To say that Moody and Snape were surprised to find Tonks at the Order meeting was an understatement, both of them having expected the worst - despite their reassurances to Harry - when Dumbledore had informed them that Tonks had gone missing. But now the metamorphmagus was chatting amiably with Mundungus Fletcher, looking none the worse for wear. Snape and Moody shared a confused glance, before heading over to greet her before the meeting started.
"Tonks," Moody grumbled, causing the currently-pink-haired Auror to turn around.
"Oh! Moody, Professor Snape! How are you two?"
"We were about to ask you that," Snape replied, arching an eyebrow as he looked her over. He could swear there was something off about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come, so he dismissed it after a moment, disregarding it as travel-weariness on the Auror's part.
Tonks shrugged with a wry grin. "I got stuck on the road, and my job for Dumbledore took a bit longer than we'd expected. I just got in a few hours ago, and I really, really want to take a nap."
Moody and Snape exchanged curious looks. Wizards and witches did not just "get stuck" on the road. They Apparated, flew by broom or travelled by Floo, but they did not just get stuck - Tonks was hiding something, and judging by the way she was now leaning in to whisper to Dumbledore, it had something to do with what he'd asked her to do. The two silently agreed that they'd have to keep an eye on the situation, and keep the headmaster from doing anything rash or stupid, if necessary.
The meeting passed without any major incidents, and an hour later, Snape was the last one in the room, sitting quietly by the fireplace, staring into the flames with a faraway look as he mulled over the plans that had been made for the next few weeks. Unconsciously, he rubbed his forearm at the Dark Mark that was there. For better or for worse, the war would be over soon. The potions master wasn't sure whether to be relieved or anxious - the final battle as Harry had envisioned would be a titanic clash of forces, with Harry and Voldemort throwing everything they had at the other in an attempt to destroy their target. It would be utter warfare the likes of which the wizarding world hadn't seen in centuries.
Snape almost gagged at the thought of how many dead there would be. It wasn't that he didn't want Voldemort's followers dead, because he most certainly did, but the number of casualties would leave both sides crippled for a long time, no matter who won. He only had a vague idea of how many troops Voldemort had at his disposal, but he had a feeling it ranged into the thousands. The wizarding world, already thinned out by time and their need to hide from muggles, couldn't afford to lose several thousand of their population in a single day. Rebuilding after the war could very well be impossible, at least in England.
There wasn't anything else they could do about it, however. Voldemort was too strong, too smart to fall for little traps. If he was to fall for one, the bait had to be worth it, and there wasn't anything else except total control of the British wizarding world that the madman would consider worth going after. Even if they could destroy Voldemort now, his followers could still inflict huge amounts of collateral damage on the civilian population before they were dealt with, if they weren't taken out immediately. No, Harry's plan was the most viable one to date, and they'd all just have to make sure that they took as many of Voldemort's followers with them before they died. Snape didn't hold any illusions that he'd survive the final battle. He knew the odds of warfare. In a chaotic whirlpool of combat, chances of individual survival were next to none.
In the end, though, none of it mattered. It really all came down to Harry defeating Voldemort. Once either of them fell, the morale of their troops would fall with them. Snape admired Harry's determination to see this war through to the end, but he'd seen the spark of doubt in his eyes. Moody must've seen it, too, judging from the worried expression on the old Auror's face. They both knew that in a straight-out fight, Voldemort eclipsed any duelist they had in terms of speed, power, and skill by decades. Dumbledore had once been able to stand against him, but that was before Voldemort had been reborn and gained strength. Unlike Dumbledore, who had weakened and slowed ever so slightly with time, Voldemort hadn't lost his edge, and most likely wouldn't for decades to come.
