Chapter XIX

Hermione stirred in the waiting hall of St. Mungo's. She had passed out on a chair once the healer cleansed her hands and nearly force-fed her a potion for shock. She tried to sit upright, and fixed her clothes about her. The healer had told her that the potion was not sedative, yet everything after it was blurred into nothing.

She looked around, the clock on the wall read 6:15 and except for a woman and a young boy, the hall was empty. The boy walked around restlessly as his mother struggled to stay awake in a chair behind him. She checked her person, and found her wand in her pocket, but the death eater masks were gone. She tried to find them in the surrounding chairs, or under them.

"They took your masks lady." Said the young boy.

"Oh, they weren't mine."

"They were very scared you know, I was here when they came to take them. They acted like the masks could bite."

"I don't blame them." Hermione stood and stretched, her body ached from sleeping rigidly in a chair. She thought of Harry, and how he had writhed in pain as the curse burned him. She could only hope that the healers could regrow the burned skin.

"Well could they?" Asked the boy and when Hermione just looked at him Continued impatiently "Bite I mean..."

"No, the wearers might have though..."

The full weight of the last nights events suddenly rushed back to her. Death eaters, dead in Privet Drive, Malfoy, Harry. She had to see Harry.

She walked right up to the help desk.

"I wish to see Harry Potter." She spoke loudly.

"Don't we all" Said the bored witch without looking up.

"We came here last night, he was hurt. I want to see him."

"You just woke up miss, why don't you wash up down the hall, the healer in charge will be summoned to answer you after."

"Tell me where he is!" She nearly shouted, making her finally look up.

"I simply don't have the information miss. You never went through the admissions department. I heard they stabilized him, that's all. I'll send for the healer in charge, alright?"

"Fine." Hermione glared at her.

Two male security guards stood on either side of the hallway entrance. They stared fixedly in front of them as she passed by. She walked dizzily down the hall, and found the sign that read 'Ladies Room'. She pushed the door open and was glad to find the bathroom empty. She opened the faucet, and splashed a fistful of cold water on her face.

She had done it. In the heat of the moment, the killing curse felt like the only move, but the other one, she had cast that cutting curse deliberately. She stared at her own reflection on the mirror. She looked tired and drowsy, the lines on her face seemed exaggerated in the unnatural white light of the wash room. She looked older, much older than she had ever perceived herself.

She remembered how angry she felt last night, like she wasn't herself, like being consumed by it. She tried to feel remorse, regret, sadness or pity, anything about what she had done, but every time she remembered how she had laughed as Harry burned, made her want to throw up, or curse something.

Another splash of cold water, and she remembered how easy it was to kill them. How pathetically they died, on the ground, where they belong. She tried to stop the thoughts that rushed her one after the other, but the truth was, that there was nothing grand about how they had died. Not that there needed to be, not for such vermin.

She looked at her own face in the mirror again, she could still feel how her eyes had burned, how powerful she felt, and how she had stopped thinking, and just cast. Her stomach churned as a voice in her head taunted her. 'Murderer'. She stared, her eyes looked sleepy still. 'I don't consider killing insects, murder.'

The voice subsided, and gave her place to another thought. Malfoy. Had he done what she asked? Or were three invisible bodies still piled on the street at Privet Drive? She expected people would hit them eventually. Ministry would have to obliviate so many muggles then. 'What a mess' she thought, and closed the facet. She tied her hair with the spare hairband she had in her pocket. There would be time to worry about the ministry.

She walked out and back to the help desk, a healer stood there, chatting with the reception.

"This is Healer Spinoza. She was in charge of Mr Potter's care last night."

She smiled at Hermione, and Hermione nodded.

"How is he?"

"Stable for now. I must admit I have never seen burns this severe, particularly to the face. We have preserved a significant amount of viable tissue and performed early surgical debridement to remove necrotic eschar. We are currently supporting dermal regeneration and managing ocular reconstruction. If all goes well, he should regain consciousness within 24 hours."

"The eye?" She asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yes. The right eye sustained complete globe destruction due to thermal injury."

"Is he unconscious?"

"He is in a deep medically and magically induced sleep maintained throughout the procedure. The interventions are not tolerable in a conscious state."

She paused, looking at Hermione knowingly. "I suggest you go home-"

Hermione only half-heard her. "I wish to see him." She interrupted.

"It is Granger, is it not?"

"My name is irrelevant. I want to see my- friend. Why is that such an ordeal?"

"Miss Granger, it does no one any good. If you were to go home, we could keep you informed-"

"That is out of the question. I am not leaving before I see him."

Hermione heard the guards behind her stir.

"There is absolutely nothing to see dear, he is unconscious, and has to remain unconscious!"

"Your colleague drugged me last night. She said the shock potion wasn’t a sedative, yet I remember nothing after taking it. So forgive me if I don’t fully trust you."

"No one did such a thing madam, you were simply too tired."

"I will go home once I see Harry."

"I am the healer in charge and I just cannot permit it!"

"You will consider this an exception!" She drew her wand and pointed it at her chest. The guards reacted immediately, drawing their wands swiftly.

Hermione moved to keep all four of them in sight.

"No." The healer snapped. "Stay where you are."

The guards hesitated.

"Take me to him," Hermione said. "Please." She added.

"Madam, there is no need for this. We are not your enemy."

"Whoever you are, I will fight all of you if I have to." She looked at the guards. "Do you think you are stronger than Death Eaters? Because they are dead!"

The guards exchanged uncertain glances.

"All right." The healer said finally. "I will take you to him. But you will lower your wand."

"And if they attack me?"

"No one is attacking you. This is a hospital." She turned slightly. "Paris, Alecer, step outside."

"We have strict rules regarding wands and threats, Madam Healer," Said Alecer.

"This girl has been attacked. Your presence is escalating her distress. Step outside, and she will lower her wand." She turned to Hermione. "Won't you?"

She lowered her wand by an inch. "I might."

"Fine." Paris muttered after a brief pause. They put their wands back in their holsters, Hermione pocketed hers, but kept her hand close to the handle, just in case.

"As you wish madam healer. We'll keep our ears open." Said Alecer with a dark look at Hermione,

"Thank you Alecer." Said healer Spinoza.

"C'mon Paris, you heard the madam."

They walked away slowly.

