The Ghost Auction.
Hermione Granger reads the slip posted on the spell-barded ruin of a column in the Hogwarts Courtyard. Headmistress Mcgonagall insists they refer to this infrastructure as half-standing, but political correctness in beyond Hermione. Apparently political correctness does not imply to selling off the Hogwarts ghouls to raise money for rebuilding the school.
Once again, the 'Silent' Generation remains loud as Mandrake, seeing nothing wrong with peddling off the lives of the disadvantaged members of Magical Society for profit.
It's the house-elf conundrum all over again. And Hermione Granger is compelled to stand against this modern-day slavery.
I mean, that's exactly what it is, isn't it?!
She spends the entire weekend making badges with the words G.L.M. *Ghosts' Lives Matter. She's started hiding pamphlets in library books and inside desks. She's even staged a public performance in the Quidditch pitch, changing all of the house banners to those featuring the faces of famous Hogwarts ghouls. Professor Oliver Wood had practically shit broomstick splinters out of his arse when he saw those.
It's the Cold War all over again.
Like all great revolutionists, somewhere between the Quidditch stunt and changing all the food at dinner to ghost food, Hermione is sentenced to detention.
"This is ridiculous," Hermione grumbles, feeling every bit a third-year Malfoy in Lupin's Boggart class. She's a returning seventh-year student in a destroyed--- sorry, half-standing magical school with a population of fifty students. The fact that she's even here, braving the ghastly draft of the dorms and the occasional avalanche of stones that seems to fall on one's head inconveniently when they're running late for class deserves some leniency.
When the door opens, a familiar gust of cold air sends shivers up Hermione's spine. Apparently being enslaved does not exempt a ghoul from completing their Professorly duties. She turns her head, expecting to see the looming figure of Professor Binns floating wearily into the classroom, but comes face to face with....
"Professor Snape?!"
He's exactly the same as he was before, save for the silver gash along the side of his neck where the snake bit him. His eyes, ever dark and calculating, are now a shade of navy blue and his greasy hair streams along the side of his face in white ribbons.
"Miss Granger. What a misfortune." His voice bears a deep echo to it, like the inside of a sea shell. "Let's see." He unravels the parchment "Detention for defacing property, meddling with school affairs and....heresy against the head of Hogwarts." He smirks. "Never thought Minerva would take a page out of Umbridge's book. Have you checked for Polyjuice?"
Hermione grins. "I suppose I'm not in the position to at this time."
"Tsk tsk, you are losing your pedantic nature."
"No, simply the freedom needed to exercise it." She shrugs, gesturing to the desk.
Professor Snape floats to a free standing chair and settles down, robes floating about him like a gentle waterfall. "Tell me about the loss of freedom."
Hermione wonders if his death has somehow released some inhibition of hers to speak freely to the most dangerous man she knows. "The truth is, I don't agree with the Ghost Auction sir. I was trying to raise some awareness for how unfair it is."
He nods. "You would be the only one. You see, the rest of the staff seem more than happy to be rid of the ever meddling Peeves, Nearly-Headless Nick and his one-trick-pony act, and the voyeuristic Moaning Myrtle. Even the Bloody Baron's malodorous droppings are getting harder and harder to scrub off the carpets for old Filch."
"But ghosts were people once too!"
"And house-elves are distant relatives to the goblins, but haven't a sickle to their names."
Hermione shakes her head in frustruation. "The Ministry is positively medieval."
"And ever splitting all its citizens via some earth-shattering dichotomy. Muggle versus Pureblood, Hogwarts versus Ilvermorny, Dark versus Light."
"But there's a way to outwit them. There must be." The gears in Hermione's head turn rapidly. "The house-elves could be released with an article of clothing, so the ghosts can also be set free."
"As it so happens, there is."
Hermione's eyes spark with a newfound fire. "Tell me," she whispers. "Please."
The word sends the Professor's form into a ripple. "Minerva forbade it."
"But I wish to help you. I wish it with all my heart."
"You do not know what you're saying," Professor Snape's voice drops low. "You were given this life to rejoice with the living, not meddle in the affairs of the dead."
"But how priceless is my life in a world where life has a price?"
"Questions such as yours require more time for explaination than this detention allows," Snape hisses. "I do you no service in entertaining ideas that could very well expell you from Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts is already dead," Hermione says.
"Even if you were to succeed, there would be new schism---sides to be chosen and scapegoats to be found."
"But there will also be those who stand for what is right," she said. "I won't back down."
"Stupid, idealistic Gryffindor," Snape grumbles. "Very well, have it your way." He floats to the blackboard, revealing a chalk out of thin air. "It is said that a physical fragment of a soul is hidden in a location, binding the ghost to remain there until it is released."
"So if I want to release the souls, I'll have to search for the fragments." Hermione runs a finger through her hair. "Like the Horcruxes."
"Percisely. Which is why the Grey Lady's soul was allowed to ascent once her Diadem was destroyed and Peeves was gone with the destruction of the school itself."
"And you of course know where to find the fragments," she asks hopefully.
He sighs. "Granger you will be the death of me."
-x-x-x-
Hermione reviews her list once more.
