Disclaimer: They belong to JKR, I'm only playing.
A/N: Once again, thank you so much all of you for reading and for reviewing; I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to any of the reviews personally. A question that popped up a few times in the reviews was how often I plan to update--the answer is once a week, hopefully, if RL doesn't get in the way. Ninety percent of the story is already written, so I don't foresee any drastic delays.
And of course, thanks to my wonderful beta, miconic for the support, the encouragement, the nitpicking.
****
Chapter Two
Early next morning, as soon as he heard noises in the kitchen, Harry made his way downstairs.
"Harry!"
The spoon stirring the porridge fell into the pot with a squishy clatter.
"Where were you all night? We were so worried! Arthur almost called the Order!"
Harry cleared his throat. Feeling guilty enough there, Harry?
"I-I was just outside for a while. I went to bed later." He ran a hand through his hair, damp from the shower.
Mrs Weasley's face softened.
"Harry, what happened yesterday wasn't--"
"Could I have some toast, Mrs Weasley? I'm starving."
She sighed. Harry looked away. "Of course you are, Harry. There, take this plate and sit down."
He settled himself at the table. His shoulders ached and his eyes were heavy. He didn't really want food, but he needed something to fiddle with. The kettle whistled querulously and the bacon spat on the stove. He nibbled his toast and spoke to Mrs Weasley's back.
"Can I come to Diagon Alley with you?"
She turned around.
"Oh Harry, I'm not so sure if that's such a good--"
"Please, Mrs Weasley, I promise I'll be very careful. I just need to get out for a bit."
Molly fingered her apron-strings thoughtfully, taking in his blood-shot eyes and hunched shoulders.
"Well, all right. But we'll have to let the Order know and they'd probably send someone to come with us."
She untied her apron and laid it over a chair. "I'd better wake up Arthur then, and Ginny too."
As soon as she was out of sight, Harry dropped his toast in the bin and laid his head down on his arms. The sputters and hisses in the kitchen trickled over him and he closed his eyes. What happens after today, Harry? You're going to have to think of some really good reasons to stay out of her sight.
And how long do you think you can stand it?
**
A tear falls. Then another and another. It feels like she has sand in her eyes.
She needs Harry.
She has sand in her eyes and blood beneath her feet. Look, it's staining the tips of her toes. It's not a clear bright red but a congealing black under the burgeoning shadow of the dimmed chandelier.
Ahh, there they all come, looking for you! How much is a mudblood worth?
Her feet slip and slide on it. She flings out her arm, looking for his hand to pull her up and over the lip of the cavernous dark. But she only thrashes against the bedclothes.
There he is, and the other one as well, and all the rest of them…
She runs down the stairs looking for him, his clear green eyes and warm hands, but only finds red hair. Then they lead her back upstairs, almost lifting her off the ground. Her nostrils fill up with the heavy smell of camomile. She pushes away the offered pillow and curls on her side. Her cheeks sting, her throat burns. And her eyes are still full of sand.
**
Harry spent the day trailing behind Ginny and Mrs Weasley, fingering the parchment in his pocket, watching his feet kick up stones along the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Ginny tried several times to start up a conversation but soon gave up. Tonks followed them from a respectable distance in a midnight-coloured coiffure with crimson highlights. Harry responded to Mrs Weasley only when she asked for Hermione's booklist, and mutely picked up the shopping when they were done. For once he didn't have trouble ignoring the endless looks that crossed his way; his mind was elsewhere.
**
They flooed home late in the afternoon. Ginny stepped into the fire at the Leaky Cauldron with Harry following. Under the folds of exhaustion that clung to him like wet wool, there was a quickening in his stomach as he stood amid the flames, waiting for the sooty swirl to carry him.
As the fire slowed, he braced himself, holding the parcels tightly. Moments later, he was spat out in a sooty heap through the Weasley's fireplace. Harry stood up and straightened his glasses.
Ginny screamed.
A pair of arms seized him and slammed him hard against the wall. Harry's feet gave way.
"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GO?"
"Ron! No!"
"SHUT UP, GINNY!"
Harry stared at Ron's face, a deeper shade than his hair, eyes bulging and forehead knotted.
"How could you just leave her like that? You--"
"Ron! What on earth are you doing? Let go of Harry NOW!" Mrs Weasley stumbled out of the fire, dropping her parcels all over the floor.
