Saints

They save a dying man.

She walked into the room and only saw a shadow of the boy, whom she had called best friend for six years.

"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked gently, kneeling next to him on the ground. Hermione already knew, of course, but she also knew that only questioning him stood any chance of making him talk.

The boy, Harry, sighed deeply. He shifted, slightly fazed by her soft scrutiny, but he now knew better than to dodger her questions.

"It's all a pile of dragon dung. I'm just a kid," he grumbled, wiping his nose. "I'm supposed to be a 'leader of men' and lead these people to victory against a Dark Lord, and I can't even do a damn Potions Essay," he went on, his eyes welling up. He raked his hand over his face furiously, not wanting Hermione to think he was weak or childish.

"Well, that's a load of old tosh, as one Hagrid would say," said Hermione in her usual no-nonsense voice. Harry gaped at her; since the acknowledgment of Voldemort's return, people had been flooding people with their hopes and dreams for a peaceful future.

"I mean," she continued, sitting flat on the floor, "who would be silly enough to believe a mere boy could defeat someone as powerful and mighty as Voldemort? He's just a child, not even a man, and they expect that? What utter nonsense. What could he possibly do to kill off such an all-powerful being?"

Harry's faced turn red blotched with purple. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hermione sniffed and examined her nails, not looking at Harry. "I mean, the Boy-Who-Lived hasn't a shred of power to him. He's a little boy with scraped knees, crying for his mummy to save him. Let's face it; we're screwed."

Harry gritted his teeth, trying very hard to lash out. "Obviously," he said in a very strained voice, "someone thinks he can. A whole load of people thinks he can."

"But can he?" she asked rhetorically. "Can the Boy-Who-Lived save the school, the world, yon fair maiden from the big-bad Dark Lord?"

"Not according to you, apparently," shouted Harry, jumping up and backing away from her. "Apparently, I'm useless! And let's all admit it! I'm just the Boy-Who-Lived, nothing more, saved by his mum and now he's useless! Never mind that I've saved the school before! Never mind that I've saved you before!"

Hermione watched as Harry raged at her, raining insults towards the world at general as a torrent of pent-up anger, frustration, and hostility poured from him. When he was finished, he leaned against a wall, breathing heavily.

Hermione stood up, brushing her hands against her neat plaid skirt. She turned and faced him, quickly closing the gap between him.

"The Boy-Who-Lived is nothing," he whispered heatedly to her. It was self-loathing that fueled his anger, and it continued to bubble and fester in him, like noxious swamp gas trapped in a stagnant pond.

"That's right," she said firmly, standing toe-to-toe with him. "The Boy-Who-Lived is a piece of trash, a legend used up and discarded eons ago, nothing more but a puppet used by the Ministry." She started to lean towards him, forcing his back to the wall.

"The Boy-Who-Lived," she continued, "is a myth. He doesn't exist, except in fairy tales and nightmares, the saviour of souls and the destroyer of the damned. He only breathes in black ink on white paper, the garbage of newspapers and stupid girl rags." She came even closer, until they were nose to nose. "The Boy-Who-Lived," she whispered calmly, "never died, because he never lived. He was never real."

She lifted her head, as if to kiss him, but moved her mouth to his ear. "But my best friend Harry, you see," she murmured, a sudden warmth and joy in her voice, "he's amazing. He's such a talented flyer, and the absolute best at Defence class. He even outsmarted the know-it-all there.

"And he's an amazing person," she pressed on, holding onto Harry's shoulders as he began to sag, shaking his head furiously, his glasses dangling from his nose. "When he laughs, it fills the room. And when he's working hard, it's amazing to watch, because I've never seen anyone try so hard when they're working towards a goal. And the best part? Oh, the best part of Harry is that he cares. He's been through so much, and yet, he still tries, tries when no one else would. Despite everything that's gone wrong," she whispered fiercely, now holding him upright, "Harry, my best friend Harry, always perseveres, because he loves and cares and no matter what, he wants to do the right thing."

She stepped back, and looked into his wet face. "You should get to know Harry," she said softly. "He's one of the most incredible people I know."

