Biding Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing; I make nothing from this.

Chapter 9: Curiouser and Curiouser

Hermione whirled around, looking frantically at the others. Her wand was clutched in her hand at the ready, but she couldn’t recall pulling it out. No one had sprung to their feet; No one was hurling accusations at the Professor. There was no fury, no surprise, no horror. In fact, as she watched, the Headmistress idly relit the candle on her table with the tip of her wand. Even worse, Harry had rushed forward to shake the Professor’s hand. It was all as if she had fallen into some topsy-turvy, Alice in Wonderland world. The Professor continued to stare at her and she could feel his gaze traveling over her body as steadily as she could feel his touch. His eyes were glittering as he sent a slow wink her way. He clasped Harry’s hand in his, pumping his arm in a vigorous handshake.
“I see you’ve recovered nicely, Potter.” He was still looking at Hermione as he spoke the words.

Hermione spun on her heel, looking for answers, looking for anything. Gemma was leaning forwards, her chin resting on her white hands, grass-green hair falling into her eyes. She was winking manically at Professor Snape. Tonks and Remus were beaming at the Professor, and Hagrid appeared to have fallen asleep. He was making thunderous snoring noises at his end of the room, causing candles to flicker and gutter out.
“Have you all gone mad?” Hermione whispered. She felt like all the air had been sucked from her lungs. “He’s a murderer; He’s a criminal. He should be in Azkaban.” Harry was still beside the Professor, looking up at him slightly in awe, as if he was meeting his favourite Quidditch player. After a long moment, the Headmistress caught the panic in her eyes and rose to her feet.
“She doesn’t know.” She muttered. “Oh dear, she really doesn’t know.” This was the first time Hermione had ever heard her the slightest bit flustered. The Headmistress clapped her hands together as if she were quieting an unruly class. The sound rang out like gunshots in the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, I am afraid I have been rather remiss in dealing with Miss Granger. Since she has been isolated in the Muggle world for so long, she has not been apprised of recent developments in the magical community. I’m sorry, Hermione. You must be very confused about this gathering.” She gave a small, tight smile.
“Well, to start, Voldemort is dead. Harry destroyed him – as he was destined to do all along. He was given assistance from rather unexpected quarters. Perhaps I should let Severus tell the story?” She looked over at the Professor, her flinty gaze finally pulling his attention away from Hermione. He looked slightly startled, shook his head and cleared his throat.
“Ah, I think not, Minerva. For one, the tale is not mine to tell – it is Potter’s story and his story alone. Furthermore, I suspect she would not believe anything I would have to say. Her mind seems to be closed when it comes to me.” The ring at her breast suddenly seared her flesh and she jumped.
“Well, perhaps she should see what happened for herself then.” Remus Lupin was standing behind Tonks, his hands gently on her shoulders. He tapped the side of his head tellingly and winked.
“Good idea, Lupin. But I think it should be from Potter. She may distrust even my memories.” Snape stood beside Harry and pulled out his wand. He gave it a dramatic flourish then tapped the side of Harry’s rumpled head. Slowly drawing the wand away, memories as insubstantial as spider webs clung to the wand. With memories trailing, the Professor strode to a table and snatched up a soup bowl. He tapped the memories into the soup bowl as if he were knocking ashes from the end of a cigarette. He muttered an incantation and the soup bowl began to glow, strands of memory drifting across the milky surface.
“Who knew there could be so many uses for a soup bowl?” He muttered dryly. He held his hand out, motioned for Hermione to move closer, but it was a gentle push from Ron that sent her stumbling towards the Professor in the end. “Traitor” Her inner voice hissed at Ron. Her heart was hammering in her throat and she was afraid to speak, half afraid to even breathe.
“Well, aren’t you curious about the end of Voldemort? Aren’t you curious as to why I haven’t been dragged off to Azkaban yet?” She gulped, her hammering heart slowed a moment and she slowly nodded. Without a word, she lowered her head into the bowl of memories.

********

“How does it feel to be my last hope and my last confidante?” Voldemort smiled a slow, cruel smile, completely devoid of joy. The Death Eater shook his hood from his head, his dark hair swaying like a curtain. He swiftly pulled the death’s head mask from his face and smiled.
“It feels delicious, my Liege.”