"They do not listen to just anyone, you know."

"It was wise of them."

"You do not have to fight everyone, dear. Not everyone is a Death Eater."

"I will fight anyone who gets in my way, especially when it comes to the people I care about."

"I envy that friend of yours. Come on. I will take you to him."

"Thank you" she said curtly

"Three rules. No wands. You leave when I say. And no touching my patient. Agreed?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Those are the rules. You may jinx me if you wish, but I will not change my mind."

"Fine."

"Good. Come with me."

Hermione followed her down the hall, where they took the lift to the fourth floor. They walked through the maze of corridors that led to different wards, until they passed under a sign that read 'Burn Ward'.

"We are here. Right now Mr Potter is the only patient of this ward, and because of his condition we placed him closest to the lift. Here."

She took the first door to the left and entered Hermione after her.

"Here he is."

The room was rather large, and extremely sterile-looking. Harry was laid on a bed in the centre, his back raised by 45 degrees. On his wrists were two bronze bracelets that seemed to pulse steadily, and his face was heavily bandaged on one side.

Hermione swallowed. She took a small step forward. There were two chairs on either side of his bed, and a rack of medical supplies was placed at a short distance.

"Can he hear me?"

"I'm affraid not." Said the healer, not unkindly.

"What are those things on his wrists?"

"They help us monitor his vitals, and inform me immediately if something is wrong."

She walked closer. Her heart sank by every step. It looked like they had shaved half of his head. She felt like every step cost her greatly, like walking alone was draining her life. She finally stood by his left. She looked down, a long ragged breath left her parted, trembling lips, as though she had held unto it far too long.

She dropped unto the chair behind her and held her face in her hands.

"We did everything we could." The healer said. "I'm not going to lie to you, it will leave a scar, those flames, they are cursed fire. You should be happy he is alive."

"I wasn't fast enough. I should have seen it coming."

"You can't blame yourself. Very few people would've survived an attack from three death eaters."

Hermione remained still, her trembling hands covered her face as tears rushed to her eyes.

"I'll give you, lets say 10 minutes alright?"

Hermione nodded. The healer left without another word.

She stared at the half-bandaged face. The white gauze covered most of the right side. Only the left eye and part of the mouth remained visible. The steady rise and fall of his chest was the only sign he still lived.

She drew her chair forward and made a move to reach for his hand, but remembered the rules she had agreed to, and withdrew. She held her hands tightly in her lap. Her eyes burned with tears, but she wiped them harshly, crying wouldn't fix anything. Crying wouldn't heal her scars, or grow his eye. If it did, she'd cry until she lost her sight.

The room felt too quiet. Every small sound from the corridors outside made her heart sink, as though the healer would come for her any second. She wanted to take his hand, to talk to him, to tell him everything, or anything. The nightmare, the cold, hollow dread that had spread in her chest as she found him, burned and barely alive on the ground, the smell of blood and scorched flesh, and how she wished she could just wake up.

A small voice in her head whispered that she had killed for him. Harry was always the one to rush into danger, to take hits so that others wouldn't have to, and there, he had pushed her out of harms way, and got hit. She remembered how terrified she was when the spell transformed into a hawk and flew straight to his face. She had to shield him, or try to get that thing off him.

Her chest tightened as she remembered how he had screamed, the way she had frozen for one terrible second before she acted. How she could only see blood, and how her wand rose, a flash of green light, and the body that hit the ground like it had never lived.

She tried to feel something again, anything, guilt maybe, yet all she found was a dull ache and the memory of how easy it had been. How natural the green light had felt leaving her wand.

That frightened her more than anything.

She should have never dragged him out of Grimmauld Place. If only she wasn't so affraid, if only she was stronger, none of this would have happened. The memory of his burned face never left her mind, and she knew that she had brought her nightmares to life.

'Its all my fault.' She whispered.

She looked at the bronze bracelets on his wrists. They pulsed with soft light. She wanted to make him understand that she was there, that she had fought just to visit him. A note, maybe flowers... And she wondered if he still cared. Just as they had begun to pick up the pace, to move forward, to understand their feelings, and to move past the obstacles... It had happened.

The world had yet again spat on them and their desire to live a normal life. 'No rest for the wicked.' She had only joked that, but perhaps there was something more, some profound truth, or an unknown curse behind it. 'But we are not wicked.' She thought, we aren't bad people, we just want to live in a just world, why is that too much to ask? Yet the other voice in her head told her that she at least, wasn't far away from wickedness.

If that is what it takes, then I'd be wicked. If it is through wickedness, that I get to protect the ones I love, if it is through violence that I can for once, experience peace, and love, and not worry about losing them with every breath, then I'll show the world the meaning of violence.

I won't be robbed of the chance at a normal life. Not again, not with Harry, and not now that we've come such a long way.

Time passed slowly. Every second felt like a lifetime as thoughts invasive and cruel hurried passed her consciousness. She no longer knew how long she sat there, fighting an internal battle, wordlessly. Quietly she broke with every spark of memory, and healed with every flash of green light and shattered again, because of it just to pick up the pieces again. Just to see if she still could. Just to feel, human.

"May I enter?" A deep male voice cut through her thoughts and the figure of Sheraldov appeared in the doorway.

"Minister." Hermione stood quickly, recognizing him immediately. "Of course, please."

He was much larger than Hermione had imagined. His wide shoulders nearly filled the doorway as he walked through. He looked like an old wrestler, whose age never caught up with him. His hands were big with visible blue veins, that bulged under his skin. Hermione had never seem such visible signs of hard labour on a wizard's hands. Most wizards had hardly ever worked manually. He wore a long robe of blinding white, laced with something like a forget-me-not blue Kashmir around his neck. His wand was visibly holstered in it's expensive looking leather sheath, and on his right hand, he wore a ring with an odd gemstone that seemed to shift in colour as it reflected the light from different angles.

"Thank you." He said politely. "We have not been introduced, I am Sheraldov, Minister for magic." He said simply, as though any more description sullied him.

Hermione blinked. She was still dazed from the potions after-effects, though she still half-expected to hear his first name too.

"As with all unspeakables, we go by a single name. I wear mine still, to honour my origins, and my old peers." He explained patiently.

She recovered quickly.

"Oh, I am Hermione Jane Granger. Pleasure."

