dementors could cause, and that he would never let the children go through it.
He turned to Minerva calmly.
"Do as he says," he commanded.
Minerva stood stubbornly behind her ebony desk which she discreetly held on to for support, though she knew it was a losing battle now. Nonetheless, she lifted her chin higher, and looked her colleague straight in the eye, not saying a word, but also not budging from her position.
The former Death Eater certainly looked menacing enough to be one as he strode across the room. Suddenly, his wand was grazing the Headmistress’ throat.
"Do it," he hissed, and Neville shrunk back, even though he was standing quite a distance from Snape. Hermione laid a friendly hand on his shoulder, but he continued to stare at the floor as though he was willing it to swallow him.
She was reminded, by this little scene, of the fact that Severus Snape was a feared man and a Slytherin.
"A threat, Severus? I thought we were done with those after the War." Minerva sounded remarkably composed for someone in her position. Hermione admired her resolve, but not her motive.
"There will be another War if this is not stopped. A War where every witch and wizard in Britain will turn on Hogwarts for killing their children," Snape warned.
Hermione wondered if it was the vision of her precious school falling, that made the Headmistress step back. She saw the defeated look in Minerva’s eyes, though the witch still struggled to maintain her expression.
"I’ve given up," said the steel grey irises, but her face remained at a stern "No".
"There will be revelations you do not want."
Now this, Hermione mused, was a threat. She had no difficulty in believing that Snape knew things about Minerva that she would rather he didn’t, and that he would carry out his words if she did not comply.
Minerva sighed.
"Tomorrow morning," she proclaimed tiredly.
Hermione was incredibly relieved. Although she had been quite sure that Minerva would listen to Snape eventually, she was glad that it had worked.
Minerva had retired for the night, citing a headache, so Neville, Hermione and Snape were left to put up stronger wards around the castle, as well as check for open doors and windows, before they went back to their rooms.
It was nearly dawn when they were done, but Hermione found sleep evading her when she finally laid down, despite how tired she was. Now that the children would be safe, she could focus on the Dementors themselves. She found her mind wandering off to create theories about why and how they returned to Britain when they had supposedly been banished to a far off island.
There was something else about them that was bugging her. She was sure that they looked different from before, but she could not quite put her finger on it.
She was still awake when Winky came to knock on her door for breakfast.
When she went down to the Great Hall a few minutes later, it was full of chattering excited students, as always. They lowered their voices as she walked in, but soon started up again.
She had a sudden vision of a few Dementors descending upon the children from above, snuffing out their bright lives, one by one. The image sent shudders down her spine. Pushing the thought aside, she scanned the teachers’ table for the Headmistress.
Her eyes met Snape’s, and she found that he looked as confused as her by Minerva’s absence.
Minerva did not make an appearance throughout the meal. The house-elves claimed that they had not seen her since morning. Hermione nodded to Severus, and he stood up, just as the students were starting to get up from their tables.
They all turned towards him as he announced that the school would remain closed for an indefinite period of time until certain issues were resolved.
The hall rang with silence.
Every person in it, barring the those who had been privy to the information beforehand, stared at the Potions Professor in amazement. It took everyone a few moments to regain their senses. At once, Hermione and Neville told the students to return to their dormitories and begin the preparations for their journey home. They assured that their parents would be informed as soon as possible, while the other teachers simply gaped at them. As the students slowly filed out, murmurs arose around the teacher’s table.
"I’ve never heard anything like it! Shutting the school in the middle of the year?" Professor Vector said incredulously.
"Where on Earth is Minerva at a time like this? Surely she is not taken ill?" the Astronomy professor added, slightly concerned about her missing colleague.
Amidst the chaos, Hermione headed to the Headmistress’ office. She too, was curious about Minerva’s whereabouts, although she had not voiced it to her fellow teachers.
She knocked on the wooden door a few times, and waited for a response in the quiet corridor, which was in contrast to the rest of the school, that was absolutely bustling with activity. She received no reply to her knocks. She called out a few more times, before trying to open the door herself. Something was not right. The Headmistress would never behave in this manner, even if she was furious. The stubborn, stone-hearted gargoyle refused to budge. She hit it with a powerful Diffindo, and rushed inside as soon as the door disintegrated.
At first glance, the room appeared to be surprisingly empty. It was as though the person in the room had left only a few minutes ago. The papers and parchments lay scattered on the table, with a quill placed over them, The fire in the grate appeared to have been suddenly snuffed out. Hermione was just about to head towards the study adjoining the office, when she noticed something lying behind, or rather under, the desk. As she approached it, she saw the sight that made her stifle a scream.
Minerva McGonagall was lying on the floor of her office. Her face was pale and bloodless, and on it was frozen an expression that comprised in equal parts, of fear and horror. It looked grotesque, lying against the warm background of the mahogany floors. Hermione did not need to try and look for a pulse, for she knew that it would be useless. Nonetheless, she sank down next to the body and took the withered arm in her hand. No faint signs of life fluttered against her fingers. Minerva was quite cold.
She did not shed a single tear, as she walked to the Potions Master’s chambers, and told him, in a voice that was not quite her own, of the developments. He wasted no time in rushing to the scene, robes billowing behind him. His own face turned the colour of frost when he saw Minerva.
"No," he whispered to himself as he knelt by her gently. Despite their disagreements, he had always respected her.
Suddenly, his morose expression changed to a frown. He stood up, and looked at the former Headmistress as though he could not bring himself to believe it.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, barely getting the choked words out. She was not sure she wanted to know, but she asked anyway.
"Dementor’s Kiss," her companion replied, his voice raspy. He did not stay much longer in the room, that now reeked of gloom and fear and death. She knew he had memories that prevented him from doing so.
Now she understood. They had made a mistake. She had made a mistake. Professor McGonagall was not trying to endanger the children. She was trying to protect herself, just like any other person would.
This was the warning of the Dementors. This was them, saying that they would have what they wanted; and no witch or wizard, no matter how powerful, would prevent it.
The whole day passed in a blur. Anxious teachers, curious students, and concerned parents filled up the rest of her hours. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, when she walked into her room that night. Instead of hitting the bed, as her heavy eyelids were telling her to, she went towards the open window. Silver moonbeams streamed through it, caressing her face. She looked even sadder and smaller in the pool of light.
A long time ago, someone had told her that her impulsive nature would be the end of her. The younger Hermione had simply stared at the person, with her large chocolate brown eyes in confusion, at the time. She knew now, that the person had been quite right. She wondered if she would have felt less guilty if she had been the one hurt by the Dementors, instead of Minerva.
It was then that the tears came, glittering like little jewels, accompanied by the quiet sobs.
It was her fault, she told herself, again and again, as though the four words would absolve her. Instead, the guilt ate away at her, like a vile corrosive poison, reminding her every moment, for the next few days, that she had wrongly accused and killed a woman who had been no less than a mother to her.
