What Little Things Remain

HARRY POTTER MURDERS NINETEEN IN U.S.

She tore out of Gryffindor Tower, still in a dressing gown the house-elves had provided. McGonagall's words haunted her: Harry appeared ... then he put Cruciatus on you. Harry...

Voldemort.

The portrait was at the base of the North Tower, she knew, although she hadn't been there since she had been in Trelawney's Divination class. Her bare feet slapped on the cold stone of the corridors, chafing as she ran up and down stairs as fast as possible. The castle had always loved her, and it hastened her on her journey: no staircases swung away from her now. The corridors were still eerily silent as she approached the painting.

"J'informerai Snape que vous êtes arrivés."

"Merci," Hermione answered after a pause as she searched for the correct French word, her mind still back on the Daily Prophet.

Snape only poked his head out of the swinging door the portrait made, his hands wrapping around the gilt frame - an odd habit. "Miss Granger."

"Did you see -"

He made a small noise of frustration. "Yes, I saw the Prophet. It's a pity Potter's name is being so sullied. I hardly know what I shall do." His voice was sarcastic. "Oh, wait, I do. I shall worry about the Dark Lord rising again and not about my old friend Potter, who is almost certainly dead."

Clenching her teeth, Hermione grabbed the portrait before he could shut it. "No, Prof - Snape." It wasn't right to call him 'professor' anymore, and she'd refuse to anyway, even if he was returning to form. "I wasn't worried about Harry's reputation. He hasn't any use for it now. But this means You-Know-Who is inhabiting Harry's body for sure, and if he's been found out, don't you think he'll be leaving Sacramento?"

"You have a point, but he could be at any one of the Malfoy properties, even assuming Malfoy is his only supporter - and that seems most likely, as I recall they owned a house in California," Snape retorted. "They've land in Japan, Canada, France, Bulgaria, Germany, not to mention the British Isles. We've no idea where he's gone."

"Then we haven't a chance?"

He gave a crooked smile that might have been a smirk. "As long as Hogwarts is standing, we've a chance. You stood down Lord Voldemort. What have you to be afraid of?" He looked pointedly at where her hands gripped the gilt frame, then glanced up and down, making her acutely aware of her disheveled appearance. "You remind me. The headmistress has asked me to accompany you to pick up some of the instruments necessary for Lupin's wedding. We shall meet in the Great Hall at nine, I think."

Nine in the morning saw Hermione far better dressed, her hair combed and behaving for once. The Great Hall was sunny and bright, echoing the sky above; Snape looked like a large black shadow as he leaned against the staff table. "Hurry up. We haven't all day. The Floo is connected to the great fireplace only for an hour, so that we might get the items you need - a pair of pokers and tongs made specially for the occasion, I believe. Minerva ordered them from a magical blacksmith in North Yorkshire. Enunciate 'Ashford's Smithy' quite clearly, please." Only then did she notice the fire roaring in the north wall of the Great Hall, a fire she hadn't seen burning since the invasion.

She wouldn't think of it. She refused to. Instead, she took a pinch of Floo powder from the pouch he offered her and threw it into the purple flames.

"Ashford's Smithy."

Having not used the Floo network in some time, Hermione almost forgot to tuck her elbows in, and when she stumbled out into a small, crowded room she was covered in soot. She coughed and muttered a cleansing charm before taking a good look at her surroundings. She had never been in a blacksmith's before, and it was strange to see a hammer floating in the air, beating silver into shapes on an anvil. Other tools floated about the room, too, and many fires burned, giving it a strong smoky smell and making the air quite hot. A man stood by a workbench, holding a wand that looked ridiculously small compared to his massive arms.

"You'll be the maid who needs the pokers and tongs," he said, seeing that she wasn't about to speak.

"Yes, I think so."

Snape stepped out of the fireplace behind her and immediately assessed the situation. "Miss Granger is the one they picked for the maid, Ashford," he cut in. "Where are the - things? I can't touch them, or I'd have simply gotten them myself."