"The Pleasure is all mine. I wish we had met under better circumstances." He walked close to Harry's bed, watching him with concern. "How is he?"

"The healer told me that they've managed to save most of the tissue, but his eye was lost. He needs to be unconscious during the regeneration process..."

"Was this before or after you threatened her with a wand?"

She looked at him, biting her lip on the inside.

"You're not in trouble. This isn't the first time they experienced something like this. Though from were I stand, it was quite below you."

"I was- I didn't mean to. I just wanted to see him."

"Your old professors call you the brightest witch of her age. Surely you could have found reason where none existed."

"Sometimes, reason fails..." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"True, I expect these failures have become more frequent."

"What do you mean Minister?"

"Nothing, just a thought."

"I assume you're here because of the death eaters?"

"Yes and no, I came to visit Mr Potter first. I told him that I was flattered to meet him, and I meant that." He paused, gesturing towards Hermione to sit as he sat on the other visitor's chair, across Harry's bed.

"Usually, aurors are trusted to handle such things, yet for your case, I wanted to have the talk directly. I wouldn't want to put you under further stress, besides, I thought it more courteous."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Hermione sat back on her chair on the other side of Harry's bed.

"If you can summon the strength, please tell me what happened."

"Of course Minister."

Sheraldov listened calmly as she explained what had happened. How they walked away from Number Four Privet Drive to reach apparition distance, but were intercepted by death eaters. Two males and one female. She skipped over the unnecessary or problematic details, such as the use of the killing curse, but she couldn't come up with any lie that would cover the blood they had undoubtedly left behind. Two cutting curses that had killed two death eaters on the spot, was much better than one killing curse.

"And the third, the female one, got away?" Sheraldov asked, his voice steady, and devoid of any clue or sign as to whether he had believed her.

"I think so," She replied uncertainly. "It all happened very quickly, I was really worried for Harry..."

"Understandable. However I was shown three death eater masks upon my arrival here. Would you confirm that the female death eater left without her mask? How was it that you obtained it, and could you possibly identify her if we went over an album of known death eaters?"

"I'm not sure.. It was really dark..."

"With all that fire?" He asked shrewdly.

Hermione heart sank. He already suspected that they had killed all three of them.

"Miss Granger, if I can be frank, I had expected more."

"I'm sorry that I can't help."

"But you can."

"If I can help, I surely will not refrain." She replied formally, noticing that he was more dangerous the more at ease he became.

"Then help me get a clear picture. We found traces of blood where the incident was reported. It was clumsily or rather hastily cleansed by magic, but we have means of uncovering such things. My aurors tell me there was enough blood for two deaths. Alright, either the third one escaped, and you somehow bested her and got her mask, or that she was killed by," He paused for dramatic effect. "Less messy means."

Hermione sighed, she could no longer lie about it. The evidence was clear and undeniable. How ever Lucius Malfoy had taken care of the bodies, had left too much evidence behind. She couldn't even blame him on that. He had accepted her request for help, and she never thought even for a second that their attack would remain unnoticed by the ministry and the press.

"I will confess to everything." She said in an undertone.

"This is not an interrogation. Let us refrain from such crude words and resort to more civilised ones. How about you just tell me the truth instead?"

"Very well. I just want to-" She looked at Harry. "I will take full responsibility, whatever legal consequences my actions may have. I only ask that I'd be the one to pay for them, not Harry."

"Do you care about him that much?"

"So what if I do?" She asked defiantly.

"I was under the impression-through Percy Weasley of course-that you sought a future with young Mr. Weasley..."

Hermione only stared back. She wouldn't let him prance in her personal life, whoever he thought he was.

"Forgive me," He said politely. "I miss spoke, it is not my place."

"Not at all Minister. We had a parting of ways, that should be enough on that matter." She said curtly.

"And it is." He smiled.

"Do you agree to what I asked Minister?" She asked quietly.

"To secrecy? I have already set in motion a series of actions that will ensure less notoriety for you and Mr Potter regarding this unfortunate event."

"You have?" She asked, clearly surprised.

"Naturally. You thought I'd allow the newspapers to drag this tragedy for months, exposing this young man and his scars just so that I'd have more public support?"

"I admit that I did." She said uncomfortably.

"You think lowly of me. No matter, you are young, soon you will learn that even 'means to an end' has its limits."

"No, I don't think lowly of you Minister. It was just the obvious political move."

"Then you'd be more surprised to learn that this ward is also perfectly bee-proof."

"I see." Hermione knew that his decision to ward the place against reporters or animagi such as Rita, was yet another one of his schemes to control the narrative to the fullest.

"So you see, you have nothing to bargain with, not that I'd muse in such petty bantering. Yet all you wanted to ask of me, is already granted to you. I only ask for the truth. No legal consequences are addressed to you or Mr Potter. We have laws that grant extreme action in life or death situations."

"I didn't mean to lie." She said quickly. "Its just, nothing to be proud of really..." She said honestly.

"There is always pride in choosing life Miss Granger. Now, the truth please."

"Alright." She said in a small voice, before re-telling the story and filling in the parts she had skipped over. She told him how Harry had cast the first severing curse that killed one death eater, and how he was hit by fiendfyre through a trick, and how she didn't think any more, and cast the first thing that came to her mind, and it had worked, the green light had shone brightly in Number Four Privet Drive, taking a life with it. She told him How she had fallen like a rag doll, and how she decided, in a rush of panic and anger and worry, to kill the remaining death eater, the caster of the fiendfyre curse, and she did so with no remorse.

"That is all." She said flatly, her voice hollow as though reciting someone else's story, she looked at Harry and then up at him. Sheraldov observed her. Like an inspector who observed an experiment and was deciding whether it needed more time. His expression was unreadable. He found her eyes and before Hermione could decide whether he was trying legilimency on her or not, he nodded.

"Very well. Then I will not persist on the matter of how the bodies vanished, for I don't want to be lied to."

Hermione looked back uneasily, her mind working fast to forge a believable lie, and failed.

"I will tell you my theory, if I have not yet exhausted your tolerance for my presence."

"Of course not Minister. Your visit is most welcomed. It is a comfort." She said politely.

Sheraldov smiled. A smile that did not compliment his rough features at all.

