The Second Comming (fanfiction)

[Grammar Freak]

I've read and re-read the rules, and there seems to be nothing about not posting fanfiction here, as long as it's good and wholesome-like. If anyone has an issue, I'll take it down.

Anyway, The Second Comming is my current baby, and no where near done yet. It's not HermionexGinny, but it does have a ton of Hermione and Ginny in it, so... Reviews and reviewers are amazing, so tell me what you think.

Author: Rai (Grammer Freak)
Beta:Rivi
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: None as of yet.
Genrea: Mystery/Supence
Rating: PG-13-ish? (At least older teen.)
Warnings: War, language - that's it really.
Spoliers: Yes, all the books are pretty much ruined if you read this.
Language: English with some (untranslated) French
Length: Medium-ish (5,500 words)
Completed: Yea, right...
Feedback: Always!

Chapter One - Homecoming
Update One

“Mon frére!” the quiet anguish filled cry, no louder then a breath echoed strangely in the impressive marble floored front hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

A rustle of cloth, a scurry of soft, slippered feet against the cool floors, a man’s smothered, pain filled moan.

“Chut! Chut! Mon frére - tu deve être silencieux!” the French woman implored, her voice husky from fear and the need to be silent herself.

Pressed against a tapestry hanging in a dark corner, Severus Snape, Potions master and former Death Eater, observed all blindly. His hiding spot was a good one, and if he peeked around the heavy cloth he would be able to see clearly in the dim torch light. However, years as a spy and the lessons learned had not been wasted. Even in Hogwarts, one could never be too careful. His wand was warm in his hand, but he dared not even cast a translation charm. The woman’s mutters and the man’s occasional stifled curse where not worth the risk of having the people notice anything amiss.

As luck would have it, the man and French woman were shuffling around the corner – in a few precious moments, Snape, for better or for worse, would know the identities of the two intruders. And then, for better or for worse, Snape would face McGonagall to report the pair.

Hermione Granger, the young and promising Charms professor at the school was helping a very hurt Harry Potter. Potter’s battle robes, made of a nearly impossible to rip magical cloth, were literally shredded. Hanging off of the young man in strips of useless rags, Snape could clearly see the deep gashes and burns cris-crossing with older semi to fully healed battle wounds on the chiseled chest. His belt, with clip of healing and explosive potions was empty, along with the other various holsters. Clutching his blood-socked wand to him chest, the man was barley fit to be dragged by the smaller, but no less strong Professor Granger.

The young woman’s wand was also out, however there was not much good it would do her, seeing how occupied with getting her friend out of the open hall. However, Snape mused, if the Dark Lord’s army of Death Eaters managed to enter the school grounds, all was lost anyway.

Snape watched them go with interest. When were did the two learn French so well? Where was the other part of the trio, that annoying red-haired Weasley boy? And why, in the name of all the gods, were they headed in the opposite direction from the Hospital Wing? Sighing, the weight of the years upon his breast, Severus Snape made his way from shadow to shadow to McGonagall’s office to report his interesting night observations.  

[Grammar Freak]

Update Two

“Well, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, Severus,” Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stated as if it was the most well known fact in the world. “Harry and Hermione both decided to go to Académie de Beauxbatons for apprenticeships.”

“Who did Mister Potter apprentice under?” Severus inquired, sipping from his black coffee. Unlike the old Headmaster Dumbledore, Minerva understood about one’s need for coffee. She herself drank deeply from her own coffee filled teacup before answering.

“Ah, Harry had a double apprenticeship –“

“He worked under two Masters? The boy is either crazy or stupider then I thought” Severus muttered.

McGonagall shot him a stern look, that without all of his years as a spy, Snape know that he would be shifting in his chair like a naughty school boy. Clearing her throat, she continued. “Dark Arts Master Leo Blance and Potions Master Marc Rober.”

Severus bristled at the name of his former master, “Impossible. Rober doesn’t accept apprentices anymore.”

“Now, Severus,” Minerva sighed, “You must get past Rober not accepting you as an apprentice. Apparently, Mister Potter bothered Rober while the Master was bringing a supply of potions to Beauxbatons until he agreed to take him on as a pupil.”

“Nevertheless, it does still not excuse nor explain why Professor Granger was smuggling a battered Mister Potter into the school and away from the Hospital Wing.”

“When you where hurt as a spy did you run to the Hospital Wing for every hurt and ouch?”

“Potter is different. He doesn’t have the strength.”

“He’s a man now, Severus, and seen more in the past years then the rest of us put together. You are still remembering the boy from eight years ago, not the man you haven’t yet met.”