The castle was quiet and empty, with all of the students gone. Few of the teachers spoke to Hermione anymore, partly because whispers in the hallways accused her of killing the former Headmistress, not believing that the Dementors had returned. Hermione didn’t mind. She preferred the solitude, spending her days in the library, now that she did not have any classes.
She lifted her head to see Luna walking towards her. The blonde witch quietly pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. She smiled, seeing the book Hermione was reading.
"They evolved from Aestii, you know," Luna said, nodding to the book.
"Hmm?" Hermione asked, absentmindedly. Her book, per usual, had completely absorbed her, and she felt somewhat annoyed at the person who had broken her reverie. She returned to the yellowed pages.
"The Dementors, I mean," Luna added, clarifying. She shifted slightly in her seat.
The name of the creatures she had been trying to study caught her attention.
"But that’s not possible!" she exclaimed. Luna shrugged. Hermione stared at her blankly for a few minutes, frowning, before rushing into the shelves on magical creatures.
When she returned, carrying a pile of old volumes in her arms, Luna had left. She set down the books on the table, causing a loud thump. Dust from the books flew into her face, making her cough. She picked up the first book, and sat down to begin flipping through it.
By the time night fell, she had read through about half of the books, but had discovered precious little. She already knew that the Aestii, the creatures that witches and wizards worshipped once upon a time, had disappeared a few centuries ago. Dementors had appeared soon after that, but she found it hard to believe that the creators of light had turned into creatures of darkness within the span of two years. Evolution did not take place so quickly. It was not improbable that they were related, however. It was with these thoughts that she went to bed that night.
The next few days passed with Hermione buried knee deep in books. Occasionally, Luna or Neville would pass through and offer some distraction, but they soon realised she did not want their company. Her books and research were her ways of keeping away all the various thoughts which constantly plagued her. The image of Minerva’s face, lying in her office, and that of all the Dementors she had seen during the War, found their way back into her subconscious nonetheless. To say her nights were sleepless would have been an understatement. To add to the terror of her harrowing nightmares, the nights often grew extremely cold, a fact which Hermione knew, could mean nothing good.
A few nights later, she felt someone shaking her awake through her troubled dreams. She opened her eyes blearily, to find her house elf standing beside her bed, looking unusually anxious. Seeing Hermione awaken, Winky’s frown transformed into a more relaxed expression.
"Missy Hermione is awake! Mistress is saving us!" the little elf exclaimed in joy.
Hermione sat up on her bed, utterly confused.
"Saving us? From what?" she asked, summoning her cloak. The night was freezing. Hermione could see her breath mist in front of her while the wind howled dangerously outside, and frost covered the window panes.
"The dark, evil people is coming to Hogwarts. Winky is seeing them at the gates. All other teachers is sleeping, so Winky is waking up Mistress," Winky replied.
The warning bells began to ring in Hermione’s mind. She was sure that the "people" that Winky spoke about were the Dementors, in light of recent events. She noiselessly opened the door to the the corridors, and ran down the stairs as fast as she could to the Great Hall.
Just as she opened the doors of the Hall to walk outside, the Dementors glided in. Panic built up in Hermione. Already she could feel her worst memories of despair and darkness clouding her mind. She had not thought her plan through, acting instead on pure Gryffindor impulsiveness. Alone, surrounded by a large number of these creatures, she had no chance of surviving, unless she concocted a plan quickly.
The tallest of the Dementors, the one she realised quickly to be the leader, moved closer to her. She felt hope slipping away, replaced by misery and fear, as the creature came closer. She had no way of producing a Patronus; not without some happy memories, which she found impossible to think of at that moment. She tightly shut her eyes and backed away. The Dementor advanced further. Suddenly Hermione felt a wall against her. She had no escape.
"Please..." she whispered, not daring to open her eyes to look at it.
She heard the creature laugh in reply, but the sound seemed to have echoed in mind, instead of in the hall. Her eyes shot open. Dementors did not speak, in her experience. Wizards and witches always seemed to just know what they wanted to communicated. The Dementor in front of her had not made any sound. At least, not physically. Had it somehow used Legilimency? She was certain she had heard the derisive laugh, if only in her head. She remembered reading about how Aestii used to communicate by directly speaking inside the subject’s minds, and Luna’s words came back to her.
The Dementor stepped back at her pensive look.
"We may speak," he said, in response to her unasked question. The voice in her mind was quieter, gentler.
She did not reply, but stared intently at the dark face looming over hers. Her fear, though still existent, had been pushed to the back of her mind, replaced by curiosity. The Dementor did not seem so terrifying anymore. The aura of darkness it emanated had considerably reduced. It made her wonder if a major component of the fear was simply in her own creation.
"We may feel, too. We feel pain, and hurt, and fear, and anger," the Dementor added, after a long pause. This time, it sounded pained, almost pitiful.
"Why didn’t you, then?" Hermione asked, her own tears welling with the intensity of the Dementor’s pain that it seemed to be exuding.
The creature turned away. Hermione grew bolder, and moved forward. When she drew close to the Dementor again, its pain had turned to crimson fury.
She stepped back in surprise, her breath catching at this sudden change. She could feel the its ire burning as it looked at her face.
"You!" it said, all softness gone from its voice. "All of you! Witches and wizards. You imprisoned us. Bound us so we may never break free. For centuries we have endured it. No more!" The last two words were spoken with such intensity that they made Hermione’s head throb. She crouched down in pain, and held her head in her hands.
When it spoke again, it was a whisper, a long lost memory, brushing softly against Hermione’s own thoughts.
"A man visited us that year. A wizard, who we welcomed as a friend. A wizard who called himself, Ekrizdis. He betrayed us, and cast a dark spell on all of us, who lived on the island, and beyond. It is a fate worse than mortal death. It cannot be completely broken, though we have succeeded partly. A spell to render us mute. A spell to render us dark and bind us to his wishes. Then came the leaders, the representatives of all the witches and wizard of this nation. They claimed to despise his actions, by following in his footsteps. They commanded us to imbibe the souls of the wretched, and the memories of the despicable. They made our home a prison - for us, and for those condemned."
Hermione did not know what to say. With each word, she had felt the acrimony rising in the Dementor and in herself. The fear, the hatred, and the thirst for revenge; swirling into a dark hurricane that surrounded her soul.
She knew what the Dementor wanted. The pure, golden souls of the young children, to numb the pain caused by the thousands of impure ones that they had absorbed.
It took a great amount of effort for her to return to herself, after the whirlwind of emotions that the Dementor had brought upon her.
"There are no children, here," she said, matter-of-factly.
"The Headmaster will persuade them to return." The Dementor was not fazed, neither were the hundreds of its fellow creatures standing behind it.
Hermione, knowing that Professor Snape, who was the interim Headmaster, would do nothing of the sort, shook her head, unable to resist a small smile.
"He will not," she said triumphantly. "Not even for fear of his own life."
"No," the Dementor agreed, surprising Hermione. "For fear of yours."
