Disclaimer: They belong to JKR, I'm only playing.
A/N: Jeez, those reviews guys, like I said to one of you, I'm going to be a permanent shade of purple soon-I just don't know how to say thank you any more. So, er, thanks. And thanks as always to miconic for her unbelievable beta work, much of the credit the story gets should go to her.
Okay, so here we go, proof of the pudding…While you all decide whether it was worth all the wait and the build-up, I'll…just go stand in that corner and wait, hands sweating, knees knocking, biting my nails *is literally petrified and unable to say any more*
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Chapter Seven
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"
"Draco! Someone's going to hear--"
"Shut her up--"
"I, I don't think we should go near her--"
"YOU FOOLS! Where are your wands?"
"No, Draco--we should go!"
"Arrrrgh! You snivelling cowards--"
"Draco don't--"
"We should just leave her--"
"SILENCIO!"
"Bloody--DRACO!"
"FUCK! Draco, are you all right? Crabbe--"
"Wha--why did--?"
"The spell didn't work--"
"We should get out!"
"But what about Draco? He's bleeding--"
"She's screaming like a banshee you idiot, how long do you think before someone heard? LET'S GO!"
"But--Draco--"
"He's passed out, he won't know--"
**
Tiresias straightened in his chair, palms flat on the book he was reading. The afternoon was quiet. Students still hadn't returned from the village. Through the open window, cold air rippled in. He was distracted. He sighed.
Distraction had become a constant state in the past few days. He must go away from the castle, from Harry, soon. Or he'd be swept away in this current that crashed relentlessly at his shores.
One thing and only one thing in the world felt this way, and though he'd never encountered it before, he knew. But what he hadn't been prepared for was the sense of intrusion, both on himself and on them. As if he was forced to touch the deepest, most intimate part of a person's being, as if he was trapped in there without their knowledge, unable to pull free.
Suddenly, he straightened. The air pulsed and sparked. He pushed back his chair and clung to the desk.
His ears began to ring. Cariad Cariad Cariad. It shot through his bones, raced through sinew. He staggered and groped around for his wand. He gritted his teeth and stilled himself long enough to discern the direction. Then he crashed through the door and stumbled up the stairs.
**
"Harry, what is it, what's the matter?"
"Professor--I, I can't breathe--"
"Sit down, Harry--"
"No, Professor, my blood--skin--I can feel it--something's wrong!"
"Harry, take a deep breath, try and tell me what it is exactly."
"I--I--Hermione! She's in trouble! Professor I have to go--"
"Harry--"
"She's in trouble, I HAVE TO GO!"
"All right, do you know where she is?"
"Somewhere nearby--"
**
His blood hurtled through his veins. Against its steady, furious motion, his limbs felt clumsy. He raced down the corridor, feet slapping hard against the stone floor, Dumbledore behind him.
"This way, this way--I know it!"
He didn't know how, didn't care. They came to the corner and he paused, recognising the gloomy corridor before him.
"She's in that hall at the end!"
He began to run. As he got closer, he heard her scream. He didn't even register that it was sound; after weeks and weeks of silence, sound.
He burst through the mahogany door.
At first he thought the entire hall with its stone pillars, ledges and walls had simply turned to dust. He coughed and swallowed a cloud of sticky air mixed with the smell of blood.
"Hermione! Are you in here?"
He pushed inside and suddenly saw the pillar bound with a rope of shimmering green.
"Hermione!"
He didn't see the figures that gaped and froze. He didn't see the blood that trickled from a fleshly heap a few feet away. He only saw her bloodshot eyes, misshapen mouth, her body slumping over the ropes that bound her.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!"
Dumbledore's voice careened against the high walls. Harry reached Hermione and grasped her face in his hands.
"Hermione, are you okay? Hermione--"
She began to sob, straining against the ropes.
"It's okay--you're okay, I'm going to get you out of here, shhh--"
He pulled at the ropes, swore at himself and pulled out his wand.
"Harry! Is she okay?" He had no idea when Tiresias had appeared.
"I don't know--have to get her out of here!" He hissed a spell and the ropes snapped. She fell forward and he caught her. She was shaking, soaked in sweat. "Oh god--Hermione, can you stand?" Without waiting for an answer, he picked her up.
"Dumbledore's office, Harry. It's the closest." Tiresias stumbled through the hall. Dumbledore's livid figure stood over Malfoy's bleeding form. Crabbe and Goyle were frozen under a binding charm. A pair of golden wings hurled into the explosion of dust and light. Several figures burst through the door.
"Oh my! Dumbledore, what in the name of Merlin--"
"Potter--Tiresias--what--?"
"No time to explain, Severus. Someone get Madam Pomfrey!"
