Memoire Persistante

LA QUATRIEME

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The last episode had both Ron and Hermione severely worried. Ron was so afraid for her and the baby that he had his mother come to stay with them. He assured his wife that it was so they could have help around the house, but Hermione knew that Molly Weasley was there to do nothing aside from keeping a close eye on her at all times.

Truthfully, she was rather glad to have a reason to stay away from the rings. She had tucked the puzzle pieces away into their box and refused to look at them. All her research and tests showed that they did not exude dark magic, but they did not need to for Hermione to be frightened.

The feeling of Snape's anguish was fresh in her heart and the blank face of a dead Lily Potter was constantly on her mind. She hoped and prayed that she would never have to suffer that sort of trauma with Ron. Life must have been a terrible ordeal for Snape, she reasoned. It must have been extraordinarily difficult to float between the lines, following both the man who murdered his one love and the boy who stared at him hatefully with her eyes.

Hermione felt a new appreciation for her professor despite her fears and all the grief he'd given her. He used to ridicule her to no end in the library when she was running back and forth, searching texts. "Ever curious, Miss Granger," he would say. "Do you have some incurable fascination with walking in circles fervently?" Then there was that time he had glowered at her from across the Great Hall, causing her to accidentally drop her spoon into her soup. It seemed rather comical now.

Deeply unsettled by this sudden connection to Severus Snape, Hermione tried to push him out of her mind to no avail; everything she saw had a nasty effect of reminding her of him. Slowly, she found herself in a strange isolation. There was only one person she could tell, someone who deserved to know--Harry. But what would she say? No, she couldn't.

Molly's presence helped ease her trouble a great deal, but some days, she longed for more. As the month wore on, Hermione slowly found herself itching to see the sinister ring pieces once more. Telling herself that she had better things to do, like setting up the nursery and rounding pointed corners in the house, she pushed the desire back. Yet every time she walked past the vanity, her eyes would linger on the jewelry chest just a little longer than the previous time.

Before long, she was consumed with trying to find the last piece again.

Just one last piece, then it would be over.

She ran through the origins of the rings once more. Snape was holding the first. The second was sold to the junk shop by an old woman. And Narcissa Malfoy had said in not so many words that Snape had given the third to her. Hermione was sure that the old woman who sold the second had been his mother. He had given each piece away separately, and he had not finished when he died.

Instinctively, she knew where she could look for the final recipient. It was so numbingly clear that she mentally kicked herself for not thinking it sooner. She would go find his will.

The clerk at the records office was happy to help her when she flashed him a winning smile and said her name slowly. "Hermione Granger, you know, friend of Harry Potter." He gave a little yelp and immediately drew up a yellowing stack of parchment from the archives.

Hermione flipped through the papers excitedly. House, Gringotts, other assets, she rushed past them to the small individual objects section. Halfway through the page, she saw it. It was beautifully simple and clear. In his small spidery writing were the words: "To Minerva McGonagall, I leave one silver ring. May she remember always that it was I who won our bet." A small picture of the crooked loop was beside the text. She had found it!

A second image of the same ring was below the first accompanied by the text: "To Harry Potter, I leave a second silver ring. May he have the wisdom to feel its truth." A small red stamp bearing "unrecovered" was beside this one.

Hermione frowned. Another piece?

Then it suddenly made perfect sense to her. She had picked up the piece that was meant for Harry and the ministry was never able to find it. Filing this bit away, she knew where her next stop was. After writing an overly eager correspondence to Hogwarts, she left work early.

That evening, after Molly had gone to bed, she enlisted Ron's reluctant help to connect the Floo to Hogwarts.

"Ron," she said unkindly, "you need to hold that charm for more than a second."

"Can't we do this tomorrow?" her husband moaned.

"Of course not!" she insisted.

Ron gave a snort and dropped his charm again. "What's so important about seeing McGonagall anyway?"

"You wouldn't understand," Hermione shot back. There was nothing keeping her from this last piece.

The wizard recast the charm and held it this time. "You know, you're past seven months now. I think Floo travel might be dangerous. Mum once told me about a witch who was seven months and went through the Floo. The baby came out grey!"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's perfectly safe," she shot back tartly. "Plus, I will not be kept in this house and fed all day. I'm not a swine for you to raise."

Ron turned bright red.

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Hermione was in a much better mood the next morning when she visited Hogwarts. Molly had insisted on joining her, but Hermione purposely set a cake in the oven on fire so her mother-in-law would stay behind. She burst from the headmistress's fireplace with grace atypical of a woman her size.

"Professor McGonagall! It is delightful to see you!"

The elderly witch smiled kindly and beckoned her with arms prepared for a light embrace. "Miss Grang--Mrs. Weasley is it now. Do come over here where I can get a good look at you." She admired Hermione at arm's length with an expression that made Hermione fear the old witch was going to pinch her cheeks.

"You look radiant, dear. Do come and sit, you must be tired of being on your feet. Are you expecting your first?" McGonagall invited her to the seat opposite her desk. She looked very much the same as she always had.

"Oh yes, we're going to name her Rose," Hermione replied proudly.

"What a pleasant name--Rose."

The two witches exchanged pleasantries and small talk over tea until they were both well acquainted. During their entire conversion, she could not help glancing down with hungry eyes at the silvery ring on McGonagall's middle finger periodically. The last! The fourth and final!

"Professor, about the artifact that I mentioned--"

"Oh yes, what can I help you with?" McGonagall nodded eagerly.

"Well, the artifact--it's your ring, headmistress. Can I--see it?"

McGonagall seemed taken aback at the request. "My ring? I do not see how--It is quite plain."