"Wrong again," Hermione says, having gotten over the initial shock at hearing the Dementor’s plan. "He would never risk all those lives for one."
"He would risk all unknown lives for a few well-known ones. For ones that fought with him, and saved the Wizarding World from a dark rule."
Hermione adamantly disagreed by shaking her head again, despite knowing that the Dementor was right this time, but the Dementor was not to be fooled so easily. It passed by her, the fabric-like material of its cloak brushing past her as it did so, and started its journey upstairs, towards the Headmaster’s quarters. Hermione ran ahead and stood in the way. She had to try once more before she let the injustice happen.
"A deal," she said, breathless at the thought of what she was going to do.
The Dementor motioned her to continue, clearly intrigued and amused by her last attempt.
"One month. I’m asking for a month, before you come back and…" Her voiced trailed off, as her mind conjured the image of the Dementors descending on the helpless children.
The Dementor considered it, for a moment.
"It will not benefit us in any manner, to obey you," he said, almost mocking her idea.
Hermione had not thought of that, in her hurry to stop the creatures. She willed herself to quickly think of some terms that would be acceptable to them. She remembered that the Aestii became what they consumed, and a plan formed in her head.
"The entire Order of the Phoenix, powerless, at your feet," she said, wondering how any of the members of the Order would react to what she was doing. She herself was questioning her actions as she spoke. "I can give you this, if I do not succeed in a month."
"Succeed?" the Dementor laughed. It had read her thoughts, her plans, and considered them to be ridiculous. Nonetheless, it moved its head to vaguely resemble a nod, and extended one cloaked, gnarled hand. It repulsed Hermione, yet she was curious, in a strange childlike way.
She hesitantly took its hand, and she felt the magic emanate from its being and entwine in a bright golden glow where their hands met.
It was an ancient form of the Wand Oath, she realised. She had barely drawn back her hand, when the Dementors had started to withdraw, and their numbers disappeared farther and farther through the huge doors, into the hazy, cold mist that had settled over the castle. Soon, they had all left, and Hermione was alone in the Hall again. Her thoughts seemed to be reflected by from the walls. Her knees buckled. She fell to the floor, sobbing quietly at what she had done.
A month, she told herself, hoping it would be enough.
"The spell works, Hermione," Neville said reassuringly, to his friend who seemed to be completely drained by her efforts. The forest around them was quiet, with the occasional chirping of birds and rustle of leaves, and bright in the daylight, despite the frost in the air. At any other time, Neville would have been busy admiring the fauna of the woods. Now, however, he focused his attention on the task at hand, namely, the spell they had been working on.
"How would you know?" Hermione asked, turning to look at him. He noticed she looked more dejected than he had ever seen her. The past month had worn her out completely, and she looked very different from the cheerful and amiable Hermione he knew.
He had no answer for her question. She was right; there was no way to check the functionality of the spell without any Dementors to test it on. They had done all they could, and it had worked, though not completely, on the boggarts that they had in the school, but they all knew that that was not an accurate test.
"Theoretically…" he began, half-heartedly, knowing Hermione would not be convinced by his reasoning. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Luna cut her off.
"The spell will work," she said, with the quiet air of confidence she always had about her when she spoke of the magical creatures that she loved. "The Aestii want to be freed, and they will help us."
Ordinarily, Hermione would not have minded Luna’s oddities and cryptic confidence; she knew the witch meant no harm. But in that moment, she was entirely too flustered by what she considered to be the failure of the spell, to overlook it. She shot the Ravenclaw a rare glare, and walked away into the forest. The Potions Professor, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, while leaning against a tree some distance away, followed her discreetly.
He found her standing in a grassy clearing some way off. He realised she was blaming herself for all that had happened, and he knew the feeling all too well, but felt helpless to resolve her worries.
"Our Arithmantic calculations are correct," he said, briefly. She knew it was his way of comforting her, and she laughed bitterly through the tears that were rolling down her cheek, at his attempt, avoiding looking at him.
Her mind, however, soon returned to her thoughts about the next day. If the spell did not work, she would be condemning the whole Order. Coerced by the Wand Oath she had sworn, she called a meeting of the Order the next day, at Hogwarts. She hoped that she would have good news to share with them, when she met that, and that she would not be simply setting up a feast for the Dementors.
She took a deep breath, and lifted her wand, to cast the spell on a dead, dry leaf lying near her feet. The leaf floated to the air for a few moments, turning lush and green again. Then it disintegrated in a golden glow, the magical sparks disappearing in the air. Hermione stood staring at the spot where the leaf had been. Severus did not say a word. After a few silent minutes, Hermione headed back towards the castle, the leaves under her feet rustling loudly as she ran through them.
Later that day, the Headmaster found Winky at the door of Hermione’s chambers, visibly afraid to enter them. Looking in to the room, he found that the witch had used a charm on a Dementor boggart to maintain its form, and was repeatedly casting the spell she had created on it, but to no avail. Her concentration was completely absorbed by the task at hand. He entered the rooms and quietly stood near her. She did not acknowledge him, her eyes only on the boggart that hovered a few meters away.
A moment later, the scene had changed completely. Professor Snape’s whispered expelliarmus and ridikkulus had lead to the boggart scrambling for the closet door, while Hermione, thrown back by the force of the spell, now sat on the floor, glaring daggers at Snape.
It was only much later, when she lay in bed that night, that she realised she ought to thank him for stopping her from exhausting her powers needlessly. She would need them on the morrow.
The next day brought with it dread and freezing cold. The Order members were due at Hogwarts that afternoon, and Hermione was thankful that they were not arriving earlier. She was not looking forward to explaining the situation to them.
The skies grew darker as the morning progressed, and by the time breakfast was served in the rather gloomy Great Hall, it was completely overcast and freezing beyond the scope of ordinary warming charms. The Headmaster had charmed the ceiling to represent a pleasant summer morning, but it did little to hide the weather outside, or quench any of Hermione’s doubts. Idle chatter was scattered throughout the the few teachers that remained at Hogwarts, but four of the Professors remained notably silent. The others had not been informed of the Dementor’s visit, and were content to let the condition of the school stand at a uncertain state, as long as they were paid to live in it.
As a result, they were completely unprepared for the Dementors that strode into the Hall mid-meal. Immediately, barrage of patronuses was aimed at the Dementors, who walked through the misty silver forms casually, led by the one who has spoken to Hermione previously. Hermione had not anticipated this. She had not known that the Dementors would be resistant to Patronuses, their sole defense.
Professor Snape loudly commanded all the teachers to return to their rooms. Some were a little reluctant, but they were all somewhat afraid of what was going to unfold, and eventually, the Hall was empty except for Hermione, Neville, Luna and Snape.