“I have no intention of meeting Harry Potter again. He is like his father in every way, and I will not be any more then polite to him”

“You were never polite to him.”

“I treated him as everyone else.”

“No, you treated him worse."

Severus placed his teacup down, strangely calm. “I treated the boy like everyone else. Something the rest of the staff failed to do, Minerva”

“And had he been in Slytherin?”

“I would have acted like a mentor to him, and taught him what he needed to know, instead of beating around the bush as Professor Dumbledore.” He sighed, world-weary and bone tired. “If the boy had been in my house, I imagine things would be very different then they are now.”

“I hope at Beauxbatons he learned the Slytherin ways. I have no doubt that there will be much need for them.” Minerva sipped at her coffee. “Now tell me again what you saw.”

Severus obliged, gratefully slipping into his “report mode”. No emotions, no messiness, just clear facts. “I was walking through the castle to make sure that no students where out of bed, when I heard the great doors open. I did not know who was coming through the door, so I hid myself in the Slytherin tapestry of the foyer, wand ready should I need it. I herd a woman say something like “mon frére”. She kept calling the man, as I could tell from the grunts he made, “mon frére”. They were very quiet, and I’m sure the woman was telling the man to be quiet. She said “Chut! Chut!” and then a sentence where the last word was something along the lines of “silencieux”. I remained hidden, and moved so I would be able to see them when they turned the corner. I was surprised when I saw that it was Professor Granger and Mister Potter with out their sidekick Mister Weasley. I noted that Mister Potter was severely hurt, but they for some reason walking away from the Hospital Wing. I did not follow them, as it was close to the time when I report in.”

“”Mon frére” you said? That’s very interesting. It would seem that Hermione and Harry are closer then we thought – she was calling him her brother.” Minerva sighed deeply, “War does change us.”

“No – war reveals to us the best and worst we can possibly be.” Severus said softly, picking up his coffee and taking a last swallow. “If you will excuse me, Professor, I have some preparations to finish before bed.”

“Which scared you the most, Severus? Seeing the best you could be, or the worst you could be?” Minerva asked softly, her words striking him like a hammer in the gut.

With out another word, Severus turned and fled down the stairs – his dark robes billowing out behind him like bats’ wings reaching to embrace the night.  

[Grammar Freak]

Update Three

Harry and Hermione stumbled down the hall, each twist and turn bringing them farther into the bowels of the castle. Every muscle and nerve in his body was alive, and screaming at him. Pain coursed through his body like and electric fire, burning and tingling at the same time. Although the curses had been neutralized in the field, they still seemed to crawl like parasites over and under his skin. Weak and defenseless, Harry hung on to his sister for dear life as another blood-soaked scrap of his once beloved amour fell to the floor with a sickening splat.

“Mon dieu! Mon frère – tu perdu beaucoup de sang! Qu’a fait ceci à toi?" Hermione muttered, appalled at the bloody rag, shimmering darkly upon the stones.

“Je sais, ma sœur. M’obtenir juste à nos salles. S’elle tu plait." Harry grunted, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Hermione sighed, shifting Harry slightly. He hissed in pain, muttering curses. “Je suis si désolé, nous sommes presque là.” Hermione muttered in his year, the hot breath painful against the cut on his cheek.

Harry didn’t respond – feeling ahead for the fuzzy magic of his wards. A mental twist, a knee buckle later and the wards would let Hermione and himself in when they turned the corner. As they stumbled through the first set of wards that Harry and Hermione had erected on the forgotten wing. If anyone else was to walk down the main dungeon corridor, they simply wouldn’t notice what appeared to be an old, junk-filled wing. Occasionally, a pair of determined lovers would stumble across it, but as soon as they entered, the handle fear spells would activate, motivating them enough to scurry to another place in the castle walls.

Now in their wing of the castle, magical dots of light the size of dinner plates shown dimly from the ceiling and floors, lighting their passage. The air was warm, although their was no fire burning, and healing magic flowed into Harry, caressing his wounds, making them easier to bear.

By the end of the long corridor, the wizard was able to walk by himself – albeit slowly, and with Hermione’s arm still firmly in place around his waist. It was a comfort to have her there, Harry mused, one that he had come to greatly enjoy.

Coming to a dead end, the hall wall curved away in a half circle, four fire places burning with colorful magic fires – red, yellow, green, and blue – one for each of the houses of Hogwarts. Above the fires, tapestries with the images of each founder with their personal and house crests hung.

“My, my Master Potter – has Mistress Granger been practicing her cooking on you again?” Helga Hufflepuff asked, smiling much like Molly Weasley.