She held his face to her shoulder, never flinching as he unknowingly bit into it as he sobbed. She smoothed his head and promised him that he wasn't a bad person, that this wasn't all his fault. She held Harry and tried to hold on to a little piece of him, trying to convince him that he was still Harry, still a good friend and a good son. And she told him that she still loved him, that she was still his best friend, despite all the "stupid-headed boy things you have to go and do. Shame on you for interrupting my studying schedule!"

She held him and laughed and cried with him, and pulled him up from the ever-pressing shadow of sadness that threatened to eat his soul.

Luna watched Snape pace back and forth in the Potions classroom, muttering to himself as he threw ingredients into his cauldron with increasing irritation. She knew then that something was wrong; Snape would never be so careless as to forcefully plunge mandrake root into such a delicate potion.

"You're going to blow the room to Stonehenge and back if you keep that up," she pointed out in a chipper voice. Snape scowled and muttered something less than complimentary under his breath. He had no idea why Hogwarts' current lunatic had decided to take up residence in his dungeon, and he didn't particularly care to know.

"I believe that I've been doing this for a great deal longer than you have, Lovegood," he snapped, thrusting a handful of belladonna into the cauldron. There was a sudden burst of light, a puff of smoke, and Severus Snape, Potions Master and Bane of Hogwarts' student body, was covered from greasy forelock to skinny toes with soot.

"See?" said Luna in a I-told-you-so-voice that irked Snape.

"Shut up, Lovegood," he spat, "and get out."

"You're angry," she said neutrally, kicking her legs off the wall as she took residence in an unused, deep bookshelf.

"I said get out," he snarled.

"You're angry at me," she continued, smiling thoughtfully. "But really, you're mad at yourself because you allowed yourself to get more wrapped up in the events of the war, rather than concentrating on the potion."

Snape stopped and glared at her so scathingly that it would have fried a Heliopath to a crisp. Luna smiled back at him, his burning glare having no more effect on her then it would on a slab of stone.

"You really should relax, Professor," she said soothingly. "You'll be no good to us if you-"

"What? Blow myself up?" Snape laughed bitterly. "I have precious little use other than information, Lovegood. Dumbledore has other ways of getting information."

Luna pushed herself off her ledge, staring at him curiously.

"Why do you hate who you are so much?" she asked innocently, staring at him without blinking.

"I don't hate myself," he replied smoothly, regaining his composure. "I have no feelings towards myself. That's illogical."

"Humans are illogical," said Luna, tilting her head to the side. "And they seem to like side-swiping my questions."

Snape said something under his breath, and Luna blinked.

"You don't have to be like this, you know," she said slowly, as if she were explaining something to a child.

"Like what?" he grumbled, repairing his cauldron with a hasty spell.

"You're a cheeky bastard," said Luna with conviction. Snape blinked in surprise.

"People have called me much harsher things," he growled. "Was that supposed to be an insult?"

"You don't have to be like that," she said, advancing on him and prodding him in the chest with his finger. "You don't have to be the way you used to be- the way you are. The only difference between the student Snape and the Professor Snape is now you aid in the deaths of the bad guys. Harry told me," she explained, when Snape sputtered in surprise.

"I'll kill that little-"

"See?" she said forcefully. "Same old Snape, and you hate it." In the back of Snape's head, he fervently prayed for the normal Luna to come back, to start spouting about Nargles and potions that made one switch gender and such.

Well, normal was a bit much, but still.

"You," she continued, ramming her finger harder into his chest, "have a choice. And you can be a good person. I know you can. Stop thinking like a bipolar augery and make a decision for yourself."

Snape blinked again. "Bipolar?"

Luna shook her head. "Never mind that," she said. "Are you going to be weak and let yourself be drowned in a tide of pity? I thought you were above that."

Snape turned around and faced the wall, pretending to be scanning his tomes.

"You don't need those books," she said dreamily. Snape's shoulders sagged.

"Leave," he said quietly, with authority. Luna merely placed one hand on a desk and saddled its side.

"You want the Order of Merlin," she said quietly, mistily, as if she were speaking to someone who had crossed the Great Divide. "You want this to end. But you want it on your terms. But you also know that you can't get it. You've learned that, with what happened with Severus Snape. But most importantly, you want something you've never had. Honour. Dignity. Respect because of your deeds, not through fear."

