Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion     Chapter 28     My room at SCAI is packed so fast that if I didn't have my diploma to show Janine, she'd think I'd been expelled instead of awarded my degree. But after a few waves of the glittering lettered parchment under her nose, she's satisfied- and I know that I will be the subject du jour for a day or two on the quiet of Salisbury plain.   Although heaven knows she won't be the sole source of gossip fare. The Daily Prophet's entire issue today is dedicated to the details of the final confrontation with Voldemornd wnd while the matter of the henge has been left out, I am clearly an integral part of the story. As is Severus. The vast majority of the details of his twenty year spying career are left out, of course, but the story goes to great lengths to describe just what Severus endured during that time on behalf of the greater good. Poor Severus- the rapid shift from despised teacher to hero will set his head spinning. I only hope no one sends him a thank you letter. He just might explode; he hates the idea of anyone pitying him.   The reporter clearly picked up on some of the details from talking to people at Hogwarts, because the nature of the relationship between myself and the Potions master receives more than its fair share of speculation. In fact, the matter takes up most of the usual gossip page: "Will The Spy Get The Girl?" It's full of photos of Severus and myself, even though none of them are of us together- thank the gods Colin Creevey wasn't watching when everyone left for Voldemort's castle. But there's no mistaking it, we're on the national radar now. Considering how little of the romantic occurs at SCAI, this makes me the most lascivious creature in town.   But I won't be there to enjoy the notoriety. Too bad; this time it could have been fun. But I have better things to do. Like move back to Hogwarts. I've got allthinthings minimized and stored in my pocket, and I'm all set to go; all that's left is to say goodbye to the henge. Temporarily, of course.   I hike out to the plain, slipping unnoticed between Muggle tourists and easily making my way around the circle to touch the heelstone. It thrums with contentment, and I chuckle. These stones know they did well; they're actually smug. I turn to enter the circle, stepping over the little Muggle rope fence, and when I reach the middle, I slip my feet out of my shoes to feel the grass beneath me.   Touching the face of one of the stones, I send feelings of warm gratitude toward it. They all resonate softly, and I'm amazed by the gentleness they radiate. This is nothing like the focused power I felt when we made the Cleve potion, or the raw energy that destroyed Voldemort. Neither is it like the starsong that healed Albus and myself. These stones seem to possess as wide a range of emotion asans-ans- and possibly greater.   That brings new meaning to the idea of having a heart of stone.   Trailing my fingers over the stones, I proceed around the entire circle, remembering and savoring as I go. I gradually begin to notice that each stone seems to have a different 'voice'- and that amazes me even more. These rocks were hewn from the earth, separated from a single piece into several; and yet, they are different. But then, so are people- and we are all of us essentially come from dust, as so many faiths teach.   It occurs to me then that Severus gave of himself to heal me, and yet he was not as fatigued as I was after I did as much for him. I wonder whether that's a measure of power, or a restoration of balance- what I gave him, he returned to me. And yet I don't think it was an exact return; it was more of a sharing. It was a merging of sorts. Like pouring more water into a bowl that's half-full; you can remove the same amount again from the bowl, but it's not going to be the same water.   I smile to myself; there's time to ponder such fascinating things later, when I don't have anything to do but study the stones. As it is, I've got to get moving. It took all day to get my work done, and if I dally too long, I'll miss dinner at the castle. With one last fond look at Stonehenge, I step into the field and Disapparate.   There's something about coming home that just feels right. Especially when home is a lovely castle on a lake, with the warm glow of light spilling from its hundreds of windows to make a mosaic of the grassy grounds below. There's another example of cosmic symmetry in my homecoming tonight. It was to this castle that I came when first I learned that I was a witch, and my life was forever alterFor For seven years I lived here, sheltered and educated with the aid of its roof and walls of slate. I left for six short months, but once again the earth has tilted on its axis and I find my footsteps bringing me back again, to ground myself in reality and put down new roots.   The castle is largely empty when I enter, and I climb the staircases to my rooms. There is no trace of the banister I rode so recently; the regular staircases shift restlessly in the shadow of the halls, and the stone makes no move to acknowledge me. Which is fine by me just now; I want to pretend, for just a moment, that I'm climbing up to the Gryffindor common room to meet Harry and Ron for a game of Gobstones before dinner.   My door appears in front of me before I know it; I've been daydreaming while letting my feet do the navigation for me. Pushing the door open, I step into the room and take a deep breath, hands on hips.   