“My cooking isn’t that awful!” Hermione protested, coloring, “Anyway, Harry needs medical help – more then I can give him. Is Ginny in?”

“She’s waiting for you in the Infirmary.” Helga informed the pair, “You can just go right in.”

“Merci” Harry croaked before stepping into the fire, letting the yellow flames consume him.

Ginny Weasley was not a good woman to bother if your life rested in her hands. “It’s about bloody time, Harry!” she shouted, “How hard is it to find a fireplace in this school? Not very hard.”

Hermione sighed and raked her hands through her unruly head of curls. “Don’t be so hard on him, Ginny dear – I was afraid to floo, with all of his injuries.”

“So you decided to walk? That makes a good deal of sense. Really! And they say that you’re the smartest witch of our time!” Ginny spouted, maneuvering Harry onto one of the beds and casting some quick diagnostic charms, whilst ranting at Hermione and Harry all the while.

“At least he had the right set of mind to inform us that he was hurt, instead of pulling another bone-headed maneuver like last time” Draco’s voice drawled from the door way. Munching on a juciey red apple, he sauntered over to the examining table.

“Don’t sound so consecred, Malfoy” Harry croaked, his voice horse from pain and his mind making the slow switch to English. “You just want to know if I’m warming your bed tonight.”

Draco shrugged, “Idiot.”

“Snake.”

“Oh, good come back, Potter.”

“Give me time to heal, Malfoy, once I do…”

Ginny slammed her fist on the wall, the sharp noise stopping the friendly banter. “Enough! I can’t work like this! Everybody, unless your name is Harry James Potter, out!”

Hermione stood slowly, bones creaking “Take good care of him, love. I’ll be in my rooms if anyone needs me.”

“Still and idiot.” Draco muttered, leaving as well, “I say it’s the breeding.”

“I heard that!” Harry called after him, closing his eyes and leaning back against the soft pillows.

“He’s right, you know” Ginny chided, pressing herbs to the wounds on his chest, “You, Harry, are a flaming idiot.”

“It had to be done.” Harry hissed, the herbs she used always stung when applied. He still thought she did it on purpose, to teach him a lesson, or something.

She shook her head as she crossed the room to fetch more herbs from the jars neatly labeled and ordered on the shelves. “That’s what you say every time, and still we are at war.”

“I never said that I would end the war. Each mission brings us closer to an end.”

“Not to victory?” she tipped a potion down his raw throat.

“You should know as well as I, Ginny, there can never be victory, only an end.” Harry said softly, tilting his head back and letting sleep claim him.  

[Grammar Freak]

Update Four

Ginny entered the common room, shuffling tiredly. With a sigh, she flung herself on her squishy yellow chair by the fire.

Hermione looked up from the pile of books and papers scattered across the wooden table off to one side of the room. “How is he?”

“Sleeping. I’ve given him something to help with the pain and I’ve taken care of his wounds as best as I can. He’ll forever have the scars, but they’re no long life threatening.” Ginny sighed, running her hand over her face. “He can’t keep going on like this.”

Ron handed his sister a cup full of steaming tea. “And you’re going to tell him that, sister dear?”

“He needs to stay here for a month at least to get his strength up. And he will stay here, whether he likes it or not.” Ginny sipped her tea. “The magic in this wing can only help so much, and the longer he stays, the better for us all.”

Draco snorted into his tea. “He’s too pigheaded and suicidal to stay here for long. You should know that better then anyone, Weasley.”

“Did I say I didn’t?” Ron countered, feeling too tired to rise to Draco’s bait.

“Damn this war.” Hermione muttered, “It has done nothing but harm.”

“All wars are like that, Professor, or in doing all those Charms you forgot to study history as well?”

“It’s different when you see the toll in blood.” came the quiet response, “When you hear the screams. When you see the hollow people.”

“None of us can go on like this for long.” Ginny’s tea sloshed over her fingers as her speech grow higher in intensity. “Look at us – the five strongest witches and wizards of the whole bloody war – sitting battered, bruised, and beaten. We’re all at the ends of our ropes.”

The four sat in the room, the heat of the fire never enough to chase away the chill of a hopeless cause.

“If it’s any help – the other side is just as bad, if not worse off then us. The Dark Lord puts up a good front for the public, but his ranks are sorely hurting. Most of the smarter minions have either been killed or gone crazy, leaving Him only with half rate generals and not too many foot soldiers.” Draco offered, his information coming from the most genuine of sources – his father, his Uncle Severus, and his own observations. “There is a mounting resistance among the older members, and Uncle Severus and I have been making a job of either turning the Slytherins to our side, or getting them out of the way.”