"Over there, sir," the blacksmith replied. They were leaning against the far wall, two intricately worked iron pokers and a pair of long tongs. "I made them on the regular pattern, as I hadn't any other instructions. Nobody's touched them since they came out of the fire, and they've the very best charms laid on them. I guarantee that they'll work well in your protection spell."

"I'll tell Minerva that if she complains," Hermione offered, picking her way gingerly through the maze of equipment to lift the heavy things and pull them after her towards the fireplace.

"Thank you."

Snape glanced around as though he owned the shop, standing very still before the Floo-networked fire. "Business doing well?"

"About the same. You haven't been in for cauldrons much, and the new Potions teacher seems to use all ready-mades, but the regulars are mostly still regular and -"

A short, pudgy little man burst in through the door, which was situated next to the fireplace. He was out of breath, huffing and puffing, and his wand was drawn. Hermione dropped her burden in surprise.

"Lord Snape! Thank heavens. I saw on the village map that you were here - Lord Malfoy has arrived to see you! He's waiting in the blue room now, wouldn't take that you were out of the country for an answer."

Hermione muttered, "Lord Snape?" the very instant Snape exclaimed "Malfoy?" He strode to the door, which the short man held open for him, and Hermione was right on his heels. "What does he want?"

"Only to speak with you, as far as I can tell. But -"

"Lord Snape?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes, that's who I am when I'm at home. Please try to speak intelligently. You are walking through the village of Snape, passing Snape Beck on your right, headed for Snape Castle. It would naturally follow that there must be a Lord Snape, and as my surname happens to be Snape one might logically conclude that I am he. Bunter, what exactly did he say?"

She looked around her. They had exited what appeared to be a very quaint Muggle cottage and were following a narrow street through a village, Snape and Bunter pacing nervously ahead of her. The sun shone down on whitewashed buildings, giving everything a glow that made it feel quite summery. Ahead loomed a fine Elizabethan castle, complete with turrets and battlements, though parts were somewhat decrepit. Rather than enter through the main door, they circled around and went through a servants' entrance. "Muggles use the main door. They think they're the only inhabitants, of course," Bunter said, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name; I was in such a fluster -"

"Hermione Granger," a smooth voice came from the hallway to their left. "What a surprise to see you here, in Professor Snape's home."

It took all Hermione's willpower to not say something very scathing, but something told her to keep silent, at least until she knew what Snape was planning. A Death Eater - here - one of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts, one of the ones who got away - !

"Ah, Draco! What brings you to my village?" Snape asked loudly. Then, under his breath, he instructed Hermione: "Play along and don't be Gryffindor."

"Business, as usual. I could ask the same of the Mudblood, here, but obviously she's your guest."

The older man's eyes glinted hard and beetle-black in the light of the torches that lined the hall. "You always detested Miss Granger, didn't you? It makes no matter. She is intelligent and she is ours. The Dark Lord, after all, had a Muggle father."

"Who he denounced."

"As I denounce my parents," Hermione injected. "They're dead, in any case, and good riddance." The words nearly stuck in her throat. Malfoy was as slim and lithe as ever, his hair slicked down and his broad shoulders not quite grown into yet. She could still see his mouth framing phrases: Mudblood. My master will do for you and your friends.

Snape's voice was all calm judgement. "Come, Draco, sit down. We'll talk this over. You know I've done my best for our master, but I'd my own skin to think about. Bunter - you're dismissed."

"I would have done the same," Malfoy admitted, following Snape. They walked in a line, Hermione last, to a room at the end of the very long hall. "But you should have gotten out earlier, rejected the old man as soon as you heard plans of the siege. You let us down badly." The room was all in dark blue, its large windows (magical, perhaps, Hermione thought; she hadn't seen any on their way in) looking eastward, over the village. The faint scent of summer roses wafted in on the morning breeze, a counterpoint to the conversation.

"I saw the Daily Prophet. Am I right in assuming...?"