"I believe you-or perhaps Mr Potter-before he lost consciousness-summoned Narcissa Black Malfoy-whom I know for a fact has pledged an allegiance to Mr Potter, and has granted him lordship over the Black dynasty. I wouldn't put it passed your alleged 'parting of ways' to summon the Weasley's for help, and if Narcissa is thought to be a delicate anything-to which I must laugh and tell you that she is as delicate as I am-then perhaps her son, though I've been told that Draco Malfoy and Mr Potter never quite saw eye to eye, and the thought of Lucius Malfoy cleaning up his old friends bodies off the ground, is comedic." He allowed himself a small chuckle. "The rest of your friends are back at school, so my theory stands."

He watched her for any reaction. But Hermione wasn't surprised. The problematic transfer of the vaults, wasn't something that would go unnoticed by the ministry. Specially since it could raise another goblin rebellion. And Mr. Weasley had told them that the ministry records about Harry's lineage and new patriarchy would be updated automatically. So this, she thought was the most obvious guess.

"I am correct then." He confirmed.

"But it wasn't to hide anything from the ministry. It was a necessary precaution. It was late, it was a muggle neighbourhood, and we were lucky that our fight had gone unnoticed by the residents."

"How lawful of you to care about our statute of secrecy in such a time."

"If I wanted to hide, or run, I wouldn't have apparated us straight to this facility."

"True. Hence the reason behind my 'courteous' visit."

He stood, and walked towards the doorway. Healers rushed by, screaming instructions as they carried a severely wounded man on a stretcher. Sheraldov tutted and shook his head.

"It is the flaw in this world's design that we must suffer such fates, and to no end." He turned to look at her again. "It is this flaw, that makes human life, meaningless and vain."

"I'm affraid I don't follow."

"What is the meaning of such agony?" He pointed at Harry.

"We were attacked..." She said quietly.

"This society has failed your generation thrice." He put his hand behind his back and pushed his wide chest forward. "I have failed you, And Mr Potter, the only symbol of light or good in our world, has been disfigured. I shall not forgive this. I as your minister, must have been better. I am deeply sorry. Yet I promise that your pain shall be avenged."

"The only symbol of light?" Hermione repeated in disbelieve. She tried to keep her tone even, yet the words burned their way through her lips before she could taste them. "Weren't your news papers dragging his name through the mud to make him look like a renegade maverick or whatever they called him just lately?"

"It was, necessary. I wanted to give him peace. He looked like someone who'd want peace. The few articles that mentioned him unfavourably only meant to lower his notoriety, so that he could live a normal life."

"I don't agree with you. But I will not argue. The very fact that you control the newspapers is telling enough. I only ask that you don't use this event, to feed more people to your monster!"

Sheraldov observed her for a long moment, his silver eyes never leaving her, he seemed perhaps for the most fleeting of seconds, intrigued. She stared back at him defiantly, and refused to lose the stare down.

"You don't approve of my methods Miss Granger."

"No I don't."

"How is it different than you, slitting a bound man's throat in cold blood?"

"That was-" she stammered. "That was different. You said it yourself."

"Different in word, same in nature. You killed in cold blood, for it was necessary. I invoked our ancient law, for it was, necessary. If we are to throw words as daggers at each other, then you are as much of a murderer that you think I am." Hermione opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off. "I don't blame you. I have no love for death eaters, cowards who use filthy tricks to best their opponents, or liars. It is for this reason that we have death penalty in our law. The veil, the kiss, and now the ancient courtroom that I have awaken."

"There is more than a courtroom in that chamber, isn't it Minister? Your newspapers had a small slip of tongue." She said, recalling the bit in an earlier article that had used the word they chased through many ancient tomes. "The þing?"

Sheraldov's silver eyes glinted for a heartbeat as he changed his stance to face her fully. "Only those who have seen that word before would understand it, others would think it was a spelling mistake." He grinned.

She realized her blunder a little too late, and smiled as she noticed his. 'So that's how they communicate', she thought. But her small realization hadn't gone as surreptitiously as she had hoped, as Sheraldov raised an eyebrow at her.

"The question is, how did you know about it?" He asked, approaching her slowly.

"I read about it." She said quickly. "In an old tome at Harry's place, the old Black house."

"Of course you have." He stopped pacing, and nodded, though Hermione wasn't fooled, he wasn't satisfied. "You would be an invaluable asset to the ministry. I could connect you with the unspeakables training program. With your talents, and your affinity for knowledge. I expect a quick upwards spiral for your career."

"Thank you." She said flatly. "I have no interest in the ministry."

Sheraldov studied her for a moment, surveying her with his steady gaze.

"During your little adventure in the Department of Mysteries in your fifth year... Did you happen to pass through the Hall of Drawings, Miss Granger?"

Hermione kept her expression carefully neutral. "No. I can't say that I did."

He nodded faintly, and walked back to the other side of Harry's bed again.

"As the name implies, it is filled with millions of sketches, designs, and paintings. All of them magical, of course, they move, some whisper while the rest watch. Yet there is one painting , only one , that does not move."

He let the silence stretch just long enough.

"I was assigned to its restoration when I was still an intern-having displayed an affinity for the finer arts-my superior thought it to be a natural choice. The artist was a wizard, but he chose to use Muggle paints, canvas, and brushes. That is why it requires regular care. And that is how I know the artist made the correct choice, for only through this, he could ensure the world remembers..."

Sheraldov leaned forward slightly, voice dropping.

"Would you care to guess what that frame holds?"

Hermione's pulse quickened as she felt a rush of foreboding crawl under her skin, but she kept her voice steady. "I have no idea, Minister."

"A woman," he said softly. "Dark hair, fair skin," He paused, watching her carefully. "and a pair of piercing bright red eyes... Like molten lava."

She felt a cold shiver run up her spine. She tried to keep her face blank, but the air in the room suddenly felt thicker.

Sheraldov watched her closely, his silver eyes unblinking.

"The first time I stood before it, I could swear that the only living thing in that frame were her eyes. If it wasn't for the grumpy painting behind me, I'd have stood there until my shift ended."

Hermione tried to look mildly interested, but her heart had begun to beat insanely fast in her chest, she only half-heard Sheraldov's tale. Her mind raced with all the probabilities of how he had learned about her, condition.