She turned her face to the side, so he could only see one luminous grey eye. "If you let Professor Snape go," she whispered, a note of peace fluting in her voice, "you'll have it. You know it. Hate breeds hate, Professor Snape, and I think you're smart enough to let go of that. You've been acting from guilt, but there's a part of you who does what they do because it's just the right thing," she added with a note of satisfaction.

"There's no hope for me," he said bitterly, whirling around and attending his potion.

"No," she said, "there's none for Professor Snape, but all the hope in the world for Severus. You can do it, sir. I have faith in you."

"GET OUT-" he shouted, turning around, but she was already retreating out the door, a small skip in her step. She raised one hand high, as if lifting a crystal glass.

"To the future, sir, and what we could be," she said thinly, and waltzed out the door.

Snape stared at the entrance into the hall for a moment, then sighed in exasperation and turned to his notes.

"Cheeky bastard, indeed," he grumbled, rifling through his papers. His mind turned away from the profoundly insane Ravenclaw and to tomorrow's events. He had to inform Dumbledore of a raid tomorrow; honest people would die, and Snape knew that there would be just enough time to save them. Innocent people should never die, especially because of another's hate. And then he had to make that potion for Lupin; it seemed to calm Remus down, knowing that Snape had made it, as he thought of Snape as the best Potions Master in England. After that, he would start making planes for the Restoration potions, Madame Pomfrey would appreciate that.... Severus Snape went on about his normal business, sweeping around his small domain.

But if he had caught a glimpse of his reflection in the room's sole mirror, he would have been shocked.

Severus Snape was smiling.

They bring light and hope into the darkest corners of the world.

Remus Lupin fought feverishly against the Death Eaters and himself. Night had fallen, and in the great hills of Scotland, life and death pitched themselves furiously.

He wearily rebounded a curse, watching almost dispassionately as it dispatched the Death Eater, sending him to his a silent, fumbling death. The night air was silent, save for the whir of curses and the occasionally whispered incantation.

Remus Lupin hated the night. The moon screamed at him with silent, hysterical laughter, waning and reminding him of the animal he had been but a night ago. The Death Eaters moved quickly, patiently, and without the light, he was shooting blindly, hoping against hope that the body that fell was that of the enemy, and not of a friend.

He snatched the collar of Dung, yanking him down before a particularly nasty curse ripped him in two. There was a muttered, "Thanks, Remus" before Dung got back and leapt into the fray, moving with a speed that belied his general rotundness.

He heard Dung scream for a split second before there was a cracking noise. Remus could only hope that it was instantaneous.

Lost. Everything was lost. The night ate everything mercilessly, as carrion-eaters desecrate the dead.

Noises. A rustle. He turned, and something small and bright crept through the branches of the nearby glen.

Light. Everything was light. A dazzling ray burst before his very eyes, and he screamed in pain.

"WE'RE HERE!" screamed Hermione, holding something in her hand. Luna ran in beside her, holding a similar object. Remus' eyesight restored itself, and looked at what they held in their hands.

Flashlights. Muggle flashlights.

Simultaneously, they trained their flashlights on the Death Eaters, the flare lighting up the entire field as it washed away the blackness.

The embattled Order Members and Death Eaters both looked at the two girls, clothed in horrendously bright white robes. Hermione fired a curse, and then looked over her shoulder at her comrades.

"What in God's name are you waiting for, written instructions?" she yelled. "FIGHT!"

The battle began anew, and the Order members charged, now able to see who they were fighting. Curses flew, and the Muggleborns also kicked, bit, and generally assaulted anything that came in their path.

A Death Eater started for Remus, who was fending off lightning-fast attacks from another. Without a word, Luna jumped over a prone figure and plunged her wand into the billowing robes of Remus' attacker.

Fire engulfed the robes, and the Death Eater ran around wildly, trying to put himself out, too panicky to consider using a water-dousing spell.

"Oh my," said Luna mildly, looking at Remus curiously. "They do fuss a bit, don't they?"