The Dementor could not resist a smile at the four standing bravely at the table, trying very hard to not reveal their fear through their expression. It headed straight for Hermione, who also moved forward. Shakily, her wand was aimed for the heart of the Dementor, who spread its arms in a mocking display of welcoming whatever she threw at him. Softly, uncertainly she spoke the words for the spell, and sparks shot out of her wand to hit the Dementor. The Dementor reeled from the force of the spell, but was otherwise unharmed. Neville, not willing to give up, tried his hand at it. Luna followed suit. The Demntor’s smile grew wider, sinister. They had failed. She had failed.
"An oath is an oath, witch." He was addressing Hermione, but looking at Snape. Hermione understood. The Headmaster was the most powerful wizard in the room and to have control in him was to have control over the Order as well as Hogwarts. It would be everything the Dementor could ever want. Her heart began to race as it approached Severus, who unconsciously backed towards the wall. She looked away, knowing the amount of pain the Dementor could cause him by bringing his own memories to the surface. She would be the cause of it, she told herself. Inadvertently, she gripped her wand tighter as she heard the sound of Snape falling to his knees, and the cold chill of the Dementor’s proximity.
The Dementor whispered something to him that she could not hear, but it sounded terrible enough from afar. Unable to take it, she chanted the spell one last time, desperately. It hit one of the Dementors standing some distance away, encasing it in a golden glow. In a few moments, the form of the Dementor had changed completely, as had the atmosphere in the hall. It now radiated hope, instead of fear, and light instead of darkness, with one Aestus easily overpowering the aura of hundreds of Dementors.
The Dementor standing close to Professor Snape now moved to approach the Aestus, holding out its hand as though in disbelief of what had happened.
Neville’s face had a similar expression.
"H-How…" he managed, unable to form words. Hermione smiled at Professor Snape, who she knew had figured it out.
"Intent," he said, knowing that it was at the core of every enchantment.
They watched on, awestruck as the golden glow rippled outwards, reminding the feared creatures what they once had been, and what they would be, once again.
Fin
Author: celina_rose
Prompt: # O25 by sirmioneforever
Characters: Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape
Word Count: 7000
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Character Death
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This was an absolutely lovely prompt to write for, and definitely something I’ve never done before. I hope I have been able to do it justice, and hopefully my pacing is not too fast. A big thank you to the mods for organising this lovely fest, and to my beta R.S. for reading through it!
Summary: There is a bitter chill descending over magical Britain which seems to be more than the usual winter cold. Several people are reminded of when the Dementors roamed free but it can't be them as they've been banished, or have they?
Hermione was jerked awake by the train halting at Hogwarts station. She stared at the empty compartment blankly for a few moments. The first time that she had been in one of them, she had run into the two people who would later become her closest friends. The last time she had been here, however, was associated with unpleasant memories. Just after the end of the War, when the entire Wizarding World had been in chaos and her own little world had been falling apart.
Alighting from the train, she noticed that it seemed to be unusually cold, even for the chilly Scottish fall. She had not been to Wizarding Britain in a while, and had hence initially chalked up the chill to the effects of travelling in a carriage with open windows. However, now that she stood on the familiar station, she got the feeling that something was inexplicably wrong.
It wasn’t just the bitter cold. The air itself seemed to be shadowed by gloom. The skies were definitely darker than she remembered. It was as if someone had washed a little colour away from the world.
Years of dealing with a Dark Lord had sharpened her intuition, and had taught her not to ignore it. Deciding she would speak with Minerva about the situation as soon as she got the chance, she cast a quick warming spell on her cloak and walked towards the little village that neighboured Hogwarts.
As she walked through Hogsmeade, she wondered if it had always been this quiet. She had been looking forward to coming here again. It was always far more lively than the grey castle. However, on this particular day, there were hardly any people on the roads, and even those that were seemed almost melancholic. There didn’t seem to be any joy in the entire village.
She smiled warmly at a young boy of about seven who was running across the street before her. The little child stopped in his tracks and looked at her. Instead of returning her smile, as she had hoped he would, the boy simply stared at her sadly from his large azure eyes, before running back into his house.
She paused for a while, looking at the cottage the boy had disappeared into, then decided that the stroll wasn’t worth it. She took out her wand, and apparated right to the gates of Hogwarts. The large metal beasts creaked and croaked, reluctantly opening the doors for Hermione.
Her uneasiness only intensified as she walked into the large stone castle and found her way to the Headmistress’ office. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, stating her name.
A curt "Come in" led to the gargoyle opening the door for her, and soon enough, she found herself standing in front of the Headmistress. The older witch stood up to embrace her, and Hermione’s keen eye caught a hint of the burdens that had given Minerva a somewhat haggard appearance - one only a careful observer would notice.
Returning the hug, and subsequently enquiring absent-mindedly about the Headmistress’ health, she began to look around the small office. It looked very different from what it had looked like in Dumbledore’s day. Nonetheless, it clearly belonged to a very busy, albeit meticulous, witch. Inside it, she felt far more comfortable than she had in any other part of the castle, or even in Hogsmeade. It felt fairly safe and much like the Hogwarts she remembered.
Thinking about this reminded her that she had to speak to Minerva about the uncanny cold she had felt outside. Warily, she brought it up.
Minerva’s eyes inadvertently widened when Hermione spoke about it.
"It’s just been there for a few days. The Prophet also spoke about it once or twice, but everyone is sure that it is simply a cold year." Minerva tried to brush it off, but her voice wavered slightly. Hermione considered pushing the matter, but eventually decided against it. She needn’t have bothered to think of a change of topic, for the other woman had already begun to hand her the schedule she would have to follow and the classes she would be teaching as a Muggle Studies Professor. Minerva began to explain the accommodation arrangements, but Hermione smiled and told her she knew where most of the teachers’ quarters were.
Minerva shook her head in response.
"It has all been shifted around since the last time you were here, I’m afraid. Professor Snape no longer occupies the dungeons, even though he still teaches Potions. He now lives on the third floor, in the corridor next to the one where the Room of Requirement is. It was originally to be allotted to the Muggle Studies teachers, as I am sure you know. Now, however, you will have to stay in the Astronomy tower, on the floor below Professor Sinistra’s classes. Winky will take you there," Minerva said, sorting through the parchments on her desk.
Hermione put her doubts aside for the time being and followed the house elf who had apparated beside her, through the winding halls and staircases and into the tall tower. She wondered what her younger self would have thought about Winky being her elf. She had long given up SPEW, her ideas having fizzled out soon after she realised that most elves wanted to serve.
Her rooms, she found, were modestly, but adequately furnished, and they led directly into the classroom where she would be teaching. She was somewhat glad that the Ministry had decided to reintroduce Muggle Studies only in the NEWT years for the first few academic years, before making a decision on whether the younger students should also be taught the subject, since it meant that she too would have some time to reacquaint herself with everything.
She sat on the bed and took out the schedules and papers she had been given, determined to at least plan out her lessons, given that the school would reopen in two days. As she settled down, a gust of wind blew open the window, letting in the freezing air.
