Chapter Text
24 November 1994
Severus Snape watched the first ‘task’ of the Triwizard Tournament in mounting horror. Dragons. And not just any dragons, nesting mothers. Nesting mothers with hair trigger tempers who were already upset about being sent thousands of miles away from their territories to ‘entertain’ humans.
Severus had argued along with the rest of the Hogwarts’ staff against restarting the Triwizard Tournament. It had been stopped for good reason: too many participants and spectators had lost their lives over the years. Despite the promise of ‘everlasting fame’ no one remembered the name of the past winners assuming there were any. Too many tournaments had ended with all the contestants killed.
Dumbledore had overruled them, smiling benignly with twinkling eyes as he promised the tournament would be perfectly safe. That no one under-aged would be permitted to enter. That the tasks themselves were well within the capabilities of seventh year Hogwarts students.
Again, Dumbledore had lied. The tasks weren’t safe. Not for the contestants and not even for the enslaved dragons.
Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts champion, was severely burned. Fleur Delacour, the French champion, was also burned, but apparently not as severely as Cedric. Victor Krum, the Bulgarian champion, was relatively unscathed, but his dragon had crushed her own eggs trying to escape his attacks.
Now it was Harry Potter’s turn. Harry Potter, who was all of fourteen and small for his age. Harry Potter, who Albus Dumbledore had touted as being the savior of the wizarding world, privately saying Harry was the future savior due to a prophecy only Dumbledore knew the details of. A boy who Dumbledore promised would be unable to enter the Tournament since he was under-aged, who Dumbledore claimed to be protecting from the dark menaces of the wizarding world.
Again, Dumbledore had lied. Harry Potter was never safe. Not at the home Dumbledore claimed had protections, not at the school which that claimed to be the safest place in all of Great Britain.
Harry’s opponent was a Hungarian Horntail, the largest, brightest, and meanest of the dragons brought to Hogwarts. Trained dragon-handlers were cautious around Hungarian Horntails. The dragons knew and exploited dragon-handlers’ weaknesses. It was said they liked the taste of wizards.
Severus watched as the boy walked across the sand to just outside the supposed reach of the beast. He didn’t even have his wand out. The boy seemed to be speaking to the dragon. And oddly, the dragon seemed to be listening. Then the dragon reared up. The chains holding her broke. The boy just stood there as if expecting the dragon’s reaction. There was a gout of steam and flame and Harry Potter was gone.
The spectators in the stands screamed as the reality and horror of Potter’s death took hold and the dragon took flight and set fire to the stands. The Ministry observers threw up personal shields and took cover. Dumbledore, seated in the judges’ booth, had his beard burned off. His opulent robes were charred.
Minerva McGonagall and the staff of all three schools had managed to cast shields against the fire to protect the students.
“Why aren’t you helping?” McGonagall hissed at him.
“I can’t,” Severus answered. “Dear headmaster tied my magic to Potter’s survival.”
“He did what?”
“Good bye, Minerva,” Severus said as he moved away from her, the imminent danger from the dragon now past. The dragon had scooped up her eggs and flew off to parts unknown. “Of all the people here, I think I shall miss working with you the most.”
Hermione Granger tried to reread the letter she’d found on her dorm room bed. Her tears got in the way.
Dear Hermione,
Thank you for being my friend. I’m sorry I won’t be there to study with you, to face the future with you as my friend. But I’ve known for some time that I don’t have a future. MoldyVoldy won’t stop coming after me until one of us is dead and Dumbledore’s plans don’t include my survival any more than they included my parents’ survival.
I’m tired. I’m tired of adults playing games with my life. I’m tired of being worshiped for something I didn’t do then reviled for not knowing or following rules I was never taught.
When I came to Hogwarts I was amazed by magic. There was so much to learn. There were people here who knew my parents and their friends. It should have been a home for me.
A place I was safe.
It wasn’t. It was another prison. Another den of lies.
I’m tired and I refuse to be their pawn any longer.
Dumbledore and the rest of them can clean up their own messes.
Take care of yourself – get out if you can.
Harry.
While most of the rest of the Gryffindors were crying, Ron Weasley had come out of his dorm yelling that all of Harry’s things were gone, including his school trunk.
“He promised me his broom, his money bag, and his cloak if he didn’t make it,” Ron was telling everyone.
“And when did he tell you this?” Professor McGonagall asked.
Hermione hadn’t noticed her come into the common room. She did notice that Ron didn’t answer the question.