A slow smile broke his face. "Yes. He has returned - and how, in a body belonging to his worst enemy! Irony isn't the word for it; there has to be something stronger."

"Good," Hermione said, putting what might have been too much venom into her voice. She found it necessary to explain. "It's - ah - an attractive body. Quite economical of him."

"I suppose," he responded. "Why your change of heart, Granger?"

"All those deaths, for what? Ron gets me saddled with this vacuita," she began, gesturing to it and warming to her subject. "My needs don't count for anything. Harry's clever little Mudblood friend, that's all I am to them. They don't even truly value my intelligence. And I know the Dark Lord will value that much at least. He'll know how stupid it would be to throw me away, even if I have got dirty blood."

"Or I suppose it could be just because Snape here made you an offer you can't refuse," Malfoy said, lazily. "What - bang him and join us, and he'll keep you up in style? Have you two been off banging like bunnies these past three months? Is that why nobody's been able to contact you?"

Hermione didn't know what to respond to first. Fortunately, Snape had a comeback. "Sadly, that isn't the case. I haven't been brave enough to try anything. Even if she's a Gryffindor Mudblood witch, she's a powerful Gryffindor Mudblood witch. She's to be the Maid in Lupin's wedding - you remember, the werewolf? - and she won't want to jeopardize that. You might get farther, though, Draco. If you do, you can have her with my blessing as your godfather."

"Afraid I'm not one to try." He rearranged himself on the love seat he was stretched out on. "I'll speak with our master -"

His voice echoed in and out, finally fading into nothingness, as the room wavered. Not already, I've barely been away an hour! Her descent into memory was inexorable. The smell of roses lingered, but the blue faded into washed-out grays, and it was a March day, windy and cold. It was the first time Hermione had felt the wind since they were besieged. Harry and Ron milled about near her, poking at things in the tiny tower room they had discovered, but she paid no attention. They were in what seemed to be the absolute top of Gryffindor Tower, a place nobody had shown them before, and the window was open and no wards had been triggered. They were safe, for the moment, even with the fresh air rushing in. Her heart thrilled to the idea of the thaw. Far, far below, at the base of the tower, she could see the bright specks of daffodils. A beetle alit on the sash, and she flicked it away.

"Looking at the daffy-down-dillys?" Ron asked good-naturedly. "I wish you'd get off that window ledge, though. I know it's deep set, but I'm afraid you'll fall - "

"My magic'd keep me safe, you know that," she said, but she climbed back in anyway. "I wish we could be out there again. I never thought I'd miss the outdoors, but it's spring, and we're not seeing it."

Harry stared out the window opposite them; the room was circular. "To fly again. Play Quidditch." He sighed, and his whole demeanor changed. "I want you two to promise me something. Muggles do this thing called 'blood brothers,' and I was thinking -"

"There's some wonderful practical reasons to do that!" Hermione responded excitedly, not waiting for him to finish. "It makes us siblings in the eyes of magic if it's done right, so -" Even through the memory she could feel her face drain. "Blood brothers makes you siblings in the eyes of magic - so Harry, you and You-Know-Who -"

Ron looked horrified.

"I figured that out," Harry said. "And I figure I need some really good siblings to balance it out. So." He pulled a pocket knife, his Christmas present from Ron, from where his wand was usually holstered. "What do you say?"

"I'll go with it," Ron replied.

"Okay..." Hermione was less than enthusiastic about getting her hand cut.

"Oh, buck up, you've been learning all those healing charms from Madam Pomfrey. You'll put us right in an instant."

She laughed. "Tell me it'll help me study and I'll do anything. All right. Harry - ah, you do the honors."

In fact, it barely hurt at all, the knife was so sharp. In turn they grasped each others' hands, pressing hard to make sure the blood ran together. It coursed hot over Hermione's wrist, running into her sleeve and staining it. She didn't let go. It would have offended Harry, she had thought at the time. Maybe, though, there was another force at work - becoming blood brothers (or 'blood siblings,' as she later insisted it should be called) was not something you stopped halfway through.