Now what?   A sudden memory floods into my brain, overlapping images blurring into a single overall impression. There are several stories listed in The WIKTT Archives which have me moving into new rooms; most of them involve my transfiguring new furniture for myself and unpacking.   Well, why the hell not?   Wand in hand, I consider the room. Large, with a nice window, and a four-poster standard issue Hogwarts bed. A chest of drawers and an armoire, along with a nightstand, desk, and bookshelf.   Hang on. That's bookshelf, singular. Will require plural. All right, let's start there.   Books are easily managed once I've got space for them; I leave the provided armoire as it is, and the clothes are stashed just as easily and quickly. A quick spell on the window to make it dimmable is all I need for privacy- I love the full light I'll get through this window without curtains on it. I find a pair of chairs and a small table in the little sitting room just around one corner; new fabric to cover them is all they need. Swish, flick, done.   I poke my head into the bathroom- nope, no changes needed here.   Walking back out to the bed, I study it for a long moment. It's a nice bed, certainly functional enough- but my sense of whimsy seizes the opportunity to exert itself. Concetingting carefully, I slowly, ever so slowly tease the life back into the wood of the bed.   Fifteen minutes later, there's no need for a canopy of velvet on my bed- because the canopy of leaves the trees originally sported has grown back. I charm some small twinkling starlights to hover among them as a nice way to ease out of the day and into the peace of twilight, as well. The wood has grown and thickened out of its smoothly turned furniture shape, and now looks more like four trees surrounding a mattress.   This is the bed I always wanted when I was a child.   I stare up at the ceiling for a moment- it's painted a lovely shade of twilight blue- and decide that copying the charm on the Great Hall is probably more than I'm up for tonight. Maybe later. I'll settle for finding a thick blue knotwork rug for the floor.   All moved in, and it only took a half hour. I've got another thirty minutes before dinner; might as well read a bit in my perfect room.   I settle into the newly recovered chair by the window, and sigh with satisfaction. Now that I've re-enacted something from The WIKTT Archives, I might as well read a little more.   When the knock on the door rattles through the silence, I jump in alarm. Has half an hour really gone by? Oh, dear, it has. Dinnertime. Hastily, I shut the book and hide it under my pillow. I'm in an agony of suspense, as the story I'm reading- Hinge of Fate, by an author named Ramos, has left Severus in a very grave situation indeed, and I have no idea what will happen next. As I've learned in my time between the pages of this little green book, these authors are not necessarily shy about doling out suffering.   I open the door to find Ginny Weasley in the hallway, surrounded by old friends and new ones. A resounding cry of "Welcome back!" echoes through my room, and I am enveloped by enthusiastic hugs and kisses from Ginny, Ron, Harry, Minerva, Colin and Dennis Creevey, and Madam Pomfrey. There are other faces in the hallway, and I know they've all come to make me feel at home.   Which I do- and not least because of these smiling faces. It's good to be back.   "Let's get down to the feast," says Ginny, and I blink.   "Feast?"   "Yes, you silly thing- the celebration feast! Professor Dumbledore has decreed that we can finally have it! The last day of classes was supposed to be tomorrow, but they're cancelled, and we're going up to the Astronomy tower at midnight to see the fireworks show that Professor Flitwick has put together." &n Eyes wide, I cast a quick glance down at my Muggle jeans and sweater, visible in the gap of my unbuttoned black robe.   "I can't go like this," I say. "Give me two minutes."   Wand. Wand. Need my wand. Don't want to appear on the cover of the Daily Prophet tomorrow dressed like a Muggle in a bad Halloween costume.   Ninety seconds later I'm back on the landing, dressed in a real, non-transfigured set of robes that will hopefully suit the occasion. Celebratory feast, Ginny said- and so I chose something festive. It's deep amethyst, which is a color that sets my hair off nicely and gives my complexion a little glow. The cut is more adult than the robes my friends are wearing, and a small part of me notes that fact with smug satisfaction. No student aura around Hermione Granger tonight, thank you very much.   The Great Hall is full to bursting withdentdents and decorations when we arrive- after all, it is nearly Christmas. But these are more than just Christmas decorations, although the usual trees are present. Impromptu fireworks displays erupt over tables periodically, leading to oohs and ahhs as their color shimmers down to vanish on the wood beneath them. The enchanted ceiling reflects the billions of stars twinkling above, and for one moment amidst the press of bodies and noise, I miss the serenity of Salisbury's windswept field.   