Hermione looked up, surprised. She had been sure that the window had been bolted, and no gales could open bolts. A shadow seemed to pass across the window for a split second. Hermione narrowed her eyes, and keeping her papers aside, walked over to the windowpane. She looked out, and seeing nobody, shut the window again and made sure to bolt it tightly.
Having lost herself in her work, as she often did, she did not realise that the time had flown by. Before she knew it, Winky was calling her for supper.
She walked down to the Great Hall, which was empty except for a few of the teachers, sitting down finally on an empty chair between Professor Snape and Neville.
The Herbology Professor was cheerily chattering away with Luna, who now taught Care of Magical Creatures, but Professor Snape was lost deep in his own thoughts, while his face was twisted into a scowl.
She finished her dinner rather quietly and returned to her rooms.
She grew quite busy with the students after school began, and eventually all but forgot about her initial misgivings. The Prophet too, stopped printing about the growing cold, and turned its attention to the Quidditch season.
Hermione was pleasantly surprised when Neville asked her for a favour, one day.
"Would you mind coming with me to collect the arcene flowers tonight? They only bloom once a month and I can’t do it alone. Luna said she was busy," he said.
"Of course," Hermione replied, smiling.
Over the course of the day, she realised she was looking forward to the prospect. It had been a while since she had been out in Magical Britain, and although it would not be quite like the old times that she secretly enjoyed, she felt it would be fun.
When night-time rolled around, she sent a short missive to the Headmistress through Winky, despite the fact that Neville had assured her that he had informed Minerva, and set off towards the gates.
She found Neville waiting for her there, and as soon as they were out of Hogwarts’ wards, they apparated to the arcene fields.
The air was filled with the scent of freshly blooming arcene flowers. The trees of the Forbidden Forest, that bordered the fields, swayed gently in the light breeze.
"You’ll have to hold down the leaves while I get the flower," Neville whispered, not wanting to risk alerting any creatures, magical or otherwise, that lived in the forests nearby.
Hermione nodded in response. She had brought her gloves, knowing the leaves were poisonous, and she put them on. She bent and gently held the leaves open, while Neville removed the silver petals of the flower as she did so.
They had barely touched the next flower when something made Hermione look up. She saw a dark figure looming on the horizon, illuminated by the silver moonlight that made it look somewhat terrifying. She was slightly surprised to find that while she knew exactly what the creature was, it looked somewhat different from what she remembered.
Neville had been completely engrossed in carefully separating the shimmering flower from the stem. He turned to her only when he noticed her hands trembling and the leaves almost slipping from her grasp. He followed her gaze and nearly started with shock. The figure floated towards them at an alarming pace, seeming to grow larger and darker as it did so.
"It can’t be..." he whispered, his heart filling with dread as he remembered all the times he had seen the creatures. Words and faces that had been long forgotten returned at once to haunt him. He breathed deeply, trying to convince himself that it was a mere illusion.
Hermione felt the chill getting colder as it approached, her own mind starting to give way to the aura of grief and pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a few more shadows falling over the arcene flowers to her left. Grabbing Neville’s hand, she instinctively took out her wand and apparated them back to Hogwarts.
They both let out a breath they didn’t know they had been holding.
"I thought-" Neville began, but Hermione cut him off.
"So did I," she said. "But now, I think we need to first make sure that the children will be safe."
Neville nodded as they made their way to Minerva’s office.
"Hermione! Neville! I thought you two were out collecting arcenes. You’re back rather early." She sounded surprised and somewhat dismissive, but both the teachers in front of her had noticed her face go ashen when she had seen their expressions.
Hermione cut straight to the chase.
"We were," she said. "But it just so happened that we saw a few friends along the way."
She spoke to the Headmistress coldly, for perhaps the first time in her life, suspecting that the older witch had known all about it for a while.
"There were Dementors in the field," she added quietly, seeing that she would get no reply.
Minerva did not flinch. The initial astonishment had worn off, and her face had returned to its stoic self. She stared at Hermione and Neville with icy, hard eyes, almost as if she was daring them to continue.
Hermione was not fazed. Minerva McGonagall may have been her mentor and her friend, but nothing could excuse the fact that the Headmistress had endangered the lives of hundreds of students. Provided, of course, that she had known about the Dementors beforehand, and Hermione was inclined to think that she had.
"You are free to use the owlery to send a message to the Aurors. What else do you want me to do, Miss Granger?" There was no hint of friendliness in her tone. Although it was rhetorical, Neville decided that her question merited an answer.
"Send the children home." It was not a request. Neville sounded quite unlike the timid boy that his former Professor had known him to be.
"Why?" asked a deep voice behind them.
They turned to find Professor Snape standing in the doorway, with the usual frown on his face.
Neville inadvertently shifted slightly away, but Hermione had a large smirk on her face. Having known the Potions Master for years, she knew she could count on his support in the matter.
"Dementors are on the loose, Professor. Near the Forbidden Forest," she explained.
He paled, as she had expected. He also tightened his grip on the door frame, turning his knuckles white as he did so.
Hermione could see the gears turning inside his head. She knew he was a clever man, and it would not take him long to link the freezing weather, the Headmistress’ rather erratic behaviour, as well as the Dementors. She also knew that he would know exactly the amount of pain that the Dementors could cause, and that he would never let the children go through it.
He turned to Minerva calmly.
"Do as he says," he commanded.
Minerva stood stubbornly behind her ebony desk which she discreetly held on to for support, though she knew it was a losing battle now. Nonetheless, she lifted her chin higher, and looked her colleague straight in the eye, not saying a word, but also not budging from her position.
The former Death Eater certainly looked menacing enough to be one as he strode across the room. Suddenly, his wand was grazing the Headmistress’ throat.
"Do it," he hissed, and Neville shrunk back, even though he was standing quite a distance from Snape. Hermione laid a friendly hand on his shoulder, but he continued to stare at the floor as though he was willing it to swallow him.
She was reminded, by this little scene, of the fact that Severus Snape was a feared man and a Slytherin.
"A threat, Severus? I thought we were done with those after the War." Minerva sounded remarkably composed for someone in her position. Hermione admired her resolve, but not her motive.
"There will be another War if this is not stopped. A War where every witch and wizard in Britain will turn on Hogwarts for killing their children," Snape warned.
Hermione wondered if it was the vision of her precious school falling, that made the Headmistress step back. She saw the defeated look in Minerva’s eyes, though the witch still struggled to maintain her expression.
"I’ve given up," said the steel grey irises, but her face remained at a stern "No".
"There will be revelations you do not want."
Now this, Hermione mused, was a threat. She had no difficulty in believing that Snape knew things about Minerva that she would rather he didn’t, and that he would carry out his words if she did not comply.
Minerva sighed.
"Tomorrow morning," she proclaimed tiredly.
Hermione was incredibly relieved. Although she had been quite sure that Minerva would listen to Snape eventually, she was glad that it had worked.
Minerva had retired for the night, citing a headache, so Neville, Hermione and Snape were left to put up stronger wards around the castle, as well as check for open doors and windows, before they went back to their rooms.
