What Little Things Remain

She was called down to supper by Bunter; it was not much later than they normally ate at Hogwarts, which pleased her for some obscure reason. They ate in the formal dining room, bunched up at one end of an exceedingly long table. There was not much talk. Snape commented that if he was not contacted shortly, he would send an owl to Malfoy himself. She nodded mute agreement.

As the house-elf took away their plates, the fire at the far end of the room suddenly sputtered and flared up. Craning her head without standing up, Hermione could just barely see a head nestled among the flames - Draco Malfoy's head. She quickly glanced over to Snape to see that he had noticed; he had.

"Snape! Granger!" Malfoy called.

"What are you waiting for? It's your castle," she prodded, stage-whispering.

He slowly put his fork down and folded his napkin. Every action was stylized and insolent; clearly he did not mind keeping Malfoy waiting. "Come. I suspect this message is for you also." Sauntering to the fire, he crouched by it and gave a cold smile. "Mr. Malfoy! What can I do for you?" Hermione followed suit.

"Our master expects you to go to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Now. For a test of your loyalty." He smiled back. "Your absence will be taken as rejection of his offer."

"Is the gate open?" Snape asked

"Surely you remember? It's opened on the twenty-first of August and closed on the second of September. Yes, the gate is open. I shall see you there."

With a loud pop, Malfoy disappeared, and the fire rushed up to fill the space. It burned brighter than before. They stood quickly, and Hermione followed Snape through the halls of the castle. He walked briskly, calling orders to Bunter behind them. Eventually he held the door to the outside open for her, and they stood in the last rays of sunlight. "Have you ever Apparated to King's Cross Station?" he asked.

"No."

"Joint Apparation it shall be, then." He pulled out his wand and clasped her wrists the way he had done in Sacramento, when they had had to reach the river so quickly. As before, they were taken apart and put together. As before, Hermione felt scrambled, as though she had not been quite properly puzzled out.

They were in a niche that was entirely overlooked by the crowds of Muggles. Snape took her arm as they emerged, stuffing their wands away and ignoring the looks of surprise that followed Snape's old-fashioned mode of dress. "I can't kill Malfoy; he's my godson. If it comes down to that, I shall have to trust in you, though the thought is quite frightening. Keep your wand at the ready, but don't brandish it," he instructed. "Remember we're supposed to be ... involved. Don't say no to anything he asks and don't be a Gryffindor for once in your life."

"Only snakes can deal with other snakes," she replied with some vitriol, masking her apprehension, and before she could think better of it, she ran for the barrier to enter the platform.

Suddenly she was in the midst of familiarity, despite the fact that there was nothing where the cherry-red Hogwarts Express normally stood. Most of the large space was empty. There were two people, though, seated on a bench on the far right. One was tall and fair, the other short and dark.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. Then she felt the touch of Snape's hand on her back - he must have followed her directly. "Master," she said more loudly, crossing the platform to kneel before what once was Harry Potter. Snape followed her, bending his head as he went in submission.

Now that she was closer, she could see that there were differences - not in the body itself, but in the way it was worn. Something about Harry had always been rather weedy and uncertain, almost awkward even. Combined with his young-looking face, it had made people overlook him, made it even odder when he was raised to heroic status. Now, though, that uncertainty was gone. It was replaced by an insolence of the sort that both Snape and the elder Malfoy exhibited. Harry would never wear black clothes along the line of Snape's. Harry would never sit just so, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"I am pleased that you have come," he said, and the voice was Harry's. "I am ready to accept you in my service quite quickly indeed. You've only to do one thing for me." Using the tip of his wand, the Dark Lord brushed some hair away from his forehead. It was as smooth as anyone else's. She could hear Snape's indrawn breath and did everything she could not to react. "There are two people who I believe should be summarily executed."

Malfoy uttered a charm at this cue, and behind the bench, two bound prisoners flickered into being. It was Mrs. Figg and a girl not very much older than Hermione - Elspeth Kneen. Elspeth lay limp against the silver ropes that held her, seemingly in pain, while Figg struggled against her bonds, trying to shout through a Silencing Spell.

"Why should you select them, my Lord? I do not question your judgement, but they are pureblood." Snape asked what Hermione was afraid to.

Not-Harry smiled. "You always did have questions. I shall indulge you. Arabella Figg killed Lucius Malfoy. Don't you remember? As for Kneen - I understand that Granger is to be the Maid at her wedding. They must be good friends, then, and what better way to prove her loyalty?"

"Shall I kill her now, for you, master?" Hermione asked with fervor, pulling her wand.

"No." Snape put his hand on her wrist. "I have lived with Figg's slights and insults for too long, master, to let this opportunity go to waste. I never played with the Muggles the way Malfoy always enjoyed - but if you wish I shall spill some of Figg's blood now, and make a pretty picture for the new students when they arrive."