But then old friends are crowding in again, and I am swept instantly to the Gryffindor table for a round of introductions to the new faces from the current first year class. Their eyes are round with amazement, and with mild amusement I accept that the expressions are there not because of my academic exploits, but because of my presence at the last battle. I'm rather glad no one will know that it was I who shoved Voldemort off the precipice; I don't think I could handle that degree of fame. Poor Harry. Now I know exactly how he's felt all his life: famous for something he doesn't really remember doing, the rest of his achievements overshadowed by the glory of simply being who he is.   Remus appears at my side with a glass of champagne, which I accept along with a kiss on the cheek.   "Glad to have you back, Hermione," he says warmly, and I blush a little.   "Thanks," I say. "I feel like I've come home."   The werewolf's eyes gleam. "They do say home is where your heart is," he remarks mildly, and then solicitously puts a hand to my elbow to steer me up to the staff table.   The entire complement of staff is present, including Filch and Hagrid, and the table is fuller than I've seen in years. Remus leads me to a seat, and that is when I notice that all of us who were present at that final battle are also present at table tonight. Harry and Ron are sitting with Hagrid along one end of the table, Neville just off to one side. Remus and Sirius are in their usual seats, and Minerva is seated one chair removed from her usual spot at Albus's left hand. Her customary seat is vacant, and it is to this chair that Remus guides me. The Headmaster beams at me as I self-consciously sit down, murmuring a quiet objection to taking Minerva's seat in the Deputy Headmistress's ear as I do so. She waves the concern away with a smile- "after all," she says with a hint of droll humor, "you'll have to put up with the silly jokes tonight- not me."   Without even looking, I am intensely aware of Severus seated on Albus's other side. He, too, has been transplanted from his usual position at the end of the table, close to the staff door. Perhaps this is a gentle reminder that he no longeeds eds the option to escape quickly and with little notice.   The din rising from the crowd of hungry students reaches a fever pitch, and at last Albus rises to address the multitude.   "Ladies and gentlemen," he says, catching everyone's attention with his voice.   "It is with great pleasure that I rejoin the school tonight. I have missed your shining faces and your camaraderie, and yet your good wishes and thoughts have kept me company in this difficult past week." He pauses, gazes out for a moment at the crowd of young people.   "Voldemort," he says simply, "is dead."   Deafening cheers and whistles fill the hall, everyone clapping and stomping and leaping as if Dumbledore were the Beatles come to give a free concert at Hogwarts.   He holds his hands up, and reluctantly the joy quiets down.   "Hogwarts has borne the brunt of Voldemort's wrath over the last decade," he says, "more so perhaps than anyplace else on earth. He has attacked the castle and its inhabitants both from without and from within, and has been repelled each and every time by the courage of those within these walls. I am not in the least surprised by the fact that it was members of our community who rose at last to defeat him. I do find great comfort and support for my belief in the cosmic order in the knowledge that those who defeated him represented everything he despised and fought to eliminate from Hogwarts."   Another cheer rises, this time echoed from the staff table as well.   "In recognition of these facts, Hogwarts has been chosen as the resting place of Voldemort's remains, that none of his followers may seek to revive him or his work." He gestures to a wooden cask bound with iron inlaid with silver runes; it's clearly fashioned to contain something dangerous. The lid on the cask rises, and Albus lifts out the petrified skull of the Dark Lord, its crown flattened and altered to reflect his partially serpentine transformation. "Neither shall these remnants be used as a rallying point, or as a source of inspiration to those with ill intent." He replaces the skull in the cask, the soft clink of stones audible in the awed silence of the hall.   With a dull boom, Dumbledore shuts the cask, and there is a flash of green light from the crack beneath the lid. The silver runes fire briefly, and a moment later, they are copper, and the wards are activated.   Two House Elves carry the cask away, and when it is gone at last, Albus smiles out at the Great Hall and its occupants.   "And now," he says, "I believe we have a bit of celebration to do."   He claps his hands, and music fills the air.   "Dinner tonight," he announces, "is whatever you want. Ask your plate. Those of you who have done this before, help your neighbors. Do speak clearly; some plates are hard of hearing. I once asked for sukiyaki and was served yak soup."   He seats himself, and around the hall, shouts of glee begin to erupt as favorite foots appear by the plateful. Several students think to agree on side dishes and shout them to the platters in the middle of the table, and soon the myriad smells of a hundred good things drift into a pleasant cloud around us.   Curious, I watch Dumbledore study his plate. To my amused surprise, he leans forward and clearly says,   "Chateaubriand." There is a brief pause before the Headmaster adds, almost clandestinely, "with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the side."   I chuckle. Well, Albus never was one for conventionality. I wonder if he likes Vegemite, too?   