"--She was in hysterics, she wouldn't stop crying! How dare you just--"
"Let go of him, Ron--"
Tonks, who had clattered in after Mrs. Weasley, tried to pull Ron away from Harry, but Ron swung his arm. It struck her on the face.
"RON!" Lupin sprinted down the stairs, the twins behind him.
"I will NOT let go of him, I'm going to--"
Lupin pointed his wand at the two of them. A dart of light flew across Harry's blurred vision. Ron's grip gave way and he skidded across the living room floor and fell in a livid heap. Harry slid down the wall, coughing.
"Hermione-what's wrong with her?" he croaked.
"Are you all right, Harry?" Lupin kneeled next to him, peering into his face.
"Where's Hermione?" He struggled to stand. Lupin pulled him up.
"She is here, she's okay. Nothing to worry about."
"She's NOT okay--"
"Ron! That's enough."
"What happened?"
"She was a little distressed when she found you weren't here--"
"A little distressed? She was bloody WAILING!"
"Ron!"
"Come on little bro, let's go upstairs". Fred and George pulled Ron to his feet and dragged him away. Harry stared after them, every nerve ready to spark. His head swam and his hands shook.
"Sit down Harry, stay calm." Lupin led him to a chair. "George flooed in at Grimmauld Place fire this morning, after you'd left. Hermione had gotten upset-she seemed to be looking for you." Harry clenched his shaking fingers. "But she's okay now, I've given her a sleeping draught."
Harry jumped up from his chair. Lupin restrained him. "Harry wait-she's sleeping, not much you can do right now. But you look like you could do with a bit of Pepper-up potion".
Harry sank back in the chair and put his head down in his hands.
Well done, Harry, well done..
**
The Pepper-up potion still stinging in his throat, Harry stepped out of the kitchen. If he had to think another thought, feel another thing, he would burst, but he still had to find Ron.
How could you just leave her like that?
Harry found him in the exact place he himself had huddled the night before. Ron sat against the wooden wall of the broom-shed, pulling at tufts of grass between his feet, his hair ablaze in the dying sunlight. Harry stood in front of him, hands in his pockets. Ron didn't look up.
"Have you talked to her yet?"
"Err--no. She's still sleeping," Harry replied, surprised.
Ron looked up. "Why did you go, Harry?"
Thrown off by Ron's candidness, he wondered what to say.
Because she hates me, Ron, at least I thought she did. Because this is all my fault, because I don't know what I'd do if she never gets better, because I don't know how to make things better, because I can't stop imagining all the terrible things that they could have done--
"I had to get out for a bit."
Ron snorted. His eyes devoid of the usual glint of hilarity, his face tense, he looked like someone Harry had known a long time ago, but had since then lost contact.
No, not you too.
"Sure mate, you had to get out for a bit, no problem. Ron's there, isn't he? He can deal with Hermione."
"Oh, is that what this is about? You having to deal with Hermione?"
"No, Harry, this is about how you just left, knowing full well that she's going to wake up in the morning and go looking for you!"
"I'm not the only one who can look after her!"
"No, but you're the one person whose name she screams when she's upset!"
Harry stared.
"Come on. Even you can't be that thick," Ron trailed off, his voice low. "She was going through something awful this morning, Harry. She was saying a whole lot of things, mouthing words, but all we could understand was your name, over and over again." He swallowed. "And I had no idea what to do. She seemed so upset, but I didn't know how to help her."
Knees suddenly weak, Harry sank to the ground.
Even I don't sometimes, Ron, I'm the last person who'd know what to do…
But you could've just hugged her; that usually helps. Or taken her outside to sit in the sun. You sit right next to her and let her lean against you-you can sense her relaxing then. Or talk to her. Doesn't matter what you say, just keep talking, she finds it peaceful. Sometimes she even falls asleep.
You only had to distract her, Ron, that's what you do when she gets nervous-discreetly, of course, or she'll have this sad look in her eyes...
"Harry? Harry!"
"Yeah? Sorry, I-I wasn't listening."
"Didn't think so." Ron looked away, throwing bits of grass haphazardly into the air.
"I said I'm sorry I almost strangled you."
Harry looked up and sighed.
