Chapters 241-250

The Beginning of Peace

‘You told the monk everything? And he simply believed you? And he is going to help you?’ asked Harry, voice breathy with incredulity. ‘Are you sure you can trust him? I mean, I know you trusted Abbé Rigaud. But he is dead. For all we know this might be a trap.’

Severus glared at Harry, a method of intimidation wasted on the blind man.

‘Don’t teach your grandmother how to brew tea, Potter!’ Severus snarled. He inhaled heavily, nostrils flaring. More calmly, he added, ‘Harry. I know that.…Maybe he and Father Brown are the best Occlumentes ever born and our trust was misplaced from the start.
‘But we are out of options! I cannot reach Hermione with the Bonds or my Patronus. Owls and ghosts can’t find her. The house-elves can’t get to her. The Muggle police and the Vatican have given up. The case is closed.’

Harry’s leg twitched as if he wanted to jump up and pace his small office in the vaults of the Ministry. But he remained seated, motionless. At last he said quietly, ‘You’re right. We are out of options. We may be grasping at straws, but it’s better than nothing.’ Harry sighed. ‘So what is Abbé Nihel going to do?’

‘He hopes that Hermione is still in Europe,’ Severus replied. ‘He doesn’t believe they used magic to transport her, since they regard magic as Evil. And the longer the transport, the greater the risk of discovery.’

‘I wonder if they think of themselves as Evil,’ Harry said thoughtfully. ‘They are wizards, after all.’

Severus nodded, recalling Abbé Nihel’s words: ‘In destroying the Evil of your world, they hope to destroy the Evil within themselves and thus, save themselves. They are wrong—salvation lies with the Lord and not in the hands of men.’

‘The Abbé thinks they didn’t imprison Hermione themselves—they’d fear the temptation of her sorcery. If they used magic to subdue her and to silence her, they could have simply left her in any monastery. And that is where he will start searching for her.’

‘That makes sense.’ Harry frowned. ‘But if it’s that simple, why did the Vatican fail to find her?’

‘I asked that, too. Nihel assumes they anticipated the channels of official investigation. They are familiar with the hierarchy of the Church, the diplomatic contact between the Vatican and the wizarding world and the way such inquiries are handled.’

‘But?’ Harry asked, eagerly leaning forwards across his desk.

Severus smiled slightly. ‘Abbé Nihel believes they cannot imagine that someone on the inside of the Church, a priest, a monk—one of their own—would help us. Or that we could overcome our ancient fears and ask one of them for help.’

oooOooo

Hermione sat on the mattress in the corner. In her fingers she twirled the white feather that had inexplicably found its way into her cell.

How would it be, she wondered, to turn into a swan and simply fly away?

But she did not have the strength left for more than idle speculation. And dreams. Always dreams.

oooOooo

That night, Severus dreamt of a swan again. The white bird lay in his arms, nestled against him. When he stroked its feathers, the swan turned into Hermione. She pressed herself against him. Desire and despair mingled, need roared through him. He kissed the back of her neck and stroked his hands down her sides. He wanted to turn her around and enter her warmth. But he spilt himself before he ever saw her face, and woke, his own face wet with tears, his stomach and thighs sticky with semen.

oooOooo

Hermione did not give up hope on January 30 (the first anniversary of Severus’ and Harry’s deaths). Nor on 2 February (when she had been imprisoned a year and a day). Nor on April 28 (the second anniversary of her wedding).

On each occasion she carefully wrote her usual messages on the laptop.

Always a straightforward call for help. Always deleted, when the computer was returned to her the following day. Next came her lists. She still memorised and deleted them. And finally, what she had come to think of as her prayers. Only it was not God she prayed to. Most of the time she didn’t know whom she addressed.

The Muggle nun who checked the files on her laptop every day? Because who else would read what she wrote? Anonymous witches and wizards who existed only in her imagination and who would somehow (but how?) manage to read her messages? Or Severus and Harry, even though they were dead?

Maybe she only wrote to amuse her captors. But this was her only means of communication and she used it the best way she could.

oooOooo

Everyone—present and former students, teachers, parents, younger siblings—attended the Leaving Feast at Hogwarts. Severus called it a circus. No teacher disagreed with him and he barricaded himself in his office down in the dungeons.

oooOooo

On 24 June Hermione despaired.

She didn’t know why on that day of all days. Giving up all hope certainly hadn’t been on her to-do-list for the day. But it happened anyway.

She stared at the laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, ready to compose yet another message that no one would ever read.

Only she couldn’t.

For a while she sat and gazed at the keyboard, the screen, her fingers, her cursed hands. Finally she began to type. A list she had never made before.

she wrote.

Hermione looked at the list for a long time. She felt her heartbeat, slow and regular. She was so weary. Distantly, she heard the voices of the nuns, singing a hymn for their evening prayer. An odd sense of peace enveloped her.

She deleted the list and switched off the laptop without writing another word.