I ask my own plate for Eggs Benedict with a piece of Belgian waffle on the side- after all, no one said it had to be typical dinner food, did they? I risk a quick peek around to see that Minerva is digging into a shepherd's pie on my left, and an equally swift look at Severus's plate reveals something complicated that appears to involve chicken.   Oh, well. I was never one for conventionality, either. "And a side order of toast with Vegemite," I whisper to the plate.   Food and drink are consumed rapidly, and as stomachs fill and conversations stir again, the Headmaster claps his hands to change the music. Now it's got a beat to it, and couples rise from the tables and start to dance in the small amounts of free space between the tables. This is enough warning to the rest of the school to stand up as well, before the benches sweep themselves out from under everyone's feet. Or buttocks, as the case may be. Before long, the Great Hall has turned into a dance hall, and everyone is up and moving.   Albus and Minerva step down from the staff table to join the dancing crowd, and Remus and Madam Pomfrey go next. Hagrid, Harry, and Ron are engrossed in conversation to my left, and I shoot a glance over at Severus.   He looks so relaxed. I've never, in all my nights in this hall, seen him look so calm. He's watching the students dance, chin resting on laced fingers with his elbows propped on the table, and he seems honestly contentt tot to sit and observe. There is no trace of the hard lines of disapproval I've so often seen on his face, and his mouth looks soft in the light of the drifting candles. I'm overwhelmed by the urge to trace that patch of skin with my finger, just to see if I can curl it up into a smile.   The music shifts, and suddenly there are a million tiny lights whirling around the floor as if a disco ball is whirling from the ceiling. The speed of the whirling slows gradually, until the lights drift around the dancers like snow.   My mind is suddenly made up, and before I have the time to change it, I move to stand beside Severus. Putting my hand gently on his shoulder, I ask softly,   "May I have this dance, sir?"   He looks startled, as if no one has ever asked him to dance before- and in all probability, no one has; at least not in the last ten years or so. But he recovers quickly, and nods almost shyly. He rises and offers his hand, and the two of us make our way down to the sea of swaying bodies on the dance floor.   I know there are eyes on us as we cross the floor, but I don't care. I'm sure Severus can feel them, too, but he doesn't seem to pay them any more heed than I do. Finding an open spot on the edge of the floor, we turn to one another, and he gently takes my hand in his and pulls me close with his other arm. We're definitely closer than most of the other couples on the floor, but there is still daylight between us. Or candlelight, at least.   He's definitely danced before- there is no boyish uncertainty to the way he moves with me. Rather, there is a sense of respectful distance, as if he is afraid of implying too much with his touch. It's odd, this advance and retreat of our relationship; at times it feels as if we're rushing forward, at other times it feels as if he's drifting back, afraid to believe what his mind tells him is happening. Or perhaps fearing that his past stands between us. I know this is something I will have to break through if we are to share what I want us to share, but this moment seems too fragile for me to do so decisively. I would rather let him enjoy his newfound peace, let the students see a side of him they will likely see only rarely. I'd like to see it a little longer, myself.   So instead of doing anything blatant, of rushing things too far too fast, I settle for the subtlety a Slytherin understands best.   Relaxing my body fully against his, I slide a little to the left and let my right foot drift between his, my left foot off to one side. The move brings our bodies even closer, and lets us stand right up against one another without awkwardness. This is as far into his personal space as I can go while still wearing clothing, and it sends the message that I am comfortable being there, if he is comfortable permitting it. There is no way I could have done this without intent, and it's just not the sort of thing a casual friend does.   My heart surges with mingled excitement and relief when he accepts the gesture. With a slight adjustment in his arm, he takes up the new slack in his embrace, and I feel his body relax against mine in turn, yielding up contact between my curves and his angles. He slowly, deliberately draws my hand in to rest on his chest, his hand covering mine, and he gently strokes his thumb over the back of my hand in a private caress. Our stance has moved from dance hold to tender embrace now, and I duck my head against his chest, just as I had done on the train. He lowers his own head to rest on the top of mine, and we stand almost still in the dim light of the dance, moving just enough to acknowledge the music and the people around us.   We stay that way for what feels like forever, and when the dance finally ends, I am suffused with a sense of refreshment. I step back from Severus, smiling up at him, and in his eyes I can see a spark of acknowledgement. We've crossed a line, and there will be no going back. That sends a shiver of delight down my spine.   Madam Hooch claims him for a dance next, and I move to partner Ron. The dance progresses swiftly after that, and after several songs, I can't even see Severus through the crowd. But he's not at the staff table, so he must be enjoying himself. High time, too.   