"Curious, isn't it? How certain fires refuse to burn out to oblivion. They dance through the years, steady, unseen. Burning through blood, thought, memory and time itself... Until they find a new vessel."

He paused, looking down at Harry.

"And now here you are, brightest young witch of our time, sitting beside an unconscious boy who shouldered far more than he should have... With eyes that have begun to remember things they were never meant to."

Hermione's hands tightened in her lap.

"Isn't it Curious that a healer should report seeing a pair of glowing red eyes in a distressed young witch last night? Poor woman was so frightened she even asked some of the older paintings..."

"She must have been very tired, being the resident healer is a hard job." Hermione looked away at Harry, trying to seem unfazed by the whole thing, though her restless fidgeting with her fingers gave her away.

Outside someone screamed in pain and a door was slammed shut, Hermione nearly jolted at the sound.

"I wonder how many others will tremble before them, how its flames will scorch through lies and deceit, mind and soul, life or death until there will be no room left for compassion..."

Hermione kept her eyes on Harry. She could already feel the tremor in her heart. She swallowed, and chanced a quick glance over at the door, where she half-expected an army of aurors.

"I wonder if young Julian will cry once he sees them..." He said ominously.

Her heart sank, he knew about Julian. She turned her head so fast that she nearly cracked her neck. She could feel the heat rising behind her eyes, that dangerous, familiar pressure building, as her blood boiled.

"Or if he will be allowed to visit at Azkaban."

Hermione felt it stir beneath her skin, the sensation of something waking in her blood, but she had to keep her composure, she wouldn't let him agitate her, not if she could help it.

He lowered his tone ominously.

"I wonder how much longer can Mr. Potter withstand the flames, they have already begun to take their toll on him." He gestured at his bandaged face.

Hermione stood abruptly. "If that is all minister,"

"I wonder," He cut her off. "If the courtroom will spare him once the law condemns him of triple murder."

She could no longer contain it. Her eyes flared , bright, molten fire shot through with threads of red, the light reflecting off the polished white walls of the hospital room. She took one step closer to Harry's bed. "If you are threatening us," She begun loudly, her voice steadier than she felt. "I must warn you that we are not easy prey." She placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling it rise and fall gently beneath her touch.

Sheraldov's expression shifted. A grin appeared, softer than before, almost fond. "There..." He whispered. Then, in a low whisper, almost to himself. "When did last mine eyes find thee... Priestess born of ages three..."

He smiled, almost affectionately. "What a time to be alive. It is all clicking into place... Just as foretold."

Hermione's breath caught. The glowing red in her eyes flickered, but did not fade. She could feel the heat pulsing behind them, dangerous and alive. She stared back at him, unblinking, refusing to cower or to surrender to his mere presence. She could feel her wand against her skin in her pocket. She wondered if she stood a chance against him, but if that was what it took, she'd do it. Her eyes deepened in red as she felt the urge to draw it.

Sheraldov watched the change with open fascination.

"You feel it, don't you?" he said quietly. "The old fire, and what it can ruin in its wake. The power that it lends you... You would try to kill me where I stand if you weren't still bound to your old self... Though you would fail..."

Hermione stared at him, heart hammering. The pressure behind her eyes grew stronger. She forced her voice steady, though it came out sharper than she intended.

"It seems that eyes truly do reveal the soul," she said, lifting her chin. "Wouldn't you agree, Minister?"

She looked pointedly at his own striking silver eyes, the metallic sheen catching the sterile hospital light. For a moment there was only the reflection of crimson in silver between them.

Sheraldov paused. For the first time, something like genuine amusement crossed his face.

"Very good, Miss Granger," he murmured. "Most people never dare point it out. Yes... Eyes do reveal a great deal. Mine have seen great fires soar, and watched even greater ones snuffed to smoke. Yours... Are only just beginning to see."

"I expect you've watched them with glee. I suppose somethings never change."

He took one slow step closer, his body almost touching the edges of Harry's bed as he dropped his voice even lower.

"Your assumption is only half-correct." He said dismissively. "You should know that fire is a greedy thing. It does not stop at the edges of its vessel. It spreads and consumes. Surely you have felt that the boy lying between us carries more darkness than most could survive. Tell me... How long do you think he can withstand yours, before he decides that you are his suffering?"

Hermione's eyes flared brighter, liquid fire shot through, brighter than before, the light reflected harshly on her face, emphasizing the lines on her face as she glared at him in disgust.

"I believe that is quite enough for now, Minister."

He took a step back, like a connoisseur admiring a masterpiece from a distance.

"There it is again," he whispered. "Beautiful." He murmured, then louder. "Terrifying. Just like an ancient priestess."

"I don't want to be called that." She blinked and looked away.

"Neither did she."

He took one more step back, giving her space, though his silver eyes never left hers.

"I once saw the last of your kind, perched with a broken heart over a loved one, and she too burned until she consumed all she ever cared for, until there was nothing more to ruin."

"That, is not who I am!" She said firmly.

"Tell me Miss Granger, what is there to live for, if there is nothing left to kill?"

She paused, her mind working fast. She had already lost this round, letting him work her up so easily wasn't something she could ever forgive herself for. "Peace." She said finally. As though something inside her had already known the answer.

"Peace?" He tutted. "Would you even recognize it if it knocked on your door?" He said dismissively.

"I'll do my best."

He shook his head disappointedly and turned towards the door. His footsteps measured and unhurried. He paused several steps further from the bed and spoke without turning around.

"You had foreseen this hadn't you?"

"I- I don't know what-"

"Don't lie to me Miss Granger, and I might be able to actually help you this time."

"I think I'm fine on my own."

"Do you really?" He turned. "You are no threat to me. Your mishaps will be overlooked for now. Your meandering in the soul arts are not tolerated by the law, yet we have no law to prevent suicide, for now at least."

Hermione blinked, her breath nearly caught in her throat. How did he know so much? No one had learned about what they'd done. And those who knew wouldn't speak. Unless they were made to. Maybe he felt it. Maybe he was attuned to it. She'd have to study this.

"Always the same one?" His voice broke through her thoughts.

"It was just a nightmare..." She said uneasily.

"Always the same one?" He repeated.

"How do you-"

"Miss Granger, The mountain you struggle to climb, was carved by people like me."

"Yes always." She said in a defeated voice.