"That's okay. I probably deserved it."
A gaggle of geese passed screaming overhead, wings beating air down onto the top of the two of their heads.
"But if ever again you leave her like that, I will strangle you."
"Okay, Ron. Deal."
"I'm not kidding"
"I know you're not."
The sun had almost disappeared. Harry got to his feet, brushing down his jeans. "Come on, we'd better go in. I want to see if Hermione's awake."
**
An elegant, golden flame burst and turned into a lump of warm ash. A silver pendulum swung in random motion, pausing for long moments. Dumbledore sighed and regarded the man sitting on the opposite side of the large desk.
"I can tell you with perfect confidence, Tiresias, that we have applied every means available to us, and yet nothing has made the slightest difference."
He tented his fingers under his chin.
"The most troubling aspect of the matter is that she seems completely unharmed, apart for her silence. I must say, I always feared something like this. If it wasn't Miss Granger, it would have been Mr Weasley-but I always imagined the worst, for which I think I should be forgiven."
The man in front of him inclined his head a little, as if he was trying to listen to something beneath the general register of noises audible to the human ear.
"And her silence seems completely inexplicable. We cannot find the slightest trace of a curse or any other magical binding and she hasn't responded to any of the potions."
"And I suppose she hasn't shown any inclination to reveal anything?"
"I only wish she had. Our task would've been much simpler then."
Tiresias stood up and walked over to the errant pendulum and stilled it midway with a finger. His motions were deliberate, as if all the objects in the room were strung to him with minuscule, invisible threads so that when he moved he had to make sure he didn't tangle the strands.
"When you say silent, Headmaster, do you mean that she cannot make any sounds whatsoever, or that she is unable only to speak?"
"She's unable to speak, Tiresias, that's for certain. She can make certain kinds of noises, mostly when she's distressed, but she has to exert herself." Dumbledore sighed. "I myself have examined her, but my magic returned empty-handed. I'm afraid I'm running out of options."
"Besides," he tapped his chin with a finger, "all the intrusive magic we've been using on her is making her weary and somewhat resistant too."
Tiresias straightened his head, turning his large pearly eyes towards Dumbledore.
"But you do have theory, don't you Headmaster?"
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
"I do, Tiresias, but I claim no expertise in what I'm suggesting, which is why--
"--You hired me."
Dumbledore looked into the unseeing eyes of the man before him.
"Yes. That and other reasons, as I'm sure you would have deduced the moment I owled you."
Tiresias smiled and flicked the pendulum with one finger, making it swing in a slow arc.
"You think the reason for her silence may not be of magical origin. That's why none of the magical cures have had any impact."
Dumbledore shrugged.
"She may be a witch, Tiresias, but she's still human, and still a child, if I may say so. Any means by which you can silence a human being would still be successful on her, especially if she didn't have recourse to her wand."
"You believe she may simply have been frightened into silence."
"Yes."
"You want me to hypnotise her."
"Yes." Dumbledore stood up and walked to the window.
"Pardon me for saying this, but why would Tom Riddle resort to Muggle torture methods when he is himself a walking repository of injurious magic? Why go to such trouble?"
"I wish I have the answer to that, Tiresias, it's one of the many mysteries surrounding this."
"And yet we are sure it was Voldemort behind this?"
"Yes. Severus found the pillow that was set up as a portkey."
"And obviously he cannot tell us more," muttered Tiresias, derision creeping into his voice.
"Severus walks a very thin line, Tiresias. He does what he can," Dumbledore replied, without turning away from the window.
"You do realise, Headmaster, that this cannot be done straightaway-that I need to first spend time with her to gauge the damage? And it might not even be successful the first time."
"As soon as it's within your judgement, Tiresias. Of course, in the meantime we'll continue magical treatment. I understand that according to muggle medicine cases like these often run their own course, but in this case there is too much at stake. We cannot simply wait for her to get better."
"You're worried about Potter."
Dumbledore turned away from the window. "Harry has had to deal with too many losses. And there are many more things he must deal with in the future. Having Miss Granger returned to normal is imperative."
Tiresias returned to his chair and sat down.
"Am I sensing more than what I'm told here, Headmaster? About Potter and Granger?"
Dumbledore smiled, tired eyes twinkling.