"Where are you going?"
"Dumbledore's office. Harry, this way--"
**
Silver whirred, scarlet feathers twitched. Faint sunlight scrabbled at the high window.
"How strong was it, Tiresias?"
"Quite mild, Headmaster. We don't want her to regress. Just strong enough to even her heartbeat."
Harry couldn't see Hermione's face, she was slumped against him. He shifted on the sofa Dumbledore had conjured and tightened his arm around her waist. With his other hand, he brushed damp hair from her forehead.
Tiresias knelt in front of them. "She should be awake now," he murmured. "Hermione, can you hear me?"
She stirred and moaned.
"Can you open your eyes? Harry, say something, she should respond to you."
Harry swallowed. What could he say? He could hardly breathe.
He pushed her body gently forward and shifted to see her face. Her t-shirt was soaked. Her pale face was contorted, in pain or fear he couldn't say. He took her face in one hand, thumb firm as if to stroke away the creases, the stiffness, the pursed mouth.
"Hermione, can you hear me? It's me--Harry. Hermione?"
She remained still.
"Hermione?"
She stirred. She pushed her face into his hand and opened her eyes.
"Her--Hermione, are you okay? How are you feeling?" His heart threatened to pull free of his chest. She moaned and straightened her head, staring at him with an expression he couldn't name. She opened her mouth and closed it, grimacing.
Madam Pomfrey bustled forward. "Here, drink this, it'll ease your throat."
Hermione took a sip of the potion and Harry handed it back to Madam Pomfrey. He turned back to Hermione to see her staring at him again.
"Hermione, what is it? Can you say something? C--Can you talk?"
She put a hand to her throat.
Sound staggered out of her mouth, hauling words along.
"You--Harry--"
She began to cough.
"Shh, it's okay, take it slow--"
Face screwed up, one hand gripping his wrist, she opened her mouth again.
"Why didn't you tell me about the--about the Prophecy, Harry?"
His breath left him. Silence spinned in the room. Fawkes flapped his wings once, tiny feathers bursting out of their ends.
Tiresias straightened. "Hermione, how much can you remember?"
She dropped her head. "All of it." She gasped.
Tiresias raked a hand through his hair and turned towards Dumbledore. Dumbledore shook his head a little and spoke to Hermione.
"Hermione, Madam Pomfrey will give you a potion to help you sleep now, when you wake up--"
"He wanted to know what was in the Prophecy, Harry. He thought I knew."
Her voice was no more than a prolonged rasp, halting and heaving. His own had fled. He mustered all his strength to haul it back.
"Hermione, you don't have to do this right now--"
"I must--"
"There's time later on--"
"Nooo--" She gripped his arm and straightened. Her chest heaved. "I want this over, please!" Her voice gambolled the span of the office, darted with resolve up the high ceiling and lay in the air, shuddering. Fawkes raised his wings and warbled, his quavering notes bouncing lightfooted behind her voice.
Harry wondered who was in his skin now, sitting up straight and holding Hermione because he, Harry, was curled into ball in a corner of his mind, sobbing with relief and pain.
Tiresias drew up a chair and sat down. Harry saw that his hands were shaking, his eyes veined with tiny red lines.
"Hermione, can you start at the beginning?"
**
"The pillow was a portkey, Professor, but you must already know that. It took me to a place--large house with furniture from fifty years back. Oh it smelled rotten--I only realised later why that was…All night they kept me in a room, then nothing. I had no wand, I had no idea what to do…Then hours later--must have been morning--there were noises as if someone had arrived. Then…they took me to a room, and…"
"Who were 'they', Hermione?"
"The Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix, Dolohov, Knott…I--I can't remember all the names…"
"That's all right, keep going."
"Voldemort was in that room. He was, oh--I can't--vile, so satisfied that he found another chance to really hurt Harry again--that was all he kept saying--revolting…He didn't look at me at first though…"
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Do you want to rest?"
"No…please--"
"All right, tell me about the room. What was it like?"
"Dark. There was a chandelier, a horrible, horrible thing with a flame inside it but that was dark too--I don't know how to explain it, a dark light…And one high window with old, monstrous curtains. But the room was clean, so clean and gleaming. Lucius Malfoy cast a binding charm, he chained me to a chair in the middle of the room, and then oh...they wanted to know what was in the Prophecy...I was so angry…"
"Angry about what, Hermione?"
"At Harry, for never telling me. I thought the Prophecy was destroyed. I was furious…I kept telling them that I didn't know, but Bellatrix and Lucius, they kept yelling, taunting--I hated myself…"
"Why was that?"
"For the tears. I just couldn't stop, couldn't..."
"What did they do next, Hermione?"