"Until it spilled into reality, didn't it?"

"Spilled? How-"

"In this dream, was Mr Potter looking at you, or away from you?"

"Away, at a- at something, until I called him, or touched him..."

"And?"

"And he'd turn, and his face was scarred," She said in a small voice, looking down at Hall. "But not like this, it was a different type of scar, it was more like a web of scratches..."

"How did it end?"

"Does it matter? I woke up then!"

"Every detail matters Miss Granger. And no, you did not wake up then."

She sighed. "I ran, every time, I kept telling myself that I wouldn't before going to bed, but I couldn't help it."

"But eventually you began to see him like that in the waking world, with the same scars."

"How do you know these things?"

"It is my job to know."

"But its a mere coincidence, it doesn't mean I have the sight, divination is utter nonsense."

"I am yet to discover who your mentor in all of this is, but when I do, I'll ask them if they ever warned you, or even gave you all the information you needed."

He paused pointedly before continuing.

"Be very careful what you allow your mind to linger on. Be wary of your thoughts and senses, and know that only with great personal cost you can bring change."

"That is your help?"

"It is more than you were already given, and, That thing that he stared at, rend him from it Miss Granger." He said with a knowing look on his face. He turned towards the door, and lingered by the door frame, and fixed his Kashmir.

"The staff have been obliviated. Except for the three healers in charge of Mr Potter. Do accept this as an extended hand at friendship, or spit on it and face the consequences."

He had nearly left before Hermione spoke again.

"One last thing if you will Minister."

"Yes?"

"Since you spent most of the past eventful two decades in a prolonged holiday-I assume, were you informed of our battles against the darkness upon your return?"

He smirked. "Of course. I read everything about it. You, along side Mr Potter and Mr Weasley fought Voldemort since you were eleven." He replied almost exactly as she would have answered a question in a classroom.

"With all due respect, you will do well to remember that."

His grin widened. "That is quite enough for now. Good day Miss Granger. It was, truly a remarkable pleasure to see you. Continue your journey while you are permitted, and I will track your progress with great interest." He looked away. "And do give my regards to young Julian... When the time comes."

He nodded curtly before walking out wordlessly, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

Hermione felt a strange sense of foreboding, as though the worst was yet to come, but she had no time to ponder the meaning of her interaction with Sheraldov as the clearly agitated voice of healer Spinoza came from the doorway.

"Miss Granger I want you downstairs by the reception in no longer than one minute. It has been long enough." She left before Hermione could say anything.

She turned towards Harry again. He was still breathing steadily.

"I don't care about the scars Harry." she said in an audible whisper. "I'm sorry that you have to carry them, but it doesn't change anything for me." She grabbed unto the bed rails. "I wont go anywhere, no matter the danger, no matter what you look like. Just don't push me away, not again."

She finished with half a sob before a loud crack, tore the silence and an elf appeared, making Hermione nearly jump in shock.

"Are you Hermione Granger?" The elf asked.

"Yes."

"My young master wishes to tell you that the job has been done. Young master Malfoy also wishes me to give you this," He handed her a rolled up newspaper. "And to tell you that within it is a note for you."

"Thank your master for me."

The elf nodded and disapparated.

Hermione unrolled the newspaper, it was an older issue of the Quibbler. The first page had a large picture of a manor with the title reading 'The Nott family congregates'. She flicked through the pages impatiently, until she found a small envelope in deep Slytherin green and silver, on the back of it, a question shone in rigid cursive writing. 'What was the monster that lived in the chamber of secrets?' And as soon as Hermione thought of the answer, the writing vanished and the envelope unfolded itself into a flat letter-size paper.

Take Potter and leave that hospital. They are planing an attack. Father says you can come here if you don't have a hideout. We have healers of our own.

This is only the start.

D.M

The letter combusted on its own and burned to ash just as Hermione had finished reading it.

No. Not again. They wouldn't dare an attack under the nose of the ministry. Or would they? If their attackers were the Notts, then by now five of them have been killed. She looked at Harry. She couldn't carry him, not in this condition, and with the wards around the hospital, she wasn't sure if she could apparate him away.

She paced up and down the room, fidgeting with her fingers. She felt her wand in her pocket. The guards downstairs, Paris and Alecer, how long could they hold them off. They looked tough alright, but could they hold their own against dark wizards? They could perhaps delay them until she figured something out. A small comfort.

If they attacked here, he would be the first to die.

The thought came without hesitation, cold and complete.

Not the healers. Not the guards. Not even the Minister with all his quiet threats and half-truths. None of them had been there. None of them had seen what those spells could do.

They could not protect him.

They would try, perhaps. They would follow protocol, raise wards, send for aurors. And he would burn again while they decided who had the authority to act.

Her jaw tightened.

No. She would not gamble his life on procedure.

She had seen how quickly it happened. One second. That was all it took. One second of hesitation, and everything was taken.

If she stayed, she was choosing that again.

If she acted, she might stop it before it reached him.

Might.

That was enough.

"I'm not leaving you alone and defenceless Harry." She knelt by his bed. "I'll go downstairs, I'll help the guards fight the Notts. No one will be coming for you! I won't let them. Not unless they go over my body."

The bronze bracelets on his wrist begun to buzz in a high-pitched noise. Both of them pulsed quickly in a bright yellow colour. Harry's body started to shake violently. He wiggled ferociously on this bed, as though struggling against binds invisible.

"Harry!" She screamed.

"What have you done?" Healer Spinoza shouted as she rushed into the room, two more healers tailing her closely.

"Nothing, I swear!"

"Away! Away now!" She shouted as she pulled her away from the bed gruffly. "Out!" The other healers pushed her out.

"Wait outside please." Said one of the other two.

"He is going into arrest! I need you two to hold him down. We have to put him back under, his mind is fighting against the sedatives!"

"Harry!" Hermione screamed before the junior healer slammed the door in her face.

She walked back until she hit the wall behind her. She could still hear the healers shouting instructions and diagnosis. She slid down the wall and held her head in her hands.

She saw her own reflection on the polished ceramic of the wall. 'I look pathetic.' She thought. But then another voice spoke inside her. 'Get up!' She looked around, as though expecting to find the source of the voice anywhere other than in her own head.

