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Authors' note: Thanks again for the reviews! I finished the last chapter the Friday morning before Book Five came out. Now, as I am half way through Book Five---I'm taking my time to enjoy it---I took a break to write my next chapter. I hope you guys like it. Please review!
Chapter 22
To Sleep Per Chance to Dream
"Somebody should tell him to get some sleep," a muffled voice said from the other room. Harry recognized that voice as Remus Lupin's.
"Be my guest," another voice said in reply. "I bet it will go down about as well as someone telling Severus Snape to smile a little more."
That voice belonged undoubtedly to Sirus Black.
Harry had just returned from another night out patrolling the streets of London looking for some sign that would lead him to Hermione. For the past twenty minutes that he'd been back, he'd stood outside of the kitchenette eavesdropping on Lupin's conversation with Sirius.
It had been two weeks since Hermione had been taken. Despite nearly the entire staff of Aurors and the entire Weasley family working day and night to find her, she was still missing. There were no clues, no ransom notes; nothing which would lead them to her.
Although he'd never admit it to anyone, Harry did want to sleep. Sure, he'd been tired before, but never like
this. He was knackered, and was running pretty much on fumes. The thing that kept him going was a fervent belief that
she was still alive and was counting on him to find her. If she were dead, he'd know it in his heart, he'd feel
it in his soul. She was alive. He'd bet his own life on that fact.
That belief kept him going, kept him awake. He hadn't had more than a couple of hours sleep since she'd disappeared and had eaten very little. Ron had been behaving the same way.
Despite the newfound animosity and hostility between the two of them, both he and Ron had managed to work quite well together. While their temporary ceasefire came about due to mutual concern and love for Hermione, it was no doubt helped along by their keeping their dealings with each other straightforward and businesslike. There was no pretense of the familiar camaraderie that had existed between them for years. They had become almost robotic in their interactions with each other---each seemingly working on autopilot. An outside observer would see the two of them working diligently together and think they were two determined colleagues working toward a common goal, not the lifelong friends they were, or once were, as it had come to pass. What did exist between them now was a sort of unspoken gentleman's agreement to put aside their differences for the moment and work together to bring Hermione home, safe and sound.
Harry had grown tired of hearing Lupin and Sirius discuss his mental and emotional state. When he couldn't take it any further, he burst through the door and gave them a nod in greeting. They had both stopped talking and looked toward Harry with expressions of pity and concern.
"Any news?" Lupin asked, watching as Harry helped himself to a cup of coffee.
Harry took a sip of the coffee before answering.
"No," he said solemnly. "Did you?"
Lupin shook his head no. "We combed through her offices again. Everything's in tact. Her office and laboratories haven't been touched. Her research and journals are still there. Which means-"
"Which means they weren't after her research like we thought," Harry interrupted. "That was just a smokescreen. They didn't want her for her work or her research. They wanted her to get to me."
"You don't know that for sure," Sirius argued. "They could have taken her for a number of reasons."
"Being the girlfriend of Harry Potter is probably right atop that list, don't you think?" Harry said bitterly.
"Harry," Sirius began.
"No, don't say it. You know it's true. If she'd never met me, she'd probably be happy and alive without a care in the world. She'd be tucked away in her lab or her office or fighting for house elves rights or something like that," Harry spat out. "She wouldn't have had to be constantly in danger. She wouldn't have had to keep looking over her shoulder to see what bad thing would happen next. She certainly wouldn't be in the position she's in now. You know that bastard who took her is just using her as a pawn. She means nothing to him. He took her to get back at me, and for what?"
"She loves you, Harry," Sirius said, seriously. "And to quote The Beatles, if I could, 'she loves you, and you know that can't be bad'."
Harry looked at his godfather incredulously. "What?"
"The Beatles," Sirius said. "I'm sure you've heard of them."
"Yeah, I've bloody well heard of them," Harry said, staring at him. "We're trying to find Hermione and you're quoting Beatles' lyrics?"
"Yeah," Sirius said. "And you're not trying to find Hermione now, are you? You're standing here feeling sorry for yourself and it's not doing you or she any good, is it? You have been running yourself ragged, going around all maudlin and exhausted. You aren't helping her by doing this, Harry, not at all."
Harry's mouth had fallen open as he'd listened to Sirius. When Harry didn't reply to Sirius, Sirius walked over the potion cabinet and pulled out a bottle labeled, "Sleeping Draught."
"So what you are going to do, Harry," Sirius said, popping the cork off the top of the bottle, "is drink this potion and go in that room and take a nap."
"No, I'm not," Harry said firmly. "I've got some leads to follow up on."
"Drink," Sirius said. He thrust the bottle at Harry. "Drink it. Come off of it, Harry. If Hermione were here, she'd tell you the same thing as I am. She'd tell you to get your sorry arse some rest."
Harry continued to look at Sirius in utter amazement. "I doubt she'd be that crass."