It must be nine o'clock when the Headmaster suddenly calls for attention again. Instantly the Great Hall falls silent, all eyes pinned to Albus Dumbledore as he stands before the staff table.   "Students and faculty, honored guests," he says solemnly, and then slowly smiles. "The night is only just begun, and this is not the end of the revelry- never fear. But we are gathered here to celebrate a day which we feared might never come- a day which marks the close of an old chapter of our lives, and the opening of a new one. Some might even say this is the start of an entirely new book." A glint of amusement reflects off the Headmaster's spectacles as he pauses. "We are also here to honor those whose efforts and risks have brought us to this happy moment. I would like to introduce Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, to address this matter." With a slight nod, Albus acknowledges the shorter man standing just behind him and to his right.   The Minister of Magic steps forward and nods to Albus in thanks.   "I am pleased to be here this evening, to share in the celebration and mark the bravery of the witches and wizards who risked their lives for the betterment of us all. Their contributions to the security and well-being of our world have been as varied as their backgrounds, and yet all of them were essential for success on that fateful day on the coast, when they held our very cizatization in their hands and preserved it from harm. It is not just for the British Ministry to acknowledge this debt, but for the wizarding world as a whole. And yet, I hope that this will be a step in the right direction."   It's the shortest speech I've ever heard him make, and by far the most heartfelt. I suppose I may have judged this man a little too harshly; after all he's only human like the rest of us, with his own faults and failings. The fact that he chose his own words tonight, rather than having his customary speech writer do it for him, does raise my opinion of him a tad. He scans the crowd for a moment before he speaks again.   "Sirius Black."   The black-haired man raises his hand to indicate his location, surprised but collected.   "Please step forward," says Fudge, gesturing to the steps before him, where Sirius was Sorted into his house nearly thirty years before. Harry's godfather does as he is bidden, little reason though he has to trust this man who hunted him in our third year and failed to hunt Voldemort for most of our lives.   And then, Fudge is holding a glinting medallion on a red ribbon over Black's head.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, and for your tireless pursuit of justice in the face of great odds and at great personal cost, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   The school is utterly silent, stunned at the sight unfolding before it. This sort of thing is usually done amidst great pomp and circumstance, in London, at the Ministry; for it to be done at Hogwarts is an historic moment indeed.   Speechless, Sirius bows his head to have the medal put around his neck- what a fancy dog collar, I think irreverently- and then we all applaud. This, more than anything else to date, will help Sirius get his good name back.   "Remus Lupin," Fudge says next, and this time I jump. For Fudge to award an Order of Merlin to a werewolf is yet another blow to the traditional prejudices of wizardkind; perhaps Albus was right when he said that this was the start of an entirely new book for all of us.   Or perhaps it is the Headmaster's hand behind all of this. I wouldn't put it past him. Either way, Fudge looks- as Arthur Weasley had said- relieved enough not to care.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, for your efforts on behalf of Harry Potter in his third year, and for your efforts toward fostering understanding between werewolves and witch and wizard, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   More applause, this even more enthusiastic than the first round- for now the students realize exactly what they're seeing.   "Neville Longbottom."   Now the school goes utterly quiet, then starts up with a faint whispering. Neville? Really?   Neville is so surprised that he trips on his way up to the steps, but he makes it at last.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, and for your consistency and the best use of your particular gifts to neutralize a dire threat, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   I wish his parents could see him today. I sneak a quick peek at Snape, but the Potions master's expression is bland and unreadable. He claps politely along with everyone else- and I acknowledge that this is just another example of a subtle, but major, change from Before.   Fudge's voice calls me back from my mental wanderings.   "Ronald Weasley." That's when I notice that Arthur and Molly are standing along one side of the room, beaming as their son steps forward to stand before the Minister with uncharacteristic shyness.