It was her own voice, or at least the voice she heard when she talked to herself, but it felt different, like it conflicted with her normal head-voice.

She looked back at her own reflection, again she did look pathetic. Squatted in the hallway of the hospital in her crimson dress. She found her eyes on the stone surface, and was momentarily relieved that they seemed to be their own normal amber.

She stared at herself, 'this is not who I am' she thought, and immediately heard the other voice again. 'Get up Hermione!'

'I can't leave him.'

The answer came immediately, instinctive, and desperate.

'Then don't.' The other voice replied, calm now. Certain. 'But staying here is not protecting him.'

Her breath caught.

Images flashed through her mind in rapid succession... The hallway filling with spells, the doors bursting open, healers screaming, Harry still and helpless on the bed.

She clenched her fists.

'They will come here,' the voice continued. 'And you will stand in that room... And watch it happen again.'

'No.'

'Then choose.'

Her eyes flicked toward the corridor that led back to his room. Her choices were limited.

Stay... And risk everything on others.

Leave... And end it herself.

Her stomach twisted.

This was wrong. This was not how things were supposed to be decided. There should have been time. There should have been help. There should have been another way.

Only there wasn't.

'I won't let them reach him.'

'Then stop being weak.'

She stood, slowly straightening her back. Her chest heaved with short rapid breaths.

'I'm not weak..."

'Look at you!' She taunted. 'Pathetic!'

'I'm not pathetic!' She replied, but she could hardly convince herself.

'Week! Indecisive! You are nearly shivering!'

'Its natural, I'm under a lot of stress.'

'Are you going to cry again? You're becoming moaning Myrtle'

'Get out of my head'

'And go where?' She laughed. 'You know I'm right.'

'Get out I said!'

And like a stream of cool water, the other voice begun to remember.

'There is only pain and those who inflict it'

Like the wind that woke the trees from their winter slumber. The words echoed, just as they did when the guardian spoke them.

'No' She pleaded, there had to be another way. Not everything was so black and white.

'There is only power and those who wield it'

Each word fell like a hammer, or an axe that severed the old branches that still held on to a festering tree.

She shook her head.

'And there is only love, and the world it ruins in its passing.'

Her heart beat insanely fast against her eardrums. She felt it then. The slow pressure that build behind her eyes, now crawling under her skin, slithering in her veins, spreading to her toes and fingers, and just as they did, her shivering subsided. She could feel it pile up in her guts, spiralling up to coil around her heart.

'I don't want to lose control.'

'Then help me up!'

She sighed. Tired, yet determined.

Sheraldov's voice lingered in her mind.

_You had foreseen this..._

She felt her chest tighten.

_This society has failed your generation thrice._

"Yes," she whispered under her breath.

It had.

The Ministry. The healers. The rules. All of it... Slow, and careful, and reasonable... Always just a step too late. Always just a signature away from doing anything...

Reason had not saved him.

Procedure had not saved him.

She looked down at her own shaking hands.

She had. At least in part.

Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But she had acted... And he was still alive.

Her fingers curled slowly into fists.

If there was a choice between being right and being effective...

She already knew which one she would choose.

"There is always pride in choosing life ..." His words echoed in her mind, and then silence.

She closed her eyes. She exhaled a single short breath. She concentrated on the pressure in her core, the heat that was about to crawl up to her head, and shine brightly as hot steel through her eyes. She had hoped it would've stopped. But it had become more frequent instead.

If there was a threat, she would remove it.

If there was danger, she would end it.

Not later. Not when it was safe.

Now.

A strange calm followed, warm and unwavering.

She would not allow it to take over. This ancient wrath that rose through her at times. She'd master it. And if it gave her the power, the strength or the will to do what was needed, then she'd live with it.

'I choose this.'

A minute later, her heartbeat decreased, she focused on that burning sensation, she could nearly feel her hands around it.

'And there is only love, and the world it ruins in its passing.' She told herself, staring fixedly at her own blurred reflection. The second voice hummed serenely in an undertone.

'There is only wrath and what it lays waste to in its wake!' Both voices mangled together in that one thought until they could no longer be distinguished.

Boiling blood shot through her veins, spreading, scorching everything in their way. Her weakness, her fright, and the tremor in her flesh burned to oblivion like weed. Her face tingled with the fury that crawled under her skin, and her eyes, flared brighter than ever, burning with the desire to let go, and to hold on at once.

She had always known it, that every single time it happened, it burned something of her old self in its passing.

Her vision reddened, as though a blanket of sheer coagulated blood was pulled over her sight.

She looked at herself again and raised her wand. She had to be discreet. With a wave she transformed her jacket into a hood that merged neatly with her dress. With another wave the length of the dress and its sleeves extended.

She wore the hood. It cast a shadow on her face, enough to conceal her identity, yet beneath the shadow, a pair of eyes glowed dangerously.

'There.' She thought.

'Well done, daughter of Anahita.' Said the other voice.

She took the lift to the ground floor, and walked steadily towards the exit. She felt the lights flicker as she passed them, the air tensed as it brushed against her, and the shadows recoiled as she approached them, as though they wanted no part in what came next.

She kept her gaze down as she paced towards the door. The reception area was not yet crowded. The welcome witch was gone, and the guards were nowhere to be seen. The young boy and his mother stood by the reception kiosk. She tried to move passed them unnoticed, but the boy had caught a glimpse of her eyes from below.

"Wow!" He breathed in awe. "Are you a vampire? I have so many books about them."

"Ignis, don't bother the lady," Her mother reprimanded him. Hermione turned her head just enough to see them.

"Merlin!" She gasped in fright, pulling Ignis back and holding him.

"There'd be a cure for that Ignis." Hermione said in an undertone. "Only death will cure this," She said more to herself. "And death," She looked at him fully. "I think I can deliver..."

"Madam spare us I beg you." The woman cowered, shaking from head to toe as she held her son behind her.

"Cool..." Said the young boy.

Hermione let herself a small smile, and turned on the spot. She apparated, with one singular thought: destruction. She no longer cared for composure, or holding back, or keeping her cool. She was tired of apologising for what she was. She would no longer listen to the voice in her head, telling her that she needed to remain civilised.

No more. They had come for them, they brought this upon themselves.

She focused on the picture of the Nott manor she had just seen in the Quibbler. With enough intent, that would be enough.