Remus stared at her, stunned, and then did something he had not done in a long while. He laughed. He laughed so hard that tears coursed down his face; he laughed as he hadn't since Sirius died. It was just the thing that his best friend would have said. He laughed as he pressed on into the battle, dodging hexes with more vigour than he had done since he was young.

The battle ended, and the Light was victorious. Remus, wiping tears from his face, looked around and saw Hermione kneeling over Dung, brushing hair off his face. He watched her face sadden, and then suddenly blossom into delight.

"He's alive!" she shouted joyously. "Oh, God, he's alive! Someone get me some clean fabric! I need to staunch his wound!"

Remus sat and watched the two girls patch Dung up, rolling him around as they wound bandages around his middle. He watched, and laughed, because he knew for now, everything was going to be okay.

"Damn!" said Hermione. "My flashlight ran out of batteries! Of all the things to forget to do, I would forget to change the batteries. DAMN!"

The tears of laughter started again.

Hermione and Luna paced the floor of their cell. It had been several hours since they had been kidnaped, and they were trying to find a way out.

"I wish we had our wands," said Hermione in frustration.

"If if's and buts were fruits and nuts, we'd have Christmas every day," sang Luna, making Hermione chuckle.

"I'd settle for Boxing Day," said Hermione calmly. "Alright, I don't think we have much of a choice. We're going to have to do this the Muggle way."

Luna nodded, then got on her hands and knees and started crawling on the floor. Hermione looked at her in confusion until Luna produced a large rock and held it up. Hermione caught on immediately, and then lay on the floor and started making noises of intense pain. Luna hid in a shadow.

Their guard came in, confused by the high-pitched, retching noises that Hermione was making. He arrogantly strolled over, inspecting the girl.

The next thing he knew, an intense pain blossomed in his head, and he was kissing stone floor before he passed out. Hermione looked over at him, shaking her head.

"Let's go," she said, and the girls crept out of the room, hand in hand.

"Do you remember which way is out?" Hermione asked. Luna pointed north. Hermione put her hand on the right-hand wall.

"My dad taught me," she whispered, "that if you face an exit of a place you're trying to get out of, you put your hand on the right wall, and it will lead you home." Luna nodded, and the two girls set off in silence.

They hugged the walls of the prisonhouse they were being kept in, hiding in corners and behind statues whenever Death Eaters passed them. Their imprisoners, so well versed in magic, had never thought to safeguard their house from Muggle intrusion and escapes, thinking that any sane wizard or witch would only try magical means.

Hermione and Luna finally made it to the exit, a small door concealed on the side. It was unwarded save an enchanted lock; Voldemort had never been able to find out a way to magically seal the door shut, the former occupants of the house taking the spell that would disenchant it to their grave. He had settled on chaining it shut, a magically-reinforced lock holding it tightly shut.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Do you still have that rock?" she asked. Luna held it up, and Hermione started yanking on the chair without further ado.

After it was discovered that the prisoners were missing, a search was led. After several exhausting hours, the Death Eaters stumbled across the small door, and were utterly confused on how the two girls had managed to pick the lock and break it without magic. It never occurred to them that Hermione had merely pulled the chain taut, and Luna had beaten the chain and lock until it broken, the spells cast into it only meant to prevent magical lock-picking.

Hermione and Luna sat in the sitting room of the Burrow, feet propped up on a table. Voldemort had been vanquished, the world was safe, and it was time for the Trio to start worrying about NEWT exams.

"Hermione," whined Ron, "I've already studied for an hour. Can't I take a break?"

Hermione sank deeper into the couch she was sitting on. She was thrilled that everyone was recovering from the horrors of war at such a quick pace, but she wasn't sure she wanted this part of Ron to come back so quickly.

"Go on, then," she said, waving her hand tiredly. "I'm too exhausted to argue with you." Ron cheered, sending Luna into chuckles.

"You're an angel, Hermione," he said gratefully. "No, you're a- a-"

They say that in order to become a saint, one must first perform three miracles.

"A saint," prompted Mrs Weasley, bringing the girls steaming mugs of cocoa.

"That works," said Luna, and the girls giggled.

Fin