"Drink," Sirius said, pushing the bottle at him again.
"Oh, all right," Harry said, taking the bottle. "But you promise me, right now, that if anything happens, you will wake me up straightaway."
"You have my word," Sirius said. "You are just as stubborn and hardheaded as your dad was."
Harry smirked as he took the potion to his mouth and took a swig. He gave his godfather another look of displeasure as he handed the potion back to him and walked toward the cot room.
He could feel the warm effects of the potion as it began to take effect. He lay down on one of the cots and closed his eyes. He thought of her once more as he finally gave into the exhaustion that had consumed him.
Hermione had spent the majority of her time in captivity entertaining alternate thoughts of escape and of Harry.
She knew that he was looking for her and she had an almost blind faith that he would find her. What scared her, however, was that neither she, nor Harry, knew what he would find when he finally got here.
Without her wand, escape was pretty much out of the question. She was helpless. She had no idea where she was, who was keeping her here or why she was here, other than someone's twisted way of getting back at Harry. Her only true course of action was to try and study her captor's moves and motives. By doing this, maybe she'd uncover some sort of weakness that would help her escape somehow or get word to Harry.
This was an excellent theory in thought, but so far it had proved futile. She hadn't seen nor heard from her captor since her first night here. Her days and evenings had taken on a sort of routine. Every morning at 7, a tray of food would appear on the table beside her bed. This would be repeated at noon and then at six every evening.
She did have an inkling that her captor must know her well, as he had provided a number of books and novels for her to read. Some of the books were classic literature by Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Emily Bronte. There were also contemporary novels by American authors Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck. There were also some Shakespearean sonnets and plays. He'd even included Hogwarts: A History.
She had just finished her dinner when the cold, chilling voice came again into the room.
"I trust you've been comfortable," he said.
Hermione quickly got up from the table and looked around the room. "Where are you?" she asked. "Who are you?"
The voice cackled. "No, my dear, it's not time for that just yet. I do have some good news for you, though. Both Potter and Weasley are looking for you. It's quite touching, actually. You should see it."
"What do you want from us?" Hermione shouted back at him.
"I told you," the voice said again. "All will reveal itself in time. Harry Potter took something from me a long time ago. I, in turn, have taken something from him. Quid Pro Quo."
"You won't win," Hermione said determinedly.
His sinister laugh filled the room again. Hermione shuddered at the sound of his laughter.
"I'm well ahead now, Miss Granger," he said coolly. "I've grown tired of this. Enjoy your stay."
With that, the voice was gone. Hermione was left along again with her thoughts.
"Who could this be?" she thought aloud. It couldn't be Lord Voldemort. He'd been killed by Harry many years ago. Maybe it was a Death Eater, she thought. Maybe it's someone he encountered as an Auror?
She hated this feeling of helplessness that had come over her. She hated not knowing the answer. She looked at the books that lay on the table. All her life she'd found the answers in books. These books couldn't help her now.
She walked back over to her bed and sat down. She hugged her knees to her chest.
"I love you, Harry," she whispered. "You can find me, I know you can. You can find me."
Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, Harry slept, peacefully. He was having a wonderful dream. He was walking along a beach, much like the ones in Hawaii, but he was alone. It was nighttime, but the air was crisp and fresh. As he kept walking, he noticed lights coming from further down the beach.
He picked up his pace as he went further to investigate. As he got closer, he saw that there was a ring of white candles surrounding a small bonfire. A young woman was sitting with her back to him on a blanket. Her long brown hair was blowing in the breeze. Harry could feel his heart leap at the sight of her. He knew who that woman was. It was Hermione! She was wearing a beautiful blue sundress and as she turned to face him, he could see that she had a bouquet of daisies in her lap and had placed one of the daisies in her hair, behind her ear. She smiled brightly at him.
He ran toward the fire and called her name as he finally reached her. He tried to walk past the ring of candles to her, but he couldn't get through. There was some sort of invisible shield blocking him from being able to get through to her. He screamed in frustration.
"I can't get through, Hermione!" he exclaimed. He reached for his wand, but his spirits fell even further when he realized he didn't have it with him. "I can't get through!"
She stood up and walked toward him. They were merely a few inches away from each other, but couldn't touch.
"You can find me," she whispered. "You can find a way to get through. I know you can. I believe in you like you believe in me, right?"
She reached up and pulled the daisy out from behind her ear and held it out toward Harry. He tried to reach for it, and to his horror, she disappeared.
He was all along on the beach, holding Hermione's daisy.
"Hermione!" he screamed. "Hermione!"
He awoke in a cold sweat. He was all alone in the room at Auror headquarters. It had been a dream.
Rubbing his eyes and getting up into a sitting position on the cot, he reached for his glasses on the floor beside the cot. He put his glasses on, and noticed for the first time that there was a single, white daisy laying on the floor beside his cot.
Hermione's daisy.