Nearly Headless Nick's soul is in a broken tooth
Moaning Myrtle's in a mirror
The Fat Friar's in the wood
The Bloody Baron's in a blade
The only one she does not know of is Snape's which he refuses to tell her until she's released the others.
Time is of the essence now, and with the Ghost Auction less than a week away, Hermione has to act fast.
She finds a wand identical to Nearly Headless Nick's, and to complete his story, uses it to mend her own crooked teeth. Like Nick's friend Lady Grieve because of whom he'd died, she is conveniently a crooked-toothed Muggle-born as well. And fingers crossed, she does not see Nearly Headless Nick floating about the Great Hall the next morning, nor any other.
"Child's play, Granger," Snape says slowly, "but you have three more to go."
"Four sir."
He scoffs at her brazen implication.
And yet, she surprises him again, by curing one of Madam Pomfrey's patients with Dragon Pox with a brew from the Whomping Willow bark, sealing the Fat Friar's deal shut.
"Sheer. Dumb. Luck."
"What can I say?" Hermione smirks, "I have three more to go."
To release Moaning Myrtle's soul, she cracks all the mirrors in the castle. That's when Filch catches her in the act, amongst the glass on the floor of the last lavatory.
"I dunno what yer doing lassie, but it ain't gonna end well for yeh," he mutters as he leaves her scrubbing up the floors of the boys' lavatories. At least Hermione does not hear the giggles and taunts of Moaning Myrtle any longer.
And then there's the Bloody Baron and his knife. She needs some blood of a Ravenclaw to set his soul free, and thankfully Luna Lovegood is more than willing to help.
But just as the deal is settled, the Headmistress herself and Filch burst through the doors. Detention is in Hermione's future indefinately it seems, but instead of being sent down to the dungeons, she's in the Pheonix Office instead.
Minerva settles down, pouring her a cup of tea. "I know what matter of meddling you are up to, Hermione." She puts the lid back on the teapot with a clink. "I fear I've given you too much liberty with the Time Turner."
Hermione's resolve is not so easily swayed.
"I am not your enemy."
"Oh really," Hermione says. "And what are you to the ghosts?"
Minerva places two sugar cubes inside her cup. "You think that you are freeing these poor souls from a horrid fate?"
"There is no life for them here, treated like pawns."
"What I offer them---what I offer Severus, is a chance to live a life outside the school. He is young you know. He has not seen the world. And you wish to perish him to dust."
"To dust?"
Minerva's eyes grew cold. "And what do you think happens when one dies? There is no life outside our own Hermione. And once you release his soul, he won't experience anything at all. He won't remember what his life had been like."
"You cannot make that choice for him."
"And you can?" Minerva says. "You meddled with their lives far worse than I had. You let those souls go into nothingness and you did not consider asking them what their choices were."
Hermione swallows down the lump inside her throat. "I was doing right by them."
"Whatever is right for you, is not what's right for others," Minerva says. "I'd hope you'd have learned by now that morality is subjective."
-x-x-x-
That night, she finds Professor Snape alone in the dungeons. She drags her feet over to the desk and slumps down in a chair.
"Granger, why so serious?" he asks.
"I'd done it sir."
"And yet, you've not come to gloat at your victory?"
She shakes her head. "I have one last soul to release you know?"
"And so you do."
"So," she whispers. "You will tell me where your soul is?"
"It isn't in a place, exactly. It's in an act."
"An act?"
"A kiss," he says, his voice quivvering. And then, Hermione understands.
"You'd ....never been ....kissed before?"
He frowns, his entire expression shifting. "I won't be ridiculed by you for it."
"But if I kiss you, you'll be gone?"
"Dead, Granger."
She stills, and shakes her head. "I'm afraid I can't. I can't do it."
He nods. "So I see." Then floating away murmurs. "You are like the rest of them, you know."
And she feels just as much.
-x-x-x-
The Auction is about to start. Hermione and her friends sneak in to watch. The candidates' names are listed in gold below the stage---like prized cattle for the taking. Their prices are all listed, the oldest ghosts of course run for more galleons and the newer and less 'useful' ones for far less.
And yet, this is no charity.
She sees the propective buyers. The Minister is there, of course, and all the rich Purebloods not yet imprisonned nor set for trial. She wonders what will happen with Snape in the hands of the Malfoys, for example.
The lights dim, and the chatter dies down at Minerva takes the center stage.
There's laughter and there's discussion.
Hermione's feet unfreeze and she finds herself sneaking around the tables and chairs and dashing behind the stage curtains.
Severus Snape stands there, unfazed and accepting of his fate. He barely looks at her, whatever life inside his eyes is gone.
"What do you want Granger?"
She stills, approaching him. "I want to help."
"You've changed your mind?"
"And you?"
He shakes his head.
"You won't have anouther chance at life," she whispers, the tears welling up in her eyes. "And what if this is all there is?"
"I've lived my life. And I do not want a half life." He takes her hands. "Perhaps, death is just anouther journey for me."
"I won't forget you," she sniffles.
"Just do it. Quickly if you must."
Closing her eyes, she leans forwards and presses her lips where his lips would be. And then, she feels the cold around her melting away.
When she opens her eyes, the bright light is in her eyes and gasps echo through the hall.
She's done it.
Smiling, she faces the others.
"They're gone. All of them," she says. "The Ghost Auction is off."