McGonagall continued: “All the contestants were requested to submit a last will and testament. If Mister Potter made such a document, I have not been appraised of it. Hogwarts does have a rule that in the event of a student’s incapacitation or death, their property will be put into safe storage until it can be released to whoever is authorized to have possession.”
“Neville’s things are gone too,” Dean Thomas announced.
“Mister Longbottom’s grandmother has removed him from Hogwarts,” McGonagall reported. She sighed before continuing. “Classes are canceled until further notice. As much as the headmaster and I would like to send all the uninjured students home, the DMLE is here to investigate Mister Potter’s death and the vandalism that occurred in Professor Dumbledore’s office while everyone was out watching the task. A number of rare artifacts were destroyed and a number of rare books and scrolls have gone missing. Unfortunately we won’t know exactly what damage was done and what was taken until the headmaster is out of St. Mungos.”
“Professor, how many people died?” someone asked. Hermione wasn’t sure who.
“Aside from Mister Potter, only two. Mister Bagman and Mister Crouch. Had she wanted to, the dragon could have quite easily killed everyone in the area. She could have easily overcome even a protego maxima charm. Some suspect she chose her targets purposefully and chose not kill anyone else. There are even some who claim that Mister Potter ordered the dragon to kill Bagman and Crouch.”
“How convenient of them to blame a dead child,” Hermione said, not bothering to keep a disdain out of her voice. “But then the victim is always guilty.”
“I’m not sure I like your tone, Miss Granger.”
“I’m not sure I care. My best friend is dead because the Ministry decided it would be cool to have a deadly competition involving school children. My best friend is dead because the people who were supposed to take care of him, who were supposed to protect him, decided it would suit their agendas to force a fourteen year old to compete in gladiator games even the Romans would have had second and third thoughts about. My best friend is dead because he realized he had no future except as a sacrificial ram on whatever altar you people decided to spill his blood on, just like what happened to his parents.” Hermione didn’t care that her hair was sparking, nor that there was an aura of power surrounding her like heat. She didn’t care that she was screaming at a teacher.
“Miss Granger, please calm down,” McGonagall said. Her voice was soothing but her wand was out.
“No, I will not calm down. Harry Potter is dead because the people who should have been helping him, believing in him, decided he wasn’t worth a damn. His own housemates attacked him with impunity. And I have to wonder which one of us is next. Which one of us will be the next blood sacrifice? Because I have no intention of volunteering to be a lamb for the slaughter. I’d sooner snap my own wand and walk away from all this. Harry knew he wouldn’t be granted that choice. Will I? Because unlike Harry, I won’t be peaceable. Unlike Harry, I’d tell the dragon to burn it all to the ground!”
“Professor McGonagall!” a woman called out. “Why do you have your wand out against an unarmed girl? Is there a problem I’m not seeing?”
“Miss Granger was expressing her grief at Mister Potter’s tragic accidental death,” McGonagall said, putting her wand away.
Hermione finally recognized the newcomer: Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE and Susan Bones’ aunt. Hermione handed her the letter.
Madam Bones’ face went very still as she read the parchment. “May I have a copy of this?” she asked.
Hermione nodded and the auror copied the parchment, handing the original back to Hermione, who tucked it inside her blouse.
“So, that’s the new official line from Hogwarts, is it?” Madam Bones asked McGonagall. “A fourteen year-old boy publicly facing down an angry, adult Hungarian Horntail for entertainment and being burned alive is a ‘tragic accident’?” She turned to Hermione. “Having read the letter, do you believe that Mister Potter had no intention of leaving the arena alive?”
“He said didn’t place his name in the goblet and I believe him. He wanted out. He wanted out of the competition. He wanted out of this school. He hadn’t slept in his dorm bed since Halloween for fear of being attacked by his house mates. Professor McGonagall and Gryffindor prefects knew this and didn’t raise a single hand to help him. Neither did Professor Dumbledore.
“This morning, he seemed almost normal. He had breakfast with us. He seemed less stressed, like he’d come to a decision. He said goodbye to me when he went out to meet the other competitors. He kissed me on the cheek. I knew then he wasn’t coming back.
“He knew exactly what he was going to do. It was his way out of this hellhole. He never even drew his wand. He never intended to.”
Madam Bones took a deep breath. “With classes canceled until at least next term, there’s no need for you to stay here. I can take you to your home…”
“They’ll be at work. I’d rather not surprise them.”
“Then we’ll contact them this evening and go from there,” Madam Bones stated. “I’m sure my niece won’t mind someone else around for the day.”
McGonagall looked like she wanted to object. Instead she called a Hogwarts elf to pack up Hermione’s belongings.