"Hm..Voldemort tur--turned around in his chair and I…I threw up…He looked at me for a long time and then he said I was telling the truth…he looked furious…and…and…Harry was there, he was…"
"What do you mean, Hermione?"
"I could feel him--you were there, Harry, you were!"
"Hermione, Hermione, take a deep breath. There, very good. Now, tell me exactly what you felt."
"Harry…it was like when he goes under the Invisibility Cloak--I can't see him but I can feel him, I know he's there--it was like that. He was in the room. Any moment, any moment I knew he was going to do something to let me know he was there…and I waited…but he didn't…Harry why didn't you oh…"
"Shhh, Hermione, I'm sorry, I truly am, but I'm here now…"
"Voldemort was furious…He screamed at Malfoy and threw a goblet across the room and, and the potion spilled--horrible, putrid smell and I threw up again on Malfoy's shoes and he threw a curse at me--I--I don't know what it was…"
"Were you hurt?"
"No, no I wasn't. I don't know why. I wasn't hurt, but Lucius Malfoy--his sleeves caught fire."
"How?"
"I don't know. He just yelled the curse, the next thing I knew he'd caught fire. There was mayhem. No one knew what was happening. Voldemort put the fire out but Malfoy's arms were burnt…"
"What happened then?"
"They all crowded around me. And then, and then the ropes fell. The ropes binding me--they fell. They panicked. Bellatrix tried to bind me again and she was thrown against the wall--I don't know how, I didn't do anything. The other Death Eaters started throwing hexes at me but nothing touched me…I--can I have some water?"
"Take your time."
"Voldemort came up to me and cast a few spells, like he was testing for something--but I felt nothing. But he didn't get hurt like the Death Eaters."
"How much time had passed then, Hermione? Could you tell?"
"I don't know, it felt like hours and hours. Maybe it was noon, but I couldn't tell."
"What happened then?"
"They tried to grab me and push me back into the room but they couldn't--Dolohov, he lost feeling in his hands…I could've got away but I didn't know where I was and I had no wand...So I did as they said…and waited. I knew everyone at the Burrow would've realised by then I was gone. Voldemort ordered me back in the room they'd locked me in before…"
"Then what?"
"Nothing for a long, long time. I sat on the floor for what seemed like days and days and all that time…Harry, I know you were there, why didn't come and talk to me? Tell me you were there--"
"Hermione, deep breath--good, good, all right, take your time…"
"Then Lucius Malfoy ordered me back into the room with the chandelier. And Voldemort was there, and the other Death Eaters…And Voldemort said…oh I can't--"
"Do you want to stop now, Hermione?"
"No, no. I want this over…"
"All right, take your time."
"He was…I knew he was going to do something horrible, he was gloating, saying he was a very resourceful person, always making the best of situations and then the Death Eaters crowded around me again…I knew they still couldn't touch me but there were too many, they blocked my way. Voldemort poured a potion on the floor around me...The potion in the goblet he was drinking from…Talking all the while, sneering, telling me that everyone was looking for me and did I think they'd actually find me and then he pulled his wand out and screamed a spell and just then--"
"Hermione breathe! Get her some water!"
"I--I can't…"
"Hermione, I need you to keep going now, you've come this far…"
"The potion went up in flames and there were lots and lots of smoke and I couldn't breathe… and then all of a sudden everything went glassy…a bubble…I can't…"
"Oh god--Virtualis--"
"Let her stop now, please!"
"Harry, it's better if she gets through this now--"
"The walls burst open and people just began running in--people from the Order, people who were looking for me. They'd surrounded the house, broken through the door and the window and they saw me, called to me. And I was so relieved I just--sat down on the floor but--nooooo…"
"Just let her stop--she's about to pass out!"
"They only got a few feet within me and the Death Eaters just pounced…"
"Hermione, can you hear me?"
"And killed them…"
"Hermione…"
"One by one, with spells I'd never heard of…I can't…They fought back but they were surrounded and outnumbered…and the curses the Death Eaters cast, they were horrible! Not bloodless like the Killing Curse and not quick…I heard every scream and saw them fall right in front of my eyes and their blood, their blood just under my feet, every single person…bits of flesh flying everywhere…on my hands and face…"
"Who were they, Hermione?"
"Harry, Ron, Professor Lupin, Mr Weasley…oh I can't…"
"It's all right, take it slow."
"The twins, Tonks, Moody, Professor Dumbledore, some people I didn't know…everyone…everyone…just…dying at my feet…couldn't do anything"
"Hermione? Can you hear me? Water--"
"Ohhh but I knew it wasn't real…"
"How did you know, Hermione?"
"It was the Virtualis Charm, no one's safe against that…"
"How did you