"Go on," he said.

Malfoy cast the Imperius Curse on Figg before unbinding her, directing her to move forward. She stood directly in front of Hermione, her eyes frantic but her body following Malfoy's directions. "Ensis," Snape said. A long, wickedly curved scimitar appeared in the air before him. He plucked it from where it hovered, his movements spare. "Perhaps we should move this way. Hermione does not enjoy the smell and taste of blood - and I intend to cut off her head."

Something flickered across the Dark Lord's face that Hermione could not identify, but he signaled to Malfoy. Figg moved to the center of the platform and knelt. Her white hair was short-cropped, and as she raised her head to provide a target for Snape's sword, the glinting gold collar she wore could be clearly seen around her neck.

Snape set his feet and gripped the sword very tightly. Then, in one quick swoop, he swung. The air hummed with the metal's movement. He was deadly accurate.

But the sword bounced.

It flew out of his hands and hit one of the posts that held the awning over the platform. There was an agonizing series of crashes as it fell to the floor, then lay there before disappearing. "Master, I -" Snape began, as Figg rubbed her neck and fingered the collar.

The Dark Lord laughed, a bitter sound that Hermione knew quite well. "I almost thought you were loyal after all, Severus. Did you not believe I knew of the famous Figg Collar? A pity. Come kneel before me. Face the Killing Curse like a Gryffindor might. Draco, be ready."

Hermione supposed that this could be construed as a compliment to her.

Malfoy had turned his head to look at Snape, though his body was inclined toward the Dark Lord. His face was indescribable, almost unreadable. Some of the old hero-worship was there still, but it was tempered with age and newfound understanding. Snape moved slowly, not giving up his wand but slipping it into one sleeve as he stood tall. This is not how it's supposed to go, Hermione thought frantically, her breath coming faster as she tried to stay calm. It's not -

"I cannot," Draco said.

"I am his godfather - master," said Snape, his eyes darting between Hermione and the Dark Lord. Perhaps he knew then what the next move would be.

"Bind him, then, Malfoy." He did, shooting ropes from his wand. "Hermione Granger. Come here."

She did, her feet silent on the concrete, stopping only a few inches from the bench where he sat. He was only a little taller than her when he stood. Strange, really, but she noticed it in a way she had never noticed it before. His hand was cold on her cheek as he traced down to her neck, down the line of the vacuita's thin chain. "I have a better task for you now. Kill the traitor."

Her eyes caught Snape's as she turned, but he looked away. This was a decision fully in her hands, on her head. No running. No hiding. No way to put it off to another person.

"No," she said. "No. I won't."

It was stupid, utterly stupid, to not utter a quick spell, to not make a quick move. She had always panicked in a crisis, no matter how good her intentions were. Now, instead of panicking, she simply did not think to act. Harry's voice came from behind her, surprised and angry. "Well, then. Crucio."

At first the pain was startling, but not unbearable, like a weak ache in all her bones. It strengthened. It came from the inside out: her throat hurt, her teeth, her tongue. Her stomach convulsed and her brain tried to press its way out through her eyes, shooting stars across her vision. She couldn't imagine another moment of pain, soon enough, and she tried to scream, but nothing in her body worked. The magic kept her from fainting, kept her eyes open and mostly seeing. The Dark Lord leaned back against the bench, like Harry after a tiring Quidditch game, his wand still out. Through the roaring in her ears she heard his voice. "Too much loyalty to the wrong person..."

Her hand clutched the vacuita, and somewhere she knew that the spasms were pulling it from her neck, carving a thin red line into her super-sensitive skin. If she could have thought, she would have tried to release it, to stop herself from pulling it off and breaking the geas. But she could not. The tearing, searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse and the feeling of being stretched to the breaking point, coming from the geas, mixed and melded. Together they grew worse and worse, till she could feel herself biting through her lip with it, trying to stay sane.

Then, in a moment, the pain was gone, and she knew she had fallen into a memory. This place, though, was not one she had seen before - it felt familiar, but she did not recognize it. It was a forest - the Forbidden Forest?

But before her rose a dark figure. She slumped, aching with the aftermath of Cruciatus, on the base of a tree, her eyes darting from side to side. "Imperio," the voice said, backing into a shaft of light. It was Harry, his scar gone, his eyes sharp and glinting. Not Harry, then, but rather the Dark Lord inhabiting his body. Her mind worked as well as ever, but she knew that like before she was remembering, that if she tried to change the course of events she would surely fail. Her body tensed as she tried to resist the sweeping sensation of lightness that came over her.

Say 'zeitgeist,' said a voice in her memory-mind, just as she had felt it before when Professor Moody had been teaching. She had never been good at fighting Imperius. Say 'zeitgeist.' Say 'zeitgeist.' With every ounce of her being she fought it, rejecting it, using as much magical power as she could draw on.