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, for your friendship and support of Harry Potter in adversity and strife, for your quick thinking and repeated selfless sacrifices with no thought of reward, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   Ron is beet red, and I clap so hard my hands go numb. I shrill a whistle, catching his eye, and Ron grins sheepishly at me. For once, he's got all the attention- and he has no idea what to do with it. The Gryffindor crowd is chanting "Weasley! Weasley!", and Ginny is waving her hands so wildly that she's sure to throw herself off balance unless she sits down again soon. Percy, who I now see is standing with his parents, looks positively green with envy at the beaming look of approval from Fudge in which his younger brother is currently basking.   "Harry Potter."   Harry straightens his shoulders as the Hall hushes to a faint whisper once more, and then approaches the Minister with a poise that would have astonished his eleven year old self to see; he has learned over the past seven and a half years how to be what others need him to be, while still being himself. Fudge seems as impressed by the performance as everyone else, and just as unaware of the difference between Harry and his public façade. The Minister smiles brightly down at the son of Lily and James Potter as he holds up the medallion on its ribbon.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, for shouldering from your infancy a burden placed on you by fate, and for consistent and unflagging courage and perseverance in the face of incredible odds and great personal danger, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   Standing ovation this time. How else could Hogwarts react to such recognition to one of its own heroes?   When the din subsides, Minerva's name is called.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, for your protection of those in your care, for the crucial support you gave to make possible the successes of others in more visible positions, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   Gryffindor erupts again, and Minerva flushes a bit as she accepts her medallion.   "Albus Dumbledore," says Fudge then, and the Headmaster moves to stand before Fudge. I notice that he does not take a step down to the lower step upon which all the honorees before him have stood.   "For services rendered to the wizarding world, you have already received the Order of Merlin. And yet such service as you have rendered every day for the last sixty years deserves recognition. Your courage, leadership, and wisdom have preserved us in time of great need, and have comforted us in time of sorrow. And so it is with great pride that the Order of Merlin confers upon you the Arch of Mithras, its highest honor."   The Minister of Magic then bows formally to the Headmaster, and holds out a small silver-chased pillow of scarlet silk. Albus pauses for a moment, and then draws from the folds of his robes his own medallion, on a scarlet ribbon like the new ones, but clearly worn with age. This is no prize to be kept glittering in the security of a vault at Gringott's; this is a hard-won symbol of a lifetime's work, allowed to age like its owner, stained by the sweat and blood that earned it. Dumbledore lays the medallion down on the cushion, and Fudge frowns slightly at the creased, time-darkened ribbon.   "Shall I tidy it up for you a bit while I…?" he asks, but Albus shakes his head slightly.   Fudge shakes his head in faint disbelief, as if to say, Well, all right, but… and raises his wand with a flourish.   No one hears the charm being cast, but when it is done, the Order of Merlin's bright medallion is crowned with an arch of leaves. I can't make it out very clearly, but I suspect the ancient image of Mithras's face is wreathed in those silvered furls.   "Wow," breathes Hagrid sotto voce, and I agree. Of course, Hagrid is impressed with the award; I know Albus well enough to know that he does not set store in awards and medals, but in the things for which they stand. This is just one more accolade. No, what impresses me is the fact that Fudge actually knows how to use a magic wand. Despite my earlier admission that I may have painted him with too dark a brush, I've never seen him do anything but the most basic magic- and as shallow as it sounds, I feel marginally better knowing that the Minister of Magic is actually a wizard.   Albus solemnly accepts his medallion back, and puts it on again, this time on the outside of his robes, where we can all see it. He steps back again, to take his place in the line of Order members now forming before the staff table, and I can see the faint smile on his lips. Yes, Dumbledore is as aware as I am of the ironies of fate- Fudge has been at times our enemy and at times our ally, and either way, the return on our investment of effort comes through his hands, whether it be punishment or approbation.   "Hermione Granger."   My ears begin to ring in the sudden silence, and it takes me a second to recognize that my name is being called. I rise to my feet, suddenly glad I wore decent robes- it's like my Mum always said. Wear clean underwear- you never know what might happen.   &y fey feet carry me to the steps and up them, and then park me in front of the Minister; he is holding up another medallion, and I can't quite fathom that this is about to be mine. It just doesn't seem real.   "For services rendered to all of witch and wizardkind, for the steadfastness of your friendship to others, for your keen mind and inquisitive nature, for your ability to forge friendships where none were thought possible, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class."   Then the medallion is settled around my neck, the softness of the ribbon pressing into my skin, and every Gryffindor is nearly hoarse with shouting. I'm dimly aware that the other houses are cheering, too, but Ginny's voice is uppermost in my mind, chanting, "You go, girl! You go, girl!"   