It was nearly dawn when they were done, but Hermione found sleep evading her when she finally laid down, despite how tired she was. Now that the children would be safe, she could focus on the Dementors themselves. She found her mind wandering off to create theories about why and how they returned to Britain when they had supposedly been banished to a far off island.
There was something else about them that was bugging her. She was sure that they looked different from before, but she could not quite put her finger on it.
She was still awake when Winky came to knock on her door for breakfast.
When she went down to the Great Hall a few minutes later, it was full of chattering excited students, as always. They lowered their voices as she walked in, but soon started up again.
She had a sudden vision of a few Dementors descending upon the children from above, snuffing out their bright lives, one by one. The image sent shudders down her spine. Pushing the thought aside, she scanned the teachers’ table for the Headmistress.
Her eyes met Snape’s, and she found that he looked as confused as her by Minerva’s absence.
Minerva did not make an appearance throughout the meal. The house-elves claimed that they had not seen her since morning. Hermione nodded to Severus, and he stood up, just as the students were starting to get up from their tables.
They all turned towards him as he announced that the school would remain closed for an indefinite period of time until certain issues were resolved.
The hall rang with silence.
Every person in it, barring the those who had been privy to the information beforehand, stared at the Potions Professor in amazement. It took everyone a few moments to regain their senses. At once, Hermione and Neville told the students to return to their dormitories and begin the preparations for their journey home. They assured that their parents would be informed as soon as possible, while the other teachers simply gaped at them. As the students slowly filed out, murmurs arose around the teacher’s table.
"I’ve never heard anything like it! Shutting the school in the middle of the year?" Professor Vector said incredulously.
"Where on Earth is Minerva at a time like this? Surely she is not taken ill?" the Astronomy professor added, slightly concerned about her missing colleague.
Amidst the chaos, Hermione headed to the Headmistress’ office. She too, was curious about Minerva’s whereabouts, although she had not voiced it to her fellow teachers.
She knocked on the wooden door a few times, and waited for a response in the quiet corridor, which was in contrast to the rest of the school, that was absolutely bustling with activity. She received no reply to her knocks. She called out a few more times, before trying to open the door herself. Something was not right. The Headmistress would never behave in this manner, even if she was furious. The stubborn, stone-hearted gargoyle refused to budge. She hit it with a powerful Diffindo, and rushed inside as soon as the door disintegrated.
At first glance, the room appeared to be surprisingly empty. It was as though the person in the room had left only a few minutes ago. The papers and parchments lay scattered on the table, with a quill placed over them, The fire in the grate appeared to have been suddenly snuffed out. Hermione was just about to head towards the study adjoining the office, when she noticed something lying behind, or rather under, the desk. As she approached it, she saw the sight that made her stifle a scream.
Minerva McGonagall was lying on the floor of her office. Her face was pale and bloodless, and on it was frozen an expression that comprised in equal parts, of fear and horror. It looked grotesque, lying against the warm background of the mahogany floors. Hermione did not need to try and look for a pulse, for she knew that it would be useless. Nonetheless, she sank down next to the body and took the withered arm in her hand. No faint signs of life fluttered against her fingers. Minerva was quite cold.
She did not shed a single tear, as she walked to the Potions Master’s chambers, and told him, in a voice that was not quite her own, of the developments. He wasted no time in rushing to the scene, robes billowing behind him. His own face turned the colour of frost when he saw Minerva.
"No," he whispered to himself as he knelt by her gently. Despite their disagreements, he had always respected her.
Suddenly, his morose expression changed to a frown. He stood up, and looked at the former Headmistress as though he could not bring himself to believe it.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, barely getting the choked words out. She was not sure she wanted to know, but she asked anyway.
"Dementor’s Kiss," her companion replied, his voice raspy. He did not stay much longer in the room, that now reeked of gloom and fear and death. She knew he had memories that prevented him from doing so.
Now she understood. They had made a mistake. She had made a mistake. Professor McGonagall was not trying to endanger the children. She was trying to protect herself, just like any other person would.
This was the warning of the Dementors. This was them, saying that they would have what they wanted; and no witch or wizard, no matter how powerful, would prevent it.
The whole day passed in a blur. Anxious teachers, curious students, and concerned parents filled up the rest of her hours. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, when she walked into her room that night. Instead of hitting the bed, as her heavy eyelids were telling her to, she went towards the open window. Silver moonbeams streamed through it, caressing her face. She looked even sadder and smaller in the pool of light.
A long time ago, someone had told her that her impulsive nature would be the end of her. The younger Hermione had simply stared at the person, with her large chocolate brown eyes in confusion, at the time. She knew now, that the person had been quite right. She wondered if she would have felt less guilty if she had been the one hurt by the Dementors, instead of Minerva.
It was then that the tears came, glittering like little jewels, accompanied by the quiet sobs.
It was her fault, she told herself, again and again, as though the four words would absolve her. Instead, the guilt ate away at her, like a vile corrosive poison, reminding her every moment, for the next few days, that she had wrongly accused and killed a woman who had been no less than a mother to her.
The castle was quiet and empty, with all of the students gone. Few of the teachers spoke to Hermione anymore, partly because whispers in the hallways accused her of killing the former Headmistress, not believing that the Dementors had returned. Hermione didn’t mind. She preferred the solitude, spending her days in the library, now that she did not have any classes.
She lifted her head to see Luna walking towards her. The blonde witch quietly pulled out the chair beside her and sat down. She smiled, seeing the book Hermione was reading.
"They evolved from Aestii, you know," Luna said, nodding to the book.
"Hmm?" Hermione asked, absentmindedly. Her book, per usual, had completely absorbed her, and she felt somewhat annoyed at the person who had broken her reverie. She returned to the yellowed pages.
"The Dementors, I mean," Luna added, clarifying. She shifted slightly in her seat.
The name of the creatures she had been trying to study caught her attention.
"But that’s not possible!" she exclaimed. Luna shrugged. Hermione stared at her blankly for a few minutes, frowning, before rushing into the shelves on magical creatures.
When she returned, carrying a pile of old volumes in her arms, Luna had left. She set down the books on the table, causing a loud thump. Dust from the books flew into her face, making her cough. She picked up the first book, and sat down to begin flipping through it.
By the time night fell, she had read through about half of the books, but had discovered precious little. She already knew that the Aestii, the creatures that witches and wizards worshipped once upon a time, had disappeared a few centuries ago. Dementors had appeared soon after that, but she found it hard to believe that the creators of light had turned into creatures of darkness within the span of two years. Evolution did not take place so quickly. It was not improbable that they were related, however. It was with these thoughts that she went to bed that night.