When they were finished she healed each of their hands, hers last, and removed the stain from her shirt. It seemed whiter than before when she was finished. Harry and Ron were quite keen on finding out if they were really brothers, so she closed the shutters and followed them down into the main rooms of Gryffindor Tower, hoping they wouldn't tear her room apart looking for the book the spell to show your relatives was in.

She never went back to that secret tower room again. Instead of meeting the Gryffindor Common Room when she climbed down the ladder, Hermione found herself climbing back into her own body, which lay stretched out on the sofa of the blue room at Snape Castle. She reanimated slowly, moving her toes and fingers first, then eyelids and arms, head and legs. Finally she stared up at the ceiling and wondered if Snape and Malfoy were still in the room.

"Does she do this often?" Malfoy's voice said, answering her question.

"No, I'm afraid I've been having a bad reaction to a potion I took," Hermione responded, sitting up and letting the room snap back into focus from the blurry mass it had been. "I'm afraid Snape's losing his touch. I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"If you're ill, Granger, I'd better leave," he said abruptly. "It's been pleasant. I'll be in touch."

Snape stood to shake Malfoy's hand. "I'll be here for the next week or so, of course."

"Of course. Goodbye, Granger. Goodbye, Snape."

"Goodbye - Draco," Hermione replied.

As soon as Malfoy was gone, presumably being shown out by Bunter, she put her face in her hands and pretended she couldn't feel the vacuita hanging around her neck. "The geas isn't supposed to kick in so soon, is it? No, never mind. It isn't. Otherwise Minerva wouldn't have sent me here."

"She believed you'd only be gone an hour," Snape said, standing and pacing the length of the room. "And now the Floo has been disconnected. There's nothing to do but send an owl to them to reconnect Hogwarts tomorrow morning and hope they get it in time to do it overnight."

There were worse things, of course, than spending a day in Snape Castle, especially after Hermione was introduced to its library. There were books of every manner and persuasion, the tall shelves lit by hundreds of hovering candles, almost like something out of Hogwarts - but the texts were far more advanced. She gathered books on geasa and vacuita, reading the passages she particularly wanted to remember aloud to herself, but by far the most interesting part of the day was reading a very thin book of marriage and childhood protection spells. The very first one was what which she would perform with the help of McGonagall and Professor Trelawney - or rather Dame Betsey Kneen.

The incantation of the most recently written London-specific marriage protection spell is well known to many children, as its derivation is from a nursery rhyme common in Muggle London. However, by acting out parts of the rhyme throughout the marriage preparations and ceremony, a spell is cemented at the moment the vows are said - a powerful spell that will help the marriage last, prevent thievery from the couple for their first thirty days of married life, increase fertility, and protect against Dark influences in the minds of the married. Furthermore, certain child protection spells may not be used without this or a similar marriage protection spell having been placed on the marriage; this is one reason why illegitimate children are at such a disadvantage in the wizarding world.

To perform the spell, the marriage must be performed in one of the cathedrals named, preferably St. Morwenna's in Diagon Alley.

The spell passed into a bulleted list of things the Maid, Mother and Crone must do. Hermione skimmed it, skipping down the page.

The incantation, which is to be said by the Maid, the Mother and the Crone before they enter the cathedral, is as follows.

Gay go up, and gay go down to ring the bells of London Town
Bull's eyes and targets say the bells of St. Marg'ret's
Brickbats and tiles say the bells of St. Giles'
Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clement's
Old shoes and slippers say the bells of St. Peter's
Two sticks and an apple say the bells at Whitechapel
Old Father Baldpate, say the slow bells at Aldgate
Maids in white aprons say the bells at St Catherine's
Pokers and tongs say the bells of St. John's
Kettles and pans say the bells of St. Anne's
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St. Martin's
When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey
When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch
Pray, when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney
I do not know, says the great bell at Bow
You're naught but a con, say the bells at Diagon
Then I shall burn, say the bells at Knockturn.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed;
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.