Snape had long since shed his belief that Harry was like his father. In fact, the longer this war continued, the more Harry became a realist. Snape grudgingly admitted that he admired Harry for his decision to finish the war, one way or another, when he could have just run and left the wizarding world behind, or worse, joined Voldemort, after what had happened. But he also knew that Harry didn't hold any false hopes in being able to defeat the Dark Lord. Not without another few years to practice and prepare. Harry was a talented duelist and a quick learner. The way he moved instinctively and his quick reflexes that made him such a great seeker also made him a great duelist, but without experience he had no hope of matching Voldemort's arsenal of spells.
Snape grumbled under his breath. There was a fine line between being realistic, and being pessimistic, and he had a feeling he'd just crossed that line. It wouldn't do to discourage himself before the fight had even begun.
"Professor?"
Snape turned at the unexpected voice. "Longbottom. What are you doing here?"
Neville shrugged and stepped through the doorway. "I was looking for you, actually."
"Really?" Snape arched an eyebrow, his usual sneer plastered on his face, though this time there was no malice in it. In fact, Neville thought, it looked almost weary.
Neville nodded and sat down across from his potions teacher, not waiting for an invitation. The action drew a smirk from Snape as he realized that just a few months ago, the boy wouldn't have had the confidence or the courage to just invite himself into a teacher's solitude - much less Snape's. Either that, or he was losing his edge. Snape preferred to think it was the former, rather than the latter.
The two remained quiet for a while, before Neville finally spoke. "Ginny wants to talk to him. She's really determined to make up for what her family's done, you know."
"I'm afraid there's not much she can do," Snape snorted in disdain. "In the battles to come, half-trained, underage children would only be a hindrance. The same goes for the Legion. You wouldn't last a minute in the chaos of real war."
Neville sighed and nodded. "I figured as much. We've done pretty well in minor skirmishes, but that was where we had the element of surprise, and we outnumbered them. Plus, we've only fought Death Eaters so far. I don't think we could handle a troll, or a vampire."
"Good, because Potter does not need the additional worry about his friends trying to do something stupid and getting themselves killed in the process."
"Thanks for that vote of confidence," Neville muttered under his breath.
"I heard that, Longbottom," Snape smirked. "However, hopefully, there will be no need for the Legion to involve itself in the battles to come. Potter has managed to secure some four thousand troops from his allies, which should be enough to handle Voldemort's army. The only real difficulty lies in dealing with the Dark Lord himself."
"That's… that's good," Neville said with a shrug. "I just wish we could be of more help, you know. Harry's been fighting off V-v-voldemort by himself for as long as I've known him, and it feels wrong to just let him take all the burden of doing the fighting, you know."
Snape took a while to respond to that. "I know, Longbottom," he finally said. "And you're right; it isn't fair that a child has to clean up after the entire British wizarding world. However, you're wrong in that you're letting him face adversity by himself. Your support and the support of the Legion has been invaluable, maybe not in combat, but in giving Potter peace of mind. Also, should we succeed in defeating the Dark Lord, you and the Legion will have a more important task."
"What's that?"
"You are the future, Longbottom. Your generation grew up between these wars, and you know the truth about most of what happened. You've seen the destruction it brings, the death, the fear. When all of us are gone, it will be up to you and your classmates to make sure that, should another dark lord rise, the wizarding world will face him united. You've seen what resulted from the complacency and division of our world in this war with Voldemort. You make sure it never happens again."
The two fell into an awkward silence for a moment, mulling over what the other had said.
"You don't think he can do it, right?" Neville asked, after a few minutes.
"What are you talking about, Longbottom?"
"Harry." Neville leaned back in his chair. "I mean, he's a brilliant duelist and all, but-"
"But he's still just a boy, and his opponent is the most feared dark wizard in centuries," Snape finished. "Voldemort is arguably the most powerful wizard in the world right now, and his magical power and skill know no equal. Is that about right?"
Neville nodded mutely. "Yeah."
"I agree." Snape turned to stare into the dancing flames again. "There is no way an ordinary boy who is only half-trained in magic and hasn't even finished schooling yet can defeat the dark lord, no matter how gifted a duelist he is. Talent and power only go so far, and they need time to be properly cultivated. Without experience and time, there is no way for anyone to defeat the Dark Lord."