And my respect for Fudge has risen another little notch. How elegantly said, to acknowledge what I have done so fully and yet to give away so little. For I have befriended Harry and Ron- and Severus. I have discovered something which it appears is entirely new to the wizarding world- and I have forged a friendship with two beings previously thought to be alike in their coldness and lack of feeling: Severus Snape, and the very stones of the earth.   A heart of stone, indeed.   "William Weasley."   I hadn't seen Bill anywhere this evening, and so I'm surprised to see him step up from beside Arthur and Molly, his clothes slightly rumpled, his rucksack sitting on the floor at his mother's feet. He has clearly come straight from work, and is a little puzzled at the summons. I suspect Arthur called him hastily at the start of the evening.   "For the skill with which you applied your craft at the crucial moment, for proceeding with respect for the past and foresight for the future, I award you the Order of Merlin, Second Class."   Molly looks like she's going to swoon. Two Head Boys, and two Order of Merlin members in the family!   "Rubeus Hagrid."   The half-giant stands awkwardly from where he had been sitting behind the table. He moves forward, obviously half-expecting some sort of rebuke.   "For your tolerance and forbearance where others judge too quickly, for knowledge and ingenuity when others' lives were in danger, and for your role in assisting the return of one of the members of clan on ton to their human state, I award you the Order of Merlin, Second Class. Furthermore, because your innocence in past matters has been established, I hereby grant you the right to carry and use a wand."   Hagrid is crying tears as large as oranges, and a particularly large ribbon is put round his neck with his medallion on it. He's clutching his pink umbrella fiercely, and I know exactly who Mr. Ollivander's first customer will be tomorrow morning.   As Hagrid moves away from the Minister, still crying profusely, I glance around the room. There is one hero who has most decidedly NOT been lauded, and I will be furious if Fudge leaves him out. I will be particularly furious if he is recognized, but only glancingly.   Luckily for the Minister of Magic, he has one more item up his sleeve.   "Severus Snape."   The Potions master is leaning against the wall at the back of the Great Hall. I can see him now, because the crowd has parted before him. He pauses a moment, as if indulging in the faintest desire to disobey the implicit summons. But at long last he pushes himself away from the wall and strides forward. He comes to a halt on that last step, as we have all done before him, and still he can look down into the Minister's face. It's helpful to be so tall.   "For services rendered to witch and wizardkind over the course of twenty years, for your repeated willingness to risk life and limb for others, for your skill, knowledge, cunning, discretion, and sheer courage, I award you the Order of Merlin, First Class." He puts the ribbon over the Potions master's head, and when I get a glimpse of Severus's face, I am shocked to see his expression.   He's honestly, openly surprised. He expected something unpleasant. It's not an unreasonable expectation- he was left till last, when the second class orders had been given, and it's no secret that he and the Minister have had their differences. From his assessment of Severus as 'unbalanced' after Sirius escaped, to his refusal to acknowledge the meaning of the Dark Mark burning, to his suspicion regarding our account of the final events, Fudge has shown no particular approval of a man who has risked so much to help us. No wonder Severus didn't come to watch at the front of the hall with the thought that he might be among those called forward.   I may never get used to how this man sees the world. I shall have to ask Hagrid. Those realreally do have a great deal in common.   "Furthermore," says Fudge as he settles the medallion, "in acknowledgement of your long history of service, which up until now could never be recognized, and which has undoubtedly affected your life in profound ways, I name the date of your induction to the Order as June 1, 1978."   Severus does smile a little at that; at least he will have gotten his Order of Merlin before Sirius Black.   Those of us already standing on the dais are clapping madly, whistling and cheering; Arthur and Molly are joining in with enthusiasm. Ginny is clapping, too, drawing attention from the Gryffindors around her. The Slytherins are cheering, of course, but the rest of the school is clapping politely, faces screwed up with confusion.   Severus has come up to join us now, shaking hands with Albus and Ron and Bill, and as he quietly moves past Harry to stand beside me at the end of the line, Harry stops him with a hand on his shoulder.   Before Severus can respond, Harry crushes him in a bear hug, into which Ron throws himself to my- and, I think, his own- surprise. Then we're all crowding around him, clapping him on the back and making the sort of fuss over him that I know he will never allow us to do again. But tonight, I think he will permit it. Not that he could stop us.   The rest of the school still looks mildly puzzled, and Hagrid frowns out at them.   "Well for heaven's sakes, don't you lot read? Professor Snape's near got himself killed half a hundred times, spyin' for Dumbledore all these years. He's the one who started this whole thing, poisonin' You-Know- er, Voldemort last week."   Harsh whispers begin to fly, as surprise ripples through the students. The group hug has settled back into a line of flushed and happy honorees, Severus standing half a pace forward of the rest of the group, as he was before they hugged him.   Hagrid sighs in exasperation, and with a belligerent expression, he draws breath to explain further. Albus stops him.   "May I, Hagrid?" he asks, and the groundskeeper shuts his mouth with a grateful look. Albus turns to look placidly, and yet gravely, at the students before him.   "Professor Snape has risked his life for me, for all of us, every day of the last twenty years. Had Voldemort discovered his true mission, he would have faced an agonizing death. As it is, he has endured an agonizing life. Madam Pomfrey has a record of the injuries he has incurred over twenty years of spying; the last time I saw it, it was seven volumes thick and taller than Professor Flitwick. He has spent a total of six months in the hospital wing of this school, recovering from the worst of those injuries. And on top of this he has assumed the duties of Potions master and Head of Slytherin, without missing more than eight days of classes in all the time he has taught here. That is a great deal to ask of any man." He looks solemnly about the room.   "I do not think that anyone here can argue that he is a less than effective teacher. Since he began his tenure, the average Hogwarts student's NEWT score in Potions has risen to be the highest in Europe. Despite his frequently stated low opinion of your mental faculties, he has taught you well. If he has been unpleasant to you in class, perhaps it would help to bear in mind that much of the time you spent sweating over a cauldron in his classroom, he spent trying to stay vertical and teach you at the same time. The Cruciatus curse is not named figuratively."   I think this little bit of sarcasm is the first sign I've ever seen that Severus has rubbed off at all on the Headmaster. Whatever inspired the phrasing, however, Albus's point sinks in quickly. If Snape's temper resulted from his being in pain, the students are now going to assume that he was dreadfully harmed on a daily basis for the last twenty years. But no matter. Albus is correct; much of Snape's ill moods were born of frustration, pain, uncertainty, and above all, jealousy of the things he saw his students enjoying that he could never have- freedom, friendships, laughter. I do not think that Albus will reveal that much of the private affairs of his Potions master, but I do think he knows about it.   In the silence that falls over the Hall as Dumbledore's words fade away, a student wearing the Ravenclaw crest begins to clap. Several of her comrades join in, and as understanding dawns on the rest of the school, the applause spreads until the entire student body is cheering for Professor Snape.   Severus stares out at them, his face blank, and I smile to myself. Leaning forward, putting a hand on his back, I say, "They mean it, you know."   He glances back at me, doubt and derision mingling in his eyes. "Oh, come on," I chide. "They'll still complain about your attitude in class, and they'll still dread your exams. But they know the truth now."   With a wan smile, he nods a little, and then steps back to nudge me aside. I move over to make room for him in the line of new Order members, and we all stand for a long moment, basking in glory, savoring it- for tomorrow it will be gone, washed away by the flood of work that always rises to carry us forward.   And when his hand slides around my waist to pull me against his hip, I wrap my arm around him in return.     It is almost midnight when I return to my rooms, tired and happy and worn. I don't feel like sitting through the fireworks tonight; too much has happened, and I need to think about something else for a while, to let my internal mechanisms process it all. I'll think about it more tomorrow. I take my medallion off and study it for a long moment- whoever would have thought? Hermione Gran Ord Order of Merlin, First Class. At least I beat Gilderoy Lockhart. I set the ribbon and medallion carefully on my nightstand, and then step into the bathroom to change for bed.   Once swathed in my nightshirt, I slip back into my bedroom. I ease into my new bed for the first time, reaching chilly toes down to the spell-warmed bottom of the bed, and sigh with relief. Snuggling back into the pillows, I reach underneath the bottom one and pull out my favorite bedtime storybook. Especially after tonight.   The WIKTT Archives is getting thicker, despite the multi-archiving spells. They may well go into Volume 2 soon. With a chuckle, I turn to the place I've marked, in the middle of Hinge of Fate. Within minutes, I'm almost as dead to the world as I'd be in stage 4 sleep.   Which, perhaps, is why I'm shocked almost enough to pass out when Severus's voice softly drawls from the doorway,   "Doing a little light bedtime reading, Miss Granger?"   TBC…     A/N: No one's mentioned it yet, and I haven't gone back to change it- but a few chapters ago I compared Hermione touching the stone wall at Hogwarts to Adam touching Abraham on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Slip of the fingers- it's God, not Abraham. Duh. Sorry.