"Zeitgeist," she heard herself say, and then her eyes slipped closed - her memory-eyes, that is. She could still think, though, and in her thoughts she consolidated all the clues into one idea.

Elspeth Kneen had a trigger word that made her fall asleep, part of the protection spells laid on her. Harry's parents had been married with full ceremony, just like Elspeth's, and they'd never have skimped on protecting their child. And that meant that any person who shared his blood could make him fall asleep with the right word, and now she knew it was 'zeitgeist,' and that meant...

Her eyes snapped open in the memory once more, just as Harry's voice whispered a memory charm. The pain returned and the world wavered - she was back in the present. But just as quickly she realized she lay limp; all she was feeling was its aftereffects. Harry's cold, indifferent face hovered over her, a drop of sweat rolling down his nose and hitting her forehead. He looked tired.

Just as she had in the memory, she whispered, putting the full force of her will behind the command. "Zeitgeist."

For a moment the wind was knocked out of her as Harry's - the Dark Lord's - body fell over hers. Then something happened. Hermione had been so dry and uncaring for so long that she almost thought it was impossible for her to feel that burning rage she once knew so intimately, anger which must have driven her into Gryffindor House. Now, covered in Lord Voldemort's pale sweating body, she felt it bubble up again. There was Ron, spidery-thin in the subterranean darkness of the corridors; there were her parents, eyes milky white, diagnosed with bizarre heart attacks by a befuddled Muggle coroner. There was Snape, staring at her with a mixture of shock and horror. There was Dumbledore's limp body, his beard singed.

And there, eyes closed and glasses digging into her still-hurting skin, was Harry.

If she had tried to lift her arm, she could not have done it. But she didn't try. She merely did, pulling the smooth weight of her wand from her sleeve and pressing it to the Dark Lord's temple. Her voice was surprised even to her own ears as she quite calmly spoke the Killing Curse.

There was no change in the feel of the body against her, but Hermione could sense the power flowing between them in spring green light. She never knew where that power came from, later. Perhaps there is some truth in the old belief that in stressful times humans can perform superhuman feats. Blankly, she sat up, letting the body fall away from her, ignoring the pain in her bones.

Before her, Snape was still bound. His arm, tightly clamped to his side, was tensed. From it poured streams of silver light, pooling around him, running like water. He stared down at it in something like pleasure, and Hermione knew his Dark Mark was disappearing. But behind them there was movement. Malfoy raised his wand, the same quicksilver substance soaking his own arm.

"No, you don't," came a familiar voice from behind them. "Go away. And that's an order."

Trying to turn and see, Hermione only moved in a way that was truly painful. She fell to the floor again, retching. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy fall in a fully body bind. But before her stood Harry Potter.

"You okay? Harry asked, trying to help Hermione sit up. His hand brushed right through her, giving her chills. "I - Oh! Don't look at me like that. I'm not Voldemort."

"Then what are you?" she asked stupidly, slowly trying to rise.

"You didn't think I was completely gone, did you? He could only push me down when he took over my body; he couldn't push me out. If you'd been able to exorcise him..."

"But you're a ghost."

"My life's work's not over yet, Hermione! I had a lot of time to think about it while he was running my body - I almost hoped this would happen. So I'm stuck on this earth awhile. You don't get a goal to complete when you become a ghost, you know. You just haunt the earth and hope you finish your task before it gets too boring."

She laid her head down again, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. Strong hands shook her, suddenly. "Wake up, girl! I know you're going into backshock, but it'll do you no good to sleep," the owner of the hands said. It was Mrs. Figg; she must have bound Malfoy before.

"Oh, thank God. Snape? And the girl - Elspeth, was it?" Harry asked.

"I'll untie them; I'm not much the worse for wear. Snape? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Figg. Potter, if you were still awake in him, why didn't you do anything, using that great heroic mind of yours?"

Hermione, more aware though still unbearably weary, saw Harry straighten up at Snape's tone. "We never covered possessions in Defense Against the Dark Arts, sir," he muttered. "I tried to do it the way you fight the Imperius curse, but..."

What might have been an ugly scene was stopped by Figg untying Elspeth's silver bonds. The girl was ridiculously grateful, rubbing at where they had crossed her; her skin was scored in ugly welts. She licked dry lips, exposing slightly pointed teeth, and picked herself up. "I didn't think we were going to make it there," she said in a throaty voice. "Is Remus all right? He said -"

"Lupin is fine," Snape assured her. "Figg, if you could untie me, I'd be most grateful." As soon as he was free, he Apparated for help. Tired, wrung out, and hurt, the other four sat not looking at each other and not looking at the body or at Malfoy. Eventually, like before, the Ministry came and took them away.