"What about Professor Dumbledore?"
Snape shrugged ever so slightly. "Albus is old, Longbottom. It's true that at the height of his power during the first war, the only wizard Voldemort feared was Albus Dumbledore. However, in the years between then and now, Voldemort has been reborn, and gained more power and more followers, while Albus has aged. The headmaster is slowing down ever so slightly, but even that tiny bit can mean the difference between life and death in a duel between two wizards of their power. While it's true that Albus can match him in skill and magical power, his body isn't getting any younger, while Voldemort's is sustained by rituals and dark magic going back hundreds of years. It'll probably be decades before he loses his edge."
"So there's no way to win, is there?"
"Like I told you before, Potter has the potential to be more powerful than the Dark Lord, but he needs time to grow into that potential. The fact that Voldemort recognized Potter as a threat to him tells me that he is sure that Potter will be able to surpass him one day. He'll do everything he can to make sure that day never comes." Snape glanced back at Neville's poorly-hidden expression of fear, and sighed almost inaudibly. "However, we're talking about Potter here. That boy has managed to pull a miracle out of his sleeve more than once when it counted. Keep that in mind before you decide that the war is already lost."
Having said his piece, Snape stood and left the room, leaving Neville to his thoughts. It was only minutes after Snape had left that Neville remembered what he'd wanted to tell the man, and that he had an urgent message for Harry. Now that Snape had left, he scrambled to find an owl to send the message with.
"Any luck?" Harry sat down next to Bella in the library room of Nair'icaix. He was rather familiar with the room, having spent hours with his wife searching for useful combat spells that she could later drill into him in preparation for his battles with Voldemort. Now both Bella and Hermione were sitting by a window, and three tables they had pulled up next to them were groaning under the weight of a veritable mountain of books and tomes.
"Not so far," Bella admitted, before pulling out a piece of parchment from her robes. "But your friends at Hogwarts managed to get us a lead."
"Really?" Harry took the parchment and instantly recognized Neville's messy scribble.
No mention of the item by name, but "Hogwarts, A History" indicated the Founders were looking for a magical artifact that fits the description, supposedly hidden on a stormy island north of the British Isles. Hope it helps.
"When did this get here?" Harry asked, looking up from the note.
"About ten minutes ago," Bella indicated all the books they had gathered around themselves. "We got started on pulling all the history books dealing with the old wars and the Founders as soon as we got it."
She was covering her exhaustion well, Harry realized, but he could hear it in her tone that she was tired. They all were, having worked non-stop since their war council in the hopes of ending the war as quickly as possible, but Bella was pregnant. He gently took the book she was rifling through from her hands and put it on the table next to her.
"Hey! I was reading that-"
"You need some rest."
"I do not!"
"Do, too!"
"Do no!"
"Do, too!"
"I do not - I can't believe I'm having this argument with you!" Bella glared at her husband. "You made me argue like a four-year old!"
"Me?" Harry pointed at himself incredulously. "You were the one who started arguing!"
"Well, if you hadn't taken the book from me, then I wouldn't have said anything in the first place!" Bella shot back.
The two stared at each other silently for a moment before breaking out into laughter. Across from them, Hermione was carefully hiding a smile behind the book she was reading. When they had calmed down, Harry placed a hand on Bella's arm. "Seriously, you need some rest. You look dead on your feet."
"Well, that's why I'm sitting down."
Harry blinked as he digested that argument. "I can't win with you, can I?"
"Sure can't." Bella leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "However, I'm feeling a bit hungry, so I'll go see if I can find something to eat in the kitchen."
"And you'll take a nap, too," Harry insisted. "Please, Bella."
"Oh, all right. Just a quick one." Bella sighed. "I'll see you in a bit."