The next few days passed with Hermione buried knee deep in books. Occasionally, Luna or Neville would pass through and offer some distraction, but they soon realised she did not want their company. Her books and research were her ways of keeping away all the various thoughts which constantly plagued her. The image of Minerva’s face, lying in her office, and that of all the Dementors she had seen during the War, found their way back into her subconscious nonetheless. To say her nights were sleepless would have been an understatement. To add to the terror of her harrowing nightmares, the nights often grew extremely cold, a fact which Hermione knew, could mean nothing good.
A few nights later, she felt someone shaking her awake through her troubled dreams. She opened her eyes blearily, to find her house elf standing beside her bed, looking unusually anxious. Seeing Hermione awaken, Winky’s frown transformed into a more relaxed expression.
"Missy Hermione is awake! Mistress is saving us!" the little elf exclaimed in joy.
Hermione sat up on her bed, utterly confused.
"Saving us? From what?" she asked, summoning her cloak. The night was freezing. Hermione could see her breath mist in front of her while the wind howled dangerously outside, and frost covered the window panes.
"The dark, evil people is coming to Hogwarts. Winky is seeing them at the gates. All other teachers is sleeping, so Winky is waking up Mistress," Winky replied.
The warning bells began to ring in Hermione’s mind. She was sure that the "people" that Winky spoke about were the Dementors, in light of recent events. She noiselessly opened the door to the the corridors, and ran down the stairs as fast as she could to the Great Hall.
Just as she opened the doors of the Hall to walk outside, the Dementors glided in. Panic built up in Hermione. Already she could feel her worst memories of despair and darkness clouding her mind. She had not thought her plan through, acting instead on pure Gryffindor impulsiveness. Alone, surrounded by a large number of these creatures, she had no chance of surviving, unless she concocted a plan quickly.
The tallest of the Dementors, the one she realised quickly to be the leader, moved closer to her. She felt hope slipping away, replaced by misery and fear, as the creature came closer. She had no way of producing a Patronus; not without some happy memories, which she found impossible to think of at that moment. She tightly shut her eyes and backed away. The Dementor advanced further. Suddenly Hermione felt a wall against her. She had no escape.
"Please..." she whispered, not daring to open her eyes to look at it.
She heard the creature laugh in reply, but the sound seemed to have echoed in mind, instead of in the hall. Her eyes shot open. Dementors did not speak, in her experience. Wizards and witches always seemed to just know what they wanted to communicated. The Dementor in front of her had not made any sound. At least, not physically. Had it somehow used Legilimency? She was certain she had heard the derisive laugh, if only in her head. She remembered reading about how Aestii used to communicate by directly speaking inside the subject’s minds, and Luna’s words came back to her.
The Dementor stepped back at her pensive look.
"We may speak," he said, in response to her unasked question. The voice in her mind was quieter, gentler.
She did not reply, but stared intently at the dark face looming over hers. Her fear, though still existent, had been pushed to the back of her mind, replaced by curiosity. The Dementor did not seem so terrifying anymore. The aura of darkness it emanated had considerably reduced. It made her wonder if a major component of the fear was simply in her own creation.
"We may feel, too. We feel pain, and hurt, and fear, and anger," the Dementor added, after a long pause. This time, it sounded pained, almost pitiful.
"Why didn’t you, then?" Hermione asked, her own tears welling with the intensity of the Dementor’s pain that it seemed to be exuding.
The creature turned away. Hermione grew bolder, and moved forward. When she drew close to the Dementor again, its pain had turned to crimson fury.
She stepped back in surprise, her breath catching at this sudden change. She could feel the its ire burning as it looked at her face.
"You!" it said, all softness gone from its voice. "All of you! Witches and wizards. You imprisoned us. Bound us so we may never break free. For centuries we have endured it. No more!" The last two words were spoken with such intensity that they made Hermione’s head throb. She crouched down in pain, and held her head in her hands.
When it spoke again, it was a whisper, a long lost memory, brushing softly against Hermione’s own thoughts.
"A man visited us that year. A wizard, who we welcomed as a friend. A wizard who called himself, Ekrizdis. He betrayed us, and cast a dark spell on all of us, who lived on the island, and beyond. It is a fate worse than mortal death. It cannot be completely broken, though we have succeeded partly. A spell to render us mute. A spell to render us dark and bind us to his wishes. Then came the leaders, the representatives of all the witches and wizard of this nation. They claimed to despise his actions, by following in his footsteps. They commanded us to imbibe the souls of the wretched, and the memories of the despicable. They made our home a prison - for us, and for those condemned."
Hermione did not know what to say. With each word, she had felt the acrimony rising in the Dementor and in herself. The fear, the hatred, and the thirst for revenge; swirling into a dark hurricane that surrounded her soul.
She knew what the Dementor wanted. The pure, golden souls of the young children, to numb the pain caused by the thousands of impure ones that they had absorbed.
It took a great amount of effort for her to return to herself, after the whirlwind of emotions that the Dementor had brought upon her.
"There are no children, here," she said, matter-of-factly.
"The Headmaster will persuade them to return." The Dementor was not fazed, neither were the hundreds of its fellow creatures standing behind it.
Hermione, knowing that Professor Snape, who was the interim Headmaster, would do nothing of the sort, shook her head, unable to resist a small smile.
"He will not," she said triumphantly. "Not even for fear of his own life."
"No," the Dementor agreed, surprising Hermione. "For fear of yours."
"Wrong again," Hermione says, having gotten over the initial shock at hearing the Dementor’s plan. "He would never risk all those lives for one."
"He would risk all unknown lives for a few well-known ones. For ones that fought with him, and saved the Wizarding World from a dark rule."
Hermione adamantly disagreed by shaking her head again, despite knowing that the Dementor was right this time, but the Dementor was not to be fooled so easily. It passed by her, the fabric-like material of its cloak brushing past her as it did so, and started its journey upstairs, towards the Headmaster’s quarters. Hermione ran ahead and stood in the way. She had to try once more before she let the injustice happen.
"A deal," she said, breathless at the thought of what she was going to do.
The Dementor motioned her to continue, clearly intrigued and amused by her last attempt.
"One month. I’m asking for a month, before you come back and…" Her voiced trailed off, as her mind conjured the image of the Dementors descending on the helpless children.
The Dementor considered it, for a moment.
"It will not benefit us in any manner, to obey you," he said, almost mocking her idea.
Hermione had not thought of that, in her hurry to stop the creatures. She willed herself to quickly think of some terms that would be acceptable to them. She remembered that the Aestii became what they consumed, and a plan formed in her head.
"The entire Order of the Phoenix, powerless, at your feet," she said, wondering how any of the members of the Order would react to what she was doing. She herself was questioning her actions as she spoke. "I can give you this, if I do not succeed in a month."
"Succeed?" the Dementor laughed. It had read her thoughts, her plans, and considered them to be ridiculous. Nonetheless, it moved its head to vaguely resemble a nod, and extended one cloaked, gnarled hand. It repulsed Hermione, yet she was curious, in a strange childlike way.
She hesitantly took its hand, and she felt the magic emanate from its being and entwine in a bright golden glow where their hands met.