Hermione scribbled the information down for further study. “Is your father part of the resistance?”

“My mother is, and my father follows her lead privately, if not publicly.” Draco shrugged, “Most of the wives of the older Death Eaters are part of it. The woman resent being treated as either mad or less powerful then the men.”

“Tom can be very charming when the occasion presents himself. However, more and more he is falling away from that tactic, using fear more then anything else.” Ginny added.

“While all that is wonderful, the Ministry is still under the influence of the Dark.” Ron stood, by the fire, nursing a fire whisky, as was his custom. “While Fudge out of office, it is getting better, but dirty money is more plentiful then clean.”

Hermione frowned as she wrote down Ron’s information. “Could we use the funds from the Black and Potter estates?”

“That money is far to clean. The right people would never touch it.” Draco responded, “We could bank the needed funds to my name, but that would be tricky.”

“It could be easily done by floo or post.” Ginny started, only to be cut off by her brother.

“No,” Ron said, shaking his head, “The Ministry would find out all too easily.”

“The we are at an impasse.” Hermione spoke dryly, her words summing the whole of the war, not just the matter of needed funds, “How utterly wonderful.”

“Indeed.” the other three chorused.  

[Grammar Freak]

Update Five

Under the dim magic and gas lamps, Severus Snape, ex-professor, ex-Death Eater, ex-spy, outlaw, murder, and the only potions master in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the moment toiled over a blend of healing and strengthening potions. While the mix had been successfully attempted by many in the past, this potion he hoped would heal even the gaping wounds he had witnessed early on Potter’s surprisingly fit chest.

“No, not fit. Not fit in the least.” Severus muttered to himself firmly, shaking the image of the man’s bare chest out of his head.

The black iron cauldron was coming to a steady boil, the smoking purple liquid inside lazily rolling. A pinch of fennel and three quick counter-clockwise turns and the potion turned an eerie shade of black. Pouring an infusion of white sage, thyme, and pine into the mix, Severus Snape adjusted the heat of the magical fire with a tap of his ebony wand.
He had no idea how long the experimental potion would have to simmer before he could add the pomegranate and salamander blood components to the potion, however, based upon some simple (if only to him and Hermione Granger) Arithmancy calculations, he wagered twenty minutes.

No need to be uncomfortable while waiting.

Stalking across the room, Severus opened a cupboard and extracted a dusty bottle of Olgen’s Old Fire Whiskey. The amber liquid smoked like the potion he had just been working on – thin grey tendrils curling, hypnotizing whom ever happened to be looking. The fiery drink was bound to burn a whole through his stomach, however, that pain was better then seeing Potter (the only slightly appealing male he had seen bare-chested in linger then he liked to admit) dancing in his head all night.

Sinking into his black leather wing-backed chair situated in the corner of the laboratory, Severus sipped slowly from his glass, relishing the fire coating his throat. The alcohol snaked through his veins, chasing the chills of the room away, making his head swim in a most delicious way.

Potter… Now there’s the mystery of the evening. Funny, how even after all these years, the boy still managed to be swaddled in the thick clouds of mystery, fate, and stupidity. How had Potter gotten those wounds? Severus’ trained eye had recognized curse marks, burns, and cuts from a very Muggle knife. Most likely from his newest bout of trying to single handily save the world from utter disaster. When would the idiotic boy learn that prophecy or no, other people are just as able to help the fight?

Most likely never.

The timer on the potion went off with an annoying buzz, pulling Severus out of his musings with a start. Placing the half-empty whiskey glass on the half-table, he smoothly went to check on his potion. It had changed to a pleasing shade of aqua with silver steam escaping ‘round the sides of the cauldron.

Carefully, he measured the salamander blood, adding it slowly to the mixture. Using a holly stirrer, the potion spun seven times clockwise, then seven more times counter-clockwise as the potions master sprinkled pomegranate seeds instead of customary juice over the top of the potion.

Extinguishing the fire, he set the potion aside to cool, as he busied himself with cleaning up his laboratory. The sun’s first weak rays of light shone through the magical window, set high in the wall, causing the clean dishes to sparkle. All around him, he could hear the castle waking up for a new day.

After storing the new potion in a phial, clearly marked with a label, Severus sank gratefully into the folds of his bed. The castle may be waking up to face the triumphs and trails of life under the sun, but Severus Snape – ex-professor, ex-Death Eater, ex-spy, outlaw, murder, and the only potions master in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – was caught fast in Hypos’ realms, and would not awake until Apollo drove his chariot across the last bit or sky.