"Okay." Harry watched as Bella rose from her chair and left the room. He stared at the door for a while longer, before settling himself in the armchair she'd vacated and picking up the book he'd taken out of her hands. The next half hour or so passed in silence, only interrupted by the rustling of pages and the creak of old tomes. The lines of text he was reading through began to blur in front of Harry's eyes as he skimmed over passages telling the gruesome details of the wizarding wars of the past.
In the quiet of the library, the sound of a book slamming closed sounded like a thunderclap, startling Harry into looking up. Hermione had given up and tossed the tome she had been reading on the table in frustration, and was now rubbing her eyes as she leaned back in her armchair.
"Something wrong?"
The girl glanced up and smiled sheepishly as she realized what she'd done. "I'm all right, thanks for asking. It's just… I've been staring at these pages, and the more I read the less I want to know. I never knew wizarding history could be so - so horrible."
Harry glanced down at the text he was reading, and grimaced when he saw that he'd opened the book to a page with a moving picture detailing how goblins had disemboweled their wizard prisoners in detail. "Yeah."
"Harry," Hermione began, only to fall silent when he looked at her.
"What?"
"It's okay, you know," she told him after a while of staring at him intently. "I know you're mad at me, you don't have to pretend to be nice to me."
"What are you talking about?"
She sighed and leaned forward, pulling the book he was shielding his face with down to look into his eyes. "I know you, Harry. I know you're trying to just bottle things up and go back to the way things were before. It… it doesn't work that way. I know you're trying to be nice to me so you can avoid hurting me, but-"
"You don't know me," Harry shot back acerbically, yanking his hands away from hers suddenly.
"I know." Hermione leaned back and stared down at her hands. "I thought I knew you, but when it really mattered, I didn't believe in you. I know you're angry, Harry. There's no way you wouldn't be, after what we did to you."
"How would you know?"
"I don't. I can't begin to imagine how much we've hurt you, but I know that you must be angry with us. Angry, disappointed, maybe you even hate us. And that's all right. We've given you good reason to." The brunette girl sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the chair cushions. "But you're trying to hide it. You're trying to stuff everything down into a dark corner of your mind and slam a lid on it. You did exactly the same thing when Sirius died; you refused to let any of us in to help you."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Harry stood abruptly and walked over to the window, his back turned to her. She could hear, though, that despite the forced calm in his voice he was struggling to maintain his composure. She was hitting close to the nerve, judging from the heave of his shoulders.
"This." Hermione gestured around her, even though she knew he couldn't see. "You're trying to be in control, you're forcing yourself to be nice to me. I don't know about you, but if it were me in your place, it'd be killing me inside if I had forced myself to be nice to someone who'd betrayed me and destroyed my life."
Harry gave a short, barked, hollow laugh. "You didn't destroy my life, don't get melodramatic, Hermione. You betrayed me, sure, but you didn't destroy my life."
"I beg to differ," she said, rising from her seat to stand behind her former best friend. "Because I didn't support you, they sent you to Azkaban. After all, if even your best friends believe you were guilty, then you had to be, right? Because I failed to believe in you, you lost everything."
"What do you want, Hermione?" Harry's voice sounded choked.
"For you to let go. You don't always have to be in control, Harry. You're angry, and we deserve it. So be angry. Yell at me. Scream that you want me dead. Hit me. Anything." Hermione hesitantly took hold of his shoulder. "When I came here, I came fully prepared to die for what I'd done to you. You gave me a second chance, and I can't tell you how grateful I am. But… we can't heal, we can't move past this, if you don't let go of the hurt. We both need this, Harry. Please. Show me how much we hurt you. Be angry."
"Did you really think I'd kill you?" Harry spun around angrily, causing her to lose her grip. "Do you really think so little of me? I forgave you, Hermione, isn't that enough? Why do you want to drag up everything that happened before?"
The girl almost shrunk back at the pained and angry look in his eyes. Then again, she'd been trying to pull this side of him out, so now it was time to face the music. "No, Harry, I never believed you'd consciously hurt anyone. You forgave me, that's true, but forgiveness without catharsis is meaningless. It's hollow. I know you can't truly forgive me without letting it all out. That's what I want. I don't want you to just forget the past and move on as if it never happened, because it did."