It was an ancient form of the Wand Oath, she realised. She had barely drawn back her hand, when the Dementors had started to withdraw, and their numbers disappeared farther and farther through the huge doors, into the hazy, cold mist that had settled over the castle. Soon, they had all left, and Hermione was alone in the Hall again. Her thoughts seemed to be reflected by from the walls. Her knees buckled. She fell to the floor, sobbing quietly at what she had done.
A month, she told herself, hoping it would be enough.
"The spell works, Hermione," Neville said reassuringly, to his friend who seemed to be completely drained by her efforts. The forest around them was quiet, with the occasional chirping of birds and rustle of leaves, and bright in the daylight, despite the frost in the air. At any other time, Neville would have been busy admiring the fauna of the woods. Now, however, he focused his attention on the task at hand, namely, the spell they had been working on.
"How would you know?" Hermione asked, turning to look at him. He noticed she looked more dejected than he had ever seen her. The past month had worn her out completely, and she looked very different from the cheerful and amiable Hermione he knew.
He had no answer for her question. She was right; there was no way to check the functionality of the spell without any Dementors to test it on. They had done all they could, and it had worked, though not completely, on the boggarts that they had in the school, but they all knew that that was not an accurate test.
"Theoretically…" he began, half-heartedly, knowing Hermione would not be convinced by his reasoning. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but Luna cut her off.
"The spell will work," she said, with the quiet air of confidence she always had about her when she spoke of the magical creatures that she loved. "The Aestii want to be freed, and they will help us."
Ordinarily, Hermione would not have minded Luna’s oddities and cryptic confidence; she knew the witch meant no harm. But in that moment, she was entirely too flustered by what she considered to be the failure of the spell, to overlook it. She shot the Ravenclaw a rare glare, and walked away into the forest. The Potions Professor, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, while leaning against a tree some distance away, followed her discreetly.
He found her standing in a grassy clearing some way off. He realised she was blaming herself for all that had happened, and he knew the feeling all too well, but felt helpless to resolve her worries.
"Our Arithmantic calculations are correct," he said, briefly. She knew it was his way of comforting her, and she laughed bitterly through the tears that were rolling down her cheek, at his attempt, avoiding looking at him.
Her mind, however, soon returned to her thoughts about the next day. If the spell did not work, she would be condemning the whole Order. Coerced by the Wand Oath she had sworn, she called a meeting of the Order the next day, at Hogwarts. She hoped that she would have good news to share with them, when she met that, and that she would not be simply setting up a feast for the Dementors.
She took a deep breath, and lifted her wand, to cast the spell on a dead, dry leaf lying near her feet. The leaf floated to the air for a few moments, turning lush and green again. Then it disintegrated in a golden glow, the magical sparks disappearing in the air. Hermione stood staring at the spot where the leaf had been. Severus did not say a word. After a few silent minutes, Hermione headed back towards the castle, the leaves under her feet rustling loudly as she ran through them.
Later that day, the Headmaster found Winky at the door of Hermione’s chambers, visibly afraid to enter them. Looking in to the room, he found that the witch had used a charm on a Dementor boggart to maintain its form, and was repeatedly casting the spell she had created on it, but to no avail. Her concentration was completely absorbed by the task at hand. He entered the rooms and quietly stood near her. She did not acknowledge him, her eyes only on the boggart that hovered a few meters away.
A moment later, the scene had changed completely. Professor Snape’s whispered expelliarmus and ridikkulus had lead to the boggart scrambling for the closet door, while Hermione, thrown back by the force of the spell, now sat on the floor, glaring daggers at Snape.
It was only much later, when she lay in bed that night, that she realised she ought to thank him for stopping her from exhausting her powers needlessly. She would need them on the morrow.
The next day brought with it dread and freezing cold. The Order members were due at Hogwarts that afternoon, and Hermione was thankful that they were not arriving earlier. She was not looking forward to explaining the situation to them.
The skies grew darker as the morning progressed, and by the time breakfast was served in the rather gloomy Great Hall, it was completely overcast and freezing beyond the scope of ordinary warming charms. The Headmaster had charmed the ceiling to represent a pleasant summer morning, but it did little to hide the weather outside, or quench any of Hermione’s doubts. Idle chatter was scattered throughout the the few teachers that remained at Hogwarts, but four of the Professors remained notably silent. The others had not been informed of the Dementor’s visit, and were content to let the condition of the school stand at a uncertain state, as long as they were paid to live in it.
As a result, they were completely unprepared for the Dementors that strode into the Hall mid-meal. Immediately, barrage of patronuses was aimed at the Dementors, who walked through the misty silver forms casually, led by the one who has spoken to Hermione previously. Hermione had not anticipated this. She had not known that the Dementors would be resistant to Patronuses, their sole defense.
Professor Snape loudly commanded all the teachers to return to their rooms. Some were a little reluctant, but they were all somewhat afraid of what was going to unfold, and eventually, the Hall was empty except for Hermione, Neville, Luna and Snape.
The Dementor could not resist a smile at the four standing bravely at the table, trying very hard to not reveal their fear through their expression. It headed straight for Hermione, who also moved forward. Shakily, her wand was aimed for the heart of the Dementor, who spread its arms in a mocking display of welcoming whatever she threw at him. Softly, uncertainly she spoke the words for the spell, and sparks shot out of her wand to hit the Dementor. The Dementor reeled from the force of the spell, but was otherwise unharmed. Neville, not willing to give up, tried his hand at it. Luna followed suit. The Demntor’s smile grew wider, sinister. They had failed. She had failed.
"An oath is an oath, witch." He was addressing Hermione, but looking at Snape. Hermione understood. The Headmaster was the most powerful wizard in the room and to have control in him was to have control over the Order as well as Hogwarts. It would be everything the Dementor could ever want. Her heart began to race as it approached Severus, who unconsciously backed towards the wall. She looked away, knowing the amount of pain the Dementor could cause him by bringing his own memories to the surface. She would be the cause of it, she told herself. Inadvertently, she gripped her wand tighter as she heard the sound of Snape falling to his knees, and the cold chill of the Dementor’s proximity.
The Dementor whispered something to him that she could not hear, but it sounded terrible enough from afar. Unable to take it, she chanted the spell one last time, desperately. It hit one of the Dementors standing some distance away, encasing it in a golden glow. In a few moments, the form of the Dementor had changed completely, as had the atmosphere in the hall. It now radiated hope, instead of fear, and light instead of darkness, with one Aestus easily overpowering the aura of hundreds of Dementors.
The Dementor standing close to Professor Snape now moved to approach the Aestus, holding out its hand as though in disbelief of what had happened.
Neville’s face had a similar expression.
"H-How…" he managed, unable to form words. Hermione smiled at Professor Snape, who she knew had figured it out.
"Intent," he said, knowing that it was at the core of every enchantment.
They watched on, awestruck as the golden glow rippled outwards, reminding the feared creatures what they once had been, and what they would be, once again.
Fin