Harry Potter and the Circle of Oblivion

She wiped away a tear she hadn't felt falling and picked up the paper again, surveying the front page. Nearly every line and story throughout the entire publication screamed some unknowing, but hopeful headline about the death of Lord Voldemort. The only fact they had was that he was gone. No one really knew the circumstances.

“Memories, a dying green light and the screams of the innocent are all that is left of Lord Voldemort, writes Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter. “The mere seconds it took Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, to cast the final, damning spell on The Dark Lord, the entire wizarding world was changed forever.

Late last night, nearly 16 years of terror was squelched. Potter, joined by schoolmates from Hogwarts, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, met the Dark Lord at Godrick's Hollow, the very place where James and Lily potter were killed on Halloween almost 15 years ago.

In an exclusive interview with Miss Granger, The Daily Prophet has learned intense details of what happened inside the abandoned Potter home.

“There was too much commotion, bodies moving, spells crashing against one another,” says Miss Granger, eyes distant and moist, “then he fell.”

Hermione looked up from the newspaper in her hands, “Honestly, she makes it sound as if I'm some sort of dramatic lush.”

In truth, Hermione was holding back streams of tears. Harry lay motionless in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Ron, bandaged leg and all, was also there, his account of the events already growing in elaboration. And Neville, poor Neville. Hermione wondered if he'd ever forgive them. Madam Pomfrey was already working on a spell to reverse the blindness.

“I hope you're not angry with me for telling her.” Hermione continued, looking at Harry, “She was waiting, I'm not sure how she knew, but when the thestrals brought us back - ” She stopped for a moment. She'd left Hogwarts the night before unable to see her benevolent transportation source and - she'd just realized - been able to see them quite clearly upon leaving Godrick's Hollow. Perhaps the destruction, carrying out the bodies of her friends, had left her numb to her new vision. “Er… when the thestrals brought us back to Hogwarts she was there. With Dumbledore. He looked so old when we arrived.” She took his hand, “And when he saw you, I thought he might faint.”

As if on cue, the headmaster appeared.

“How are our patients this morning, Miss Granger.”

“Alright, I suppose, Professor. Does Madam Pomfrey have any idea what…” Hermione let the words trail off.

“I assure you, we will find a way to release Harry.”

Hermione was almost certain she saw tears in his eyes.

“I understand you are to be greatly commended for what happened last night.”

“No more than anyone else,” Hermione answered, the true weight of what had happened still not registering.

“If not for you… well, things might have been quite different.”

“This was always Harry's battle, professor. Ron, me, Neville,” she looked at him, “you. We were all just a part of him getting there. Now,” she sniffed, “we have to make sure he is here to know and see what he's done.”

“Can you? Is it too much for me to ask what you did see? It would be rather helpful in aiding Madam Pomfrey.” Dumbledore was approaching her as if she were a porcelain doll and Hermione felt something between flattery and annoyance.

But no one had seen it like she had. Not even Ron. He'd been struck in the leg with a powerful quasso spell - meant to shatter whatever it hit. In this case, Ron's leg. And Neville had already been blinded. It had been she and Harry. That's where she began with Dumbledore.

“Now!!” He'd yelled. “Now, Hermione, go! You must!”

“I can't Harry!”

Voldemort's sadistic laughter rang out, slowly dying, but just as powerful.

“I won't have you watch me do this! Go!”

But she hadn't left. She told the quiet headmaster how she'd converted to her animagus form and done everything Harry had told her not to do. She'd flown between them - aiming for Tom Riddle's eyes - and then watched in horror as Harry stumbled from behind the remnants of his family's couch to come face to face with the author of his own personal hell. There had been something in his eyes she'd never seen before and she'd known he was thinking of the prophecy. In one horrifying instant they'd called out together, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

She'd been so frightened that she transformed into herself while still in midair, dropping to the ground with a thud and looking up helplessly at the blinding green light.

Then it happened. Harry's spell stopped between them. Literally stopped. She watched as the ball of light carrying the killing curse's power halted, pulsating in midair. And she noticed, fleetingly, that Harry held no wand, but his hands were outstretched. And he waited.

She remembered screaming as the full power of Voldemort's spell thrust itself onto Harry's chest. Her voice died in her throat as she watched the ball of green light seemingly bounce off of him, join the other in the air and propel itself into Voldemort's body.

Before he fell to the ground she saw the face of a scared young boy return.

“I can only think,” said Hermione as she finished, eyes staring at her hands, “That this power - the power the Dark Lord knew not - was, or is, the same power Harry held as a baby.” She finally looked up at Dumbledore, eyes questioning, “How else do you explain him thwarting a killing curse - twice?”

“I'm afraid I cannot. I can only guess that Harry must have had much more knowledge of his power than we thought. Something innate within him. And for that, we can only be grateful. You especially, I think.”

“Yes,” she sucked in a breath, very grateful.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said tiredly, standing to go. “I must attend to the many inquiries awaiting me. But, thank you.”

Hermione had a strange feeling Dumbledore hadn't needed any of information for the hospital staff or reporters, but for his own release.

And she understood.

She leaned her head down, her lips next to Harry's ear, and whispered.

From across the room, Ron watched quietly.

***

It was darkness that woke her, not light. It had been early afternoon when she stationed herself beside Harry's bed and she blinked her eyes several times before being able to make out the time on the clock tower.

Nearly 6:30.

“I thought you weren't ever going to wake up,” came Ron's voice. “I'm about to go crazy in this place.”

Hermione stood, stretching, before she walked toward Ron's bed.

“Don't dare touch that leg, Dumbledore's already been in here.” He joked.

“How are you feeling?” She asked without preface.

“Like someone went after my leg with a jackhammer, you?”

Hermione smiled at him. “Stiff.”

“S'what you get for sleeping in the bloody awkward position for six hours.”

“Have you seen your mum?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “she's alright. Bit scared. Worried about Harry, but everyone's alright.”

“Good.”

“Hermione,” Ron sounded more serious than he ever had, “He'll be alright.”

“Oh, I… yes, I know.”

The two friends stared at one another for a moment understanding the need to say it aloud. To make his recovery real. Nothing else was an option.

“Want to play chess?”

Hermione laughed, “Who brought your chessboard down here?”

“Dumbledore. He played me while you were napping. Beat him quite square, too.”

“Fine. Just know that I wouldn't do this under any other circumstance. I just feel rather sorry for you having a broken leg.”

Ron began setting up the board and Hermione let her gaze drift toward Harry.

“So…” his voice broke through, “Are you going to tell me how it happened? You know, after I…”

Hermione looked back at Ron and laid her hand over his, “I will, Ron. I promise.”

He nodded and looked at the board. “Your move.”