Hermione’s school trunk appeared at her feet. She shrank it and placed it in her pocket. “I’m ready.”
Amelia Bones led Susan and Hermione to the edge of the Hogwarts wards and activated a portkey. It deposited them just outside the wards to the Ossuary – the Bones’ home. She noted that Hermione looked a bit ill and disoriented but covered it with surprising swiftness.
Susan looked like she wanted to ask a question but stopped when Bones shook her head with a mouthed ‘later’.
Once inside the house, Bones had one of the elves serve tea and a light meal.
The meal was quiet. Susan seemed to be trying to process what had happened, including being removed from school for the foreseeable future. Hermione had to be coaxed into eating.
Finally, “Miss Granger, I have to ask…”
“If I’m feeling self destructive?” Hermione finished the question. The girl sighed. Then: “I’m too self centered to want to end it all in hopes I’ll be reunited with him. He and I weren’t Romeo and Juliet. We weren’t tragically romantic star-crossed lovers who were too young and foolish to see beyond themselves.
“I can’t undo whatever happened to make Harry believe there was no escape except into death. I couldn’t give him the help he needed while he was alive. And that makes me furious. But I can enact vengeance for him now. I can’t do that if I’m dead.”
“How will you explain to your parents about you leaving school?” Bones asked.
“They already know that Harry was being forced to participate as an adult in a potentially deadly competition designed for adults,” Hermione told her. “I’ll tell them that Harry made the long climb to the top of the Astronomy Tower and took the fast way down. They’ll understand that I will not stay in a school that treats its students so cavalierly.
“I was told by one of the ghosts that the tower was a popular place for students who were deathly afraid of going home from school. Of course, my parents do already suspect that an unsecured tower makes for a good murder spot. Imperious the victim and make them walk off the parapet. Or stupify them and throw them off.”
Bones noted that Hermoine was watching Susan as she spoke. “Pretty sure that’s what happened to Veronica Trimble last year. Funny thing that. I went to school with Ronnie. My mom and hers worked on the same school committees. Ronnie was terrified of heights. At Hogwarts people laughed at her because she had to take a Calming Draught just to get to Astronomy class. Surely somebody in Hufflepuff had questions about how she managed to get to the top of the tower on her own.”
“Professor Dumbledore said her parents hadn’t been…” Susan began.
“Nice to her?” Hermione prompted. “Her parents were squibs. They knew about magic. Ronnie’s grandfather on her father’s side was a partner in a thriving business in Diagon Alley until Death Eaters murdered him. Apparently it really is true that the Blacks are related to almost everyone. His wife was a Black from one of the more remote side branches.
“Ronnie’s parents were overjoyed their eldest had magic. It meant she could claim her grandfather’s magical estate. They hoped her younger siblings would be able to go to Hogwarts as well.”
Something in Hermione’s narrative caught Bones’ attention. “You’re referring to her family in the past tense.”
“Two days after Ronnie allegedly jumped off a place she’d never voluntarily go, her entire family was found dead in their flat of carbon monoxide poisoning. Both her parents, both her younger siblings. The police have it down as a probable murder since there was no evidence of fire or anything that would produce carbon monoxide in the flat or in the adjacent flats.”
“I don’t recall getting a notice about a death at the school last year,” Bones said. “I’m sure I’d remember if Susan ever mentioned a housemate committing suicide. And I should have gotten a report about it.”
“How about students being petrified last year?” Hermione asked. “The victims reported seeing a giant snake with yellow eyes before they lost consciousness.”
“Professor Dumbledore said it was handled. Someone attacked them with a dark spell,” Susan protested.
“And exactly who did he claim was the perpetrator? Were they turned over to the DMLE for attacking students?” Hermione asked. “I know Hagrid was arrested so Fudge could put on a show but Hagrid doesn’t have a wand and none of his pets can petrify people. So who was the real perpetrator since it couldn’t possibly be the person Fudge had arrested?”
“No reports of petrification attacks on students came to my desk last year, or ever,” Bones stated. She was getting a headache from the revelations. How many other incidents at Hogwarts hadn’t been reported to her office? “To my knowledge my office never produced an arrest warrant for Rubeus Hagrid,” she added.
“Why am I not surprised?” Hermione asked. “No aurors ever showed up to investigate the threats painted on the walls in blood either.”
“Professor Dumbledore said they were pranks, nothing more,” Susan said.