Harry’s heart sank in his chest. Snape would delight in helping kill him. He’d probably toy with him like a cat does to a mouse. Snape had his head tilted back, his beaky nose in the air, and he glared down at Harry and Neville.
“Two birds with one stone.” He sneered. At Harry’s side, Neville began to whimper pitifully. He’d been silent when Voldemort had apparated them to that dusty, barren garden; He’d been silent when Voldemort had callously crushed Lucius Malfoy’s hand beneath his boot. But, as soon as Snape had tore his mask from his face, Neville’s whimpering had begun.
“Where to start, where to start.” Snape chanted, circling the boys, robes fluttering. He noted their bound wrists and ankles, the smattering of bruises on their faces. A thin cut ran across Neville’s jaw and blood and dirt were smeared on his chin. The imprint of Voldemort’s touch was indelible on his cheek. Harry’s eyeglasses were broken, the glass jagged, looking like thunderbolts. The pattern echoed the scar above his brow. Harry could remember back to all of the potions lessons where Snape had made his life miserable. Somehow, the sum of all of those classes seemed to pale in comparison to the misery he would have rained down on his head at that moment. He moved his lips as if in quiet prayer, entreating Snape for kindness and compassion, begging for mercy. Dumbledore had always believed in Snape’s goodness, and Harry tried to reach that part of Snape, the part that could be trusted, even though he doubted its existence.
“Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.” Harry whispered under his breath. Neville still just whimpered, a soft sobbing mingled with nonsense pleadings.
“You ask for mercy?” Snape scoffed. “My Liege, your enemy, the boy wonder, the great hope of all the wizarding world, is asking for mercy.” Snape laughed and a chill raced down Harry’s spine. If he could just break the binding spell and get his wand. His wand was tucked in his boot and he could feel it there against his leg, taunting him with its proximity.
“Silence, Longbottom. Your blubbering annoys me.” Snape snapped. Neville fell silent.
“Well, my Liege, what do you wish me to do first? Shall I crucio them? I shall if it would amuse you. Your wish is my command.” Snape gave a dramatic bow. He circled Lucius Malfoy’s still form, and he delivered a small, sharp kick to Malfoy’s leg. Malfoy howled and began to writhe again.
“Get Potter’s wand, Severus.” Voldemort was surveying the scene as if from a great distance: the gilt-haired man twisting on the ground before him; the two young men tied side-by-side, the walking wounded; his proud lieutenant pacing before him. It all seemed not quite real. Harry’s mind was racing. Why did Voldemort want his wand? Did he want them to duel as they had in that lonely graveyard during his fourth year? Did he want to kill Harry with his own wand? That was one of the most insulting things Harry could think of – being killed by his own wand.
“As you wish.” Snape smirked and strolled behind Harry. Harry could feel Snape’s hands running over his arms, over his bound wrists. He was muttering under his breath. Unkind things, Harry was certain.
“What’s taking so long, Severus?” Voldemort’s voice was cold and had the tone of accusation rather than that of curiousity.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, my Liege. He seems to have hidden it. Or, if his performance in my classes is any indication, he might have forgotten it.” His voice was strained, as if he was speaking with gritted teeth. Harry could feel Snape’s fingers running over his arms again, then Snape dropped to his knee to run his palms down Harry’s legs. Surely he’d feel the wand tucked into the boot, the end sticking out at the calf. The strange muttering continued and Harry felt his scar flare. Voldemort was becoming angry and impatient.
“Do I need to do it myself, Severus? You are proving to be quite useless today. I am starting to think that I made a mistake in choosing you for an aide. Don’t make me regret my decisions, Severus, for no one lives to regret displeasing me.” He gestured at Malfoy, one bony finger extended in a grim salute. His reptilian eyes glittered evilly. He walked towards the little group, treading over Lucius Malfoy as if he were no more than an oriental carpet. Harry could hear a rib breaking as the dark wizard walked over him. Voldemort turned back, turning Malfoy’s face with the toe of his boot and he ran the toe over the man’s cheek almost lovingly. Then, he gave a swift kick and Harry heard the cheekbone shatter.
“Give my regards to your precious son, Lucius.” Voldemort spat. Then, he turned his attention to the small group. Harry felt his pant leg being pulled up and felt Snape’s cold fingers on his leg. Snape was trembling and that surprised Harry more than anything. Could it be that Snape was scared? Could it be that Snape was nervous? His fingers skittered on Harry’s leg, clasped the wand, and the pant leg slithered down.
“Well, well, well – Potter is not nearly so forgetful as I had thought. In fact, I would almost say he was resourceful. Almost.” He caught Harry’s eye and Harry could almost swear that there was a sparkle of amusement there. Harry clenched his fists, feeling like he was a scolded thirteen-year-old schoolboy again. As his muscles in his arms swelled, he realized he could move. The bonds had completely melted away, and he was free and unfettered. Voldemort had also noticed, and he was striding towards them at a furious pace, his bloodless lips set in a grim line. His wand was twitching in his fingers.
“Severus, what is the meaning of this? Severus?” He shrieked, twirling the wand as if trying to decide who to crucio first.
“Yes, my Liege.” Snape turned, Harry’s wand in his fist. His eyes seemed to flare with a secret fire and he yelled “Stupefy!”

Voldemort was lifted from the ground and flung backwards as if he were no more than a rag doll. He was very still, almost suspiciously so. Snape was thrusting the wand into Harry’s hand.
“Use it now.” He hissed “He’ll only be stunned for a moment. You must use this opportunity.” Harry hesitated and Snape whispered to him again “Do it now, while you have the chance. Otherwise, you, we, may never know peace. Do it for your father; Do it for your mother; Do it for the happy childhood you never had. For whatever reason, do it now.”
“Do it for my mum and dad, Harry. Please.” Neville was beside him, shaking him as if trying to break Harry’s stupor.
“It’s your destiny, Harry. It was meant to be. Do it.” Harry glared at the wraith on the ground before him. Voldemort was clambering to his feet, twirling his wand in his skeleton fingers like a baton. Harry took a deep, hitching breath, waved his wand, closed his eyes and yelled as he had never yelled before “Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort stumbled and Harry was sure he would pick himself up and continue towards him. But the dark wizard lay still, his eyes still wide and staring, as empty and unfeeling as they had been in life. Snape walked to the still figure and kicked Voldemort’s wand far away from the body. Then, he spat on the body, the gobbet of saliva nestled on Voldemort’s breast like a badge.
“Merlin, how I’ve hated him.” Snape whispered, his voice hard. Harry and Neville crept towards the still form and, as they watched, the body slowly shifted , melted and blew away like a fine desert sand.
“It has only been the thought of this day, his defeat, that has sustained me for these last few years.”
“So, he’s gone.” Harry was still peering at the horizon where he could still see that fine sand whirling across the landscape like a dervish.
“Yes, it’s over.” Snape whispered, and he muttered under his breath “And it’s also just begun.” And his tell-tale smirk crept across his face.