Hermione watched with building anticipation as the old witch took it off the crooked ribbon and held it out to her. Snatching it up shamelessly, Hermione slipped it onto her own finger. Unlike the others, however, the tiny stone did not shift. It fit just as the others did, perfectly aligned to her hand. Confused, she twisted it around. There were no outbursts, no emotions, no unusual sensations at all.

This last ring was devoid of magic.

"Professor Snape gave this to you, did he not?" Hermione asked quickly while setting the ring down on the desk in disappointment.

McGonagall looked alarmed. "Yes, how did you--what is the meaning of this, Mrs. Weasley?"

Swallowing, the younger witch shook her head and said in a strained voice. "It doesn't make any sense. The piece fits."

"The piece?"

Hermione took out her three pieces and placed them onto the desk next to McGonagall's. "Professor Snape gave away the four pieces of his puzzle ring, and this is one of them," she explained. Picking up the thin wiry pieces, she hooked them onto one another. It took some clever twisting before the rings fit together harmoniously. With a snap, the four pieces clicked into place and formed a perfectly circular knotted ring.

McGonagall gasped. She picked up the beautiful silver knot and examined it closely. Momentarily, she glanced behind her to a portrait on the wall, searching for something, but looked back at Hermione when she saw that the gold frame was vacant.

"How did you come to possess these pieces?"

For a single moment, she considered lying and manipulating the last piece from McGonagall, but she felt no compulsion toward this piece. Biting her lips, Hermione couldn't help it as her pitiful tale rushed out, all the dreams and episodes. McGonagall seemed to be slightly disturbed by her story; she sat back in her seat with an indescribable expression. The headmistress held the ring delicately when Hermione finished and extended her hand forward. The four stones seemed to recognize one another, gleaming with the same silvery threads.

"He was always so stoic, Professor Snape was," McGonagall said as she traced the knot's path, "especially at funerals, never shed a tear or broke composure. I wonder if he--"

Hermione's mind was racing. Her eyes darted from the ring to the black runic bowl behind McGonagall's desk. It was so simple!

"Memories," she blurted out, "they've got memories!"

The headmistress looked at Hermione in surprise.

"That's why he was always so stoic! Because he never remembered what he was supposed to feel! They're in the stones! He threw his own memories away," Hermione spoke excitedly.

"Oh my, Severus--" McGonagall breathed.

Hermione gripped the edge of the desk and said eagerly, "Professor, could I--could I view them in your Pensieve?"

Considering the request, McGonagall looked as though she had something to say. However, to the contrary, she wordlessly brought the black bowl forward onto her desk and pointed her wand at the stones. Long silvery threads began to slip out of them.

"Be careful, Mrs. Weasley. If what happened to you is indeed true, these may be quite unpleasant."

The young witch nodded. Taking a deep breath, Hermione bend down and placed her face into the ghostly fluid.

When her feet found solid ground, she was standing in a Hogwarts hallway behind a red headed girl and a very young Severus Snape. It was her dream exactly! The second memory was a new experience, her rage-inducing dream which she could never recall. She cringed when the mug crashed against the wall. And the third, she felt a pang of sympathy for him as he knelt muttering into the long red hair of Lily Potter. Hermione walked through the scenes with the familiarity of reading a book a second time.

When she reached the fourth, she found herself in a field of daisies, washed out and yellow from summer sun. She thought she could hear voices but could only see a fog of flowers all around. This last memory was empty compared to the others, only a shadowy echo. Hermione felt no overwhelming emotions here, only a vague happiness.

The Pensieve abruptly pushed Hermione out and she found herself sitting in McGonagall's office once more. The headmistress lent Hermione a steady hand and gave a curious look.

"They are exactly like my dreams!" she remarked, "but the last one, from your ring, Professor. It's gone, like someone has taken it."

"Gone?" McGonagall considered this carefully before lifting the memories into a vial she conjured.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Aren't you going to look as well?"

The old witch seemed to waver for a second. "It would seem that these are not for me to see," she replied simply. "I think that it would be most appropriate if you took this. That last one--it's best to leave it be, we may never know." McGonagall looked at the ring wistfully and traced its angles one last time then pressed it into Hermione's clammy palm.

Hermione looked at the silver circle, completed at last. It felt as though she had exorcised a demon; the metal felt heavy and foreign to hold.

For a second, she thought about severing the ring and returning each piece to their rightful owners but abandoned the idea quickly. The ring had such a strong look of finality that Hermione could scarcely remember that it was once four distinct pieces. It was clearly meant for someone as one single entity, not to be scattered about.

Harry could have the memories, but she would keep the ring. The four gem stones were now all clear and empty. They reminded her that her current life was a gift--a gift born from the sacrifices and self-destruction of her professor, and that memories were precious, too precious to lock away. She felt strong when she put the whole ring on, as if she had just gained enough determination to conquer all.

"But Professor McGonagall, I don't understand--how can mere memories be so powerful?"

McGonagall flicked her eyes to the vacant portrait again before saying, "Sometimes, Miss Granger, I'm afraid memories are far more real and carry more of us than we'd like to admit."

Hermione seemed unsatisfied.

"But what happened, I still don't..."

"I suspect these memories were forced out and felt they had finally found a welcoming home."

The younger witch thought this over carefully. The idea would occupy her long after she left. "One more thing, Professor. What was the bet that you lost Professor Snape?"

McGonagall gave a wry smile and replied, "He bet me that he would become Headmaster."

Hermione said her thanks and left after a long goodbye. Stepping through the fire, she turned the ring over and over in her hand and wondered what had happened in the daisy field.

She would never find out.