"I-" Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, before opening his eyes again. When he did, Hermione gasped in fear at the depth of emotion she could see, before his mental shields went back up. Only then did she register the pain from her upper arms where he'd gripped on to her in a vise-like death grip. They remained like that for a minute, neither saying anything. He was trying to get his emotions back under control, while she was waiting for the explosion she hoped she'd initiated.
"I can't," he finally hissed through gritted teeth. "I can't lose control. I can't afford to be angry."
"Harry-"
"You don't understand," he shouted. "I'm fighting a war against someone who's got almost a century of experience, someone who's more powerful than me, and the only way I'm going to win it is if I can outwit him. I can't afford to get angry and lose control, because if I do, people die !"
"You're going to win this, Harry," Hermione said quietly, tears forming in the corners of her eyes from both the physical and emotional pain. "Do you know why?" she took a shuddering breath. "Because you care for people. Because you have people who believe in you. That's something Voldemort doesn't have, and never will."
Harry suddenly let go of her and turned back around. "Like you believed me when I told you I was innocent?" he replied softly.
"No," Hermione answered in an equally quiet tone. "Not like that. Not like the public who hailed you as their savior, either. But like friends and family. Do you know why I believe in you? Why Xerina and the Count believe in you and follow you, despite all logic saying that you're bound to lose? Because you care for them more than you care for yourself. You always have. And despite everything we've done to you, you still care. And that's why we believe in you."
"Why? Why couldn't you have supported me like that back then? Where were you when I needed you?"
Hermione didn't need to see his face to feel the anguish rolling off of her former best friend in waves. She bowed her head in shame. "We were lost in our own little world. I guess we were more like everyone else than we wanted to believe. I always thought that when it came down to it, I'd stick by your side when it mattered, but I failed you in that. I let everyone else's opinion override what I knew. I let my respect for authority override my friendship with you when Professor Dumbledore announced that he believed you were guilty." She was having trouble speaking now, herself. Forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat, she continued. "I failed as your friend, and I failed as your family. And for that, I'm so sorry."
"You're right, Hermione," Harry finally said after a few minutes of silence. When he turned around, she could see he'd been crying, and she knew that her face wasn't looking any better. "It hurt. It hurt more than you can imagine. We've stuck by each other for five years. We know each other so well… I considered you my sister in everything but blood. And then you - you just…"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I'm angry, too." Harry took a deep breath. "I was so angry at first. It will probably take a long time for me to get over that anger, but like I told you, for now, I can't afford to get angry. I can't change the past - I can't change what you've done, no matter how much I'd like to, and I have to move on. So for now, that's what I'm doing. I can't do what you'd like me to do. I can't yell and scream at you now. There's a time for that after Voldemort is gone. That's the best I can do."
Hermione looked at the hand he'd stuck out towards her, then at his face. He was holding on to his composure by the skin of his teeth, she could tell, and if she pushed any further now, then she'd be faced with a torrent of emotion she wasn't prepared to deal with right now, and it'd be a distraction to him they couldn't afford. "We really don't deserve you, Harry," she said as she slowly took his hand and held it to her heart.
Harry made a sound that was half-laugh and half sob. "Just… I'm going to collect on that offer of yelling at you when this is all over, all right?"
"Sure." Hermione managed a weak smile. "I'm looking forward to it."
"No, I don't think you do," Harry remarked.
"You're right, but it'll be good - for both of us."
Harry nodded and turned to leave the room. "I'm going to get myself a sandwich. You want anything?"
"I'm fine, thanks." Hermione wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. "Maybe a glass of juice."
"Okay." Harry paused in the doorway. Without turning to look at her, he said, "And Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"You were only partially right. You didn't fail me when it mattered. You aren't failing me now. And it matters now. More than ever."
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but by the time she'd found the words, he was already gone.