She landed with a sharp crack, gusts of red and black smoke swirled around her as she turned and found both feet on hard soil.

Her eyes burned hot against her skin. She had always felt it rise and fall, like lava boiling and cooling down momentarily, only when she felt threatened, yet now, it burned constantly, and she couldn't summon regret, or loss for her old self. She knew that if she let them burn any longer, they'd finally scorch her eyelids, leaving a permanent mark around her eyes.

Gone was the Hermione who cared for such things, gone was the meek girl who buried herself in books because she didn't trust her powers. Gone was she who'd squat and shake in fear. In her place now stood a woman, hooded and clad in deep blood crimson.

And she'd have peace.

She walked towards the manor. She knew the spell, she had read about it. She raised her wand. 'Pestis Incendium'

A large fiery otter erupted from her wand tip and ran directly at the manor. It barged in through the eastern wall and demolished everything in its path. Stone, glass and metal shot upward and away from the manor as it gnawed at its structure.

Hermione kept her focus on it. It was like, controlling a pet. A pet that needed just one second of hesitation to turn against its owner.

It pulled against her.

Not physically, but somewhere deeper... Like holding a leash tied to something that did not want to be held. For a fraction of a second, it veered too far, its flames licking outward, hungry for more than what she had shown it.

Hermione tightened her grip, grinding her teeth.

"Not yet."

The creature shuddered, then obeyed.

The otter turned and slammed its enormous tail against the building, shattering every window and bringing down the eastern columns entirely.

She could hear the shouts and the screams on the inside. The otter pawed at the debris beneath it.

"Kill them, or scare them out for me." She commanded, and it listened.

It ran on all fours inside the manor, chasing anyone it could find.

Hermione closed her eyes, keeping her focus.

Pain spiked behind her eyes.

Not sharp, but spreading... Like heat under the skin. The same pressure that had built in the hallway now fed the spell, stretching thinner with every command.

If she lost focus... She forced the thought down and held on tighter.

She could feel several people running away from her, she heard them shrieking as she chased them on all fours.

With a wave of her right paw, a woman screamed

Hermione hesitated.

For half a heartbeat.

Then the woman turned to dust.

And with another, a man collapsed and burned to smoke. Another man ran away from her, towards the front door, she chased him quickly, squeaking in delight as she led him right to herself.

He kicked through the front door and emerged, panting.

Hermione opened her eyes, and dismissed the otter with a single thought. It had done its part.

The man looked at her. His eyes saw only the silhouette of a woman against the bright daylight, and a pair of eyes that burned brighter than the sun above. He drew his wand.

She apparated several feet closer, it would be enough to confuse him.

She landed directly in front of him and whipped the air harshly, and bound him, and with another wave of her wand, he was lifted and held upright.

"Let go of me you hag!" He shouted. His dark hair spread on his face, sticking to his sweat and blood.

"I am something far worst!" She smirked.

She stared into his black eyes, just like she had stared into Harry's green ones. She didn't need the warm up any more. Her eyes glowed brightly as she held his gaze.

"Merlin..." The man moaned.

She dived in. Flying through thought, memory and emotions.

Something pushed back.

Weak, chaotic, and thrashing in fear... But it was there.

Her vision flickered as strange fragments crashed into her... Fear, rage, confusion not her own. For a moment she lost the boundary between them.

Hermione grit her teeth and forced herself deeper.

"Stay out of my head," she muttered... Though she wasn't sure which of them she meant.

She felt his fear, his anger, his sense of loss. She felt how he'd do anything to get away with his life. She soared down, deeper into his existence, until she felt surrounded by a weak sickly green light.

Outside, the man's eyes had turned up into his skull. A continuous ragged inhale caught in his throat, as his body trembled vigorously.

She touched the green light, and felt stained by it, sullied by it, as though she was handling sewage in her bare hands.

She withdrew quickly, up and away through the layers of his insignificant being.

The world snapped back too fast.

She staggered a step, breath catching as something of him lingered... A smear of panic that wasn't hers, clinging like residue.

Her stomach twisted.

"Disgusting," she said, more to purge the feeling than to insult him.

He was nothing like Harry. No depth, no complexity, no warmth, or compassion, no sense of selflessness, and no love.

"I have observed your soul, you worm!" She said to the man's pale and frightened face. "And I found nothing to love in it!"

His eyes rolled back into their place and as he drew breath, and choked on his own blood that gushed through his throat.

"Repulsive!" She taunted and let him fall to the ground at her feet.

"Please, no more... I yield..." He sobbed.

---

Away at the edge of the forest, under Gerlad's harsh training, Ron collapsed.

"Get up!" He barked.

"No, wait, something is wrong... I feel... Danger..."

"You are already late, she is nearly gone! Now stand! And show me what remains of the boy who died!"

---

Hermione looked down at him. Her fiery eyes burning through the shadow that her hood cast on her face.

"Kill me, please, just no more... I beg you..."

"Death is bliss for you." Her voice was etched with disdain.

Her wand trembled.

Just slightly.

For a moment, the image of Harry on the hospital bed cut through everything... And the fire surged in response, hotter, less controlled.

She tightened her grip until it steadied.

"Obliviate!"

She would destroy his mind, leaving behind a broken, drooling mess for St. Mungo's to pick up.

The man's eyes went dull, and lost their spark as the spell demolished his memories, his identity, and most importantly, what had just happened.

She walked away slowly. There was no reason to hurry. The threat was gone. Harry was safe. She had done what was needed.

She tried to summon the otter again.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the otter answered... Larger this time, its flames darker, edges less defined.

It could hardly wait for instruction.

"Destroy this building, and run loose." She commanded. The otter hissed and got to work.

It obeyed... But not cleanly.

It surged past her intent, tearing into the structure viciously.

Hermione watched it for a second too long... Then turned away.

Control was already slipping. She had to leave before it turned on her. She could already feel her magic fading in exhaustion. She had one good apparition left in her.

She grinned at the sight she was leaving behind. Now they would know that they can't get away with it.

The world would know that there are things worse than death, if they decided to harm them. There would be no more compassion, no more mercy, and no more ideals.

Death would find all those who threatened her, or worse.

She thought of Harry, and hoped that he was stable again.

The otter had begun to run after her. She thought of home, and apparated.