“Mrs. Norris was petrified. So were students,” Hermione countered. “But then, considering what the Weasley twins get away with, maybe a basilisk wandering around a school full of children really was just a funny practical joke by whoever the ‘heir of Slytherin’ really is and us mudbloods just didn’t get the joke. Or maybe it would have been funnier if the four of us had died like we were supposed to.”
“Four students were attacked by a basilisk?” Bones asked in growing horror.
“Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchly, Penelope Clearwater, and me,” Hermione listed. “We were lucky. We all saw the eyes in reflections or through something, not straight on. Like I said, lucky.”
“Nobody was really hurt,” Susan protested.
“And who the hell told you that being petrified for months didn’t hurt?” Hermione growled. Her hair seemed to take on a life of its own, defying gravity. Blue flames flickered around her head. “Or having to take potions every day to keep from freezing up isn’t really hurt? Potions we pay three times more than pure-bloods do because the healers at St. Mungos think mudbloods aren’t worth providing proper treatments or cures for so it’s an optional treatment none of us really need. The fact that we will die without it is irrelevant.”
Hermione took a deep breath. Her hair settled down and her expression became eerily calm. If Bones hadn’t known that Hogwarts didn’t teach occlumency, especially not to fourth year muggle-born students, she would have sworn that the girl had locked down her mental shields.
“Madam Bones, thank you for your hospitality but I believe my parents should be home now. So if you would be so kind as to take me home, I would very much appreciate it. I have apparation coordinates to a discrete area about a block from where I live.”
Hermione handed the woman a slip of paper, not parchment. Bones read the slip. The coordinates indicated an area in she was pretty sure was in Crawley.
“If it’s too much trouble I can call the Night Bus,” Hermione offered, her tone flat as though she expected her request to be too much of an imposition.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Bones assured her. “Have you side-along apparated before?”
“Yes.” The girl didn’t elaborate.
As before, Hermione recovered her equilibrium surprisingly fast. She took a deep breath and held out her hand for the coordinate paper.
“You won’t need it again,” she said. “In fact, not to be too blunt, I hope to never have to see you, or Susan, or anyone associated with Hogwarts, ever again. But thank you for tea.”
Neville Longbottom didn’t want to be crying like a baby. He didn’t want his grandmother to frown disapprovingly at him for having an emotional breakdown. But Harry, the only person at Hogwarts besides Hermione Granger who saw Neville Longbottom as his own person and not a flawed unmagical copy of his father, was dead.
Neville didn’t want to be crying. But Harry hadn’t even raised his wand against the dragon who killed him. Neville had found a letter on his bed after it was all over, after the screaming and running stopped. He didn’t show it to Professor McGonagall. It was his. And she had done absolutely nothing to help Harry when he most needed it.
Dear Neville,
Thank you for being my friend. I’m sorry I won’t be there to congratulate you when you finally become the man you are destined to be, not a copy of your father, but your own man, head of your house. But I’ve known for some time that I don’t have a future. MoldyVoldy won’t stop coming after me until one of us is dead and Dumbledore’s plans don’t include my survival any more than they included my parents’ survival, or yours.
I’m tired. I’m tired of adults playing games with my life. I’m tired of being worshiped for something I didn’t do then reviled for not knowing or following rules I was never taught.
When I came to Hogwarts I was amazed by magic. There was so much to learn. There were people here who knew my parents and their friends. It should have been a home for me.
A place I was safe.
It wasn’t. It was another prison. Another den of lies.
I’m tired and I refuse to be their pawn any longer.
Dumbledore claims there’s a prophesy about me, but it could be about you. Don’t let him force you into becoming his pawn. Neville Longbottom, future head of House Longbottom, is NOT anyone’s pawn.
Have a good life.
Harry.
Neville sensed his grandmother’s presence and handed her the letter.
“Did you show this to anyone at school?” she asked. Her tone was surprisingly gentle.
He shook his head. “It was addressed to me so it’s nobody else’s business. Harry would have left a letter for Hermione. Can’t think of anyone else he cared enough about to write something like this to. Not after everything that happened when his name came out of that Merlin be damned goblet.”
“Not the Weasley boy in your year?”
“Ron’s an ill mannered prat. He’s a friend so long as there’s something in it for him. When Harry’s name got chosen, Ron turned into a bigger git than than Malfoy ever was.”
Neville watched as his grandmother reread the letter. “Mister Potter’s right. You are a Longbottom and you are not anyone’s pawn.”
“So what do we do?”
“Something I thought I’d never need to do. Something your father would never consider. Reach out to the enemies of our enemies. Because if Mister Potter is right about what was happening, we have no allies outside of family.”