"Ah, the question the Prophet would pay a fortune to get an answer!" He, too, returned to his chair.
"If there is, I don't think they are aware of it themselves. In any case, I'm sure you will formulate your own theory about that once you meet them." He chuckled softly. "Indeed, I've been told that having a theory about that particular issue is a cherished pastime around here."
**
Hermione was awake. But she didn't want to open her eyes. What if she was still dreaming? What if she was still there and not at the Burrow? How could she tell what was real? How could she tell if she wasn't still cut and bleeding on the blades of all those thoughts that night had thrust at her, thoughts she kept carefully blunt during the day?
When she could put it off no longer, she opened her eyes, blinking out the soreness. The taste of the camomile and passionflower compound Lupin had almost forced down her throat still clung to the roof of her mouth. Her arms and legs felt deadened. The room was dim, dust motes roiling in pale orange flutes of light pushing through openings in the curtain. And it was absolutely silent.
Almost.
Suddenly alert, Hermione held her breath. A lump gathering in her raw throat, she realised there was someone else in the room, someone whose breath fell in a steady, familiar rhythm next to her.
So this was real. It must be. He wasn't here before but he's here now.
She turned on her side, trying to stem the tears.
He was huddled on the floor, his legs tucked under the bed, his head pillowed on his arms on the bed. His glasses were off, his hair all over his closed eyes.
She reached out a hand and pushed the strands away. She meant to stop there. She didn't mean to run her hand through his hair, over and over, she wasn't planning to stroke his forehead, trace his eyelids, touch his cheeks and nose. She didn't, but couldn't help herself.
All these weeks she'd sought him out like a kitten seeking the sunniest patch on a cold day, but she'd never really looked at him. She'd just sat under his shadow, leaning into its inexplicable safety, following where he led, trusting his touch and his voice.
But now she took in the thinness of his cheeks and purple shadows under the eyes, and recalled the look on his face over the glinting badge the day before.
She wasn't planning to slide off the bed and huddle next to him, her arms tight around his waist, her damp face at his back, but she couldn't help it.
**
Tom Riddle's skin crawled with satisfaction. The Malfoy boy was quite a catch, even more supercilious than his father. Just look at him, veritably salivating at the mark on his wrist.
Riddle looked sideways at Bellatrix and nodded. She advanced with a rag which she pressed on Draco's wrist, blotting the blood that seeped around the mark. When she withdrew, the skull and two snakes gleamed in dark, silvery green against sallow flesh.
"Well, Draco, you are ready."
Draco looked up, his eyes full of the murky light from the dusty chandelier. His hands were still shaking. His father nudged his shoulder from behind.
"Y-yes, Master." Draco straightened his spine, a little breathless.
"Now, I don't want schoolboy games, Draco. I have great things planned for you and you must prove yourself worthy."
"Yes, Master."
"I want flawless calculation, excellent strategy and I advise you to take your time. I do not want quick results, I want success. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"I want a living hell created for Potter, but more than that, I want you to prove to me that you can."
"Yes, Master. I--I will do my best."
"Very well then, you may go."
Draco covered his wrist with his sleeve and left the room with his father, fighting the nausea that had flared the moment the high-backed chair turned to face him.
Riddle tapped the arm of the chair and looked at Bellatrix. "He will do, Bella, he will do for now. And I can concentrate on my own plans."
"How much does he know, Master?"
"Just enough to keep him occupied, and to keep his father on his toes."
Bellatrix nodded, tight-lipped, and moved to clear out the rags and the bowl full of soiled water.
**
When Harry woke up, the room was completely dark. He lifted his head slowly, because there was something warm and breathing at his back.
"Hermione?"
She sat up and shifted away. He wished he hadn't spoken. He fumbled for his glasses and wand and soon there was a serrated ring of light around them. He looked into her face in its clear glow.
Then he wished for the wooden floor to open up and swallow him whole.
Her eyes were swollen and her lips were chapped. Her hair hung in tangled clumps around her face and the neck of her t-shirt was damp. He wanted to touch her ashen cheeks but feared that his fingertips alone would make them disintegrate like something left out in the rain.
He whispered her name, not knowing what else to say, slid close and put his arms around her. She smelled of sleep and tears and stale fear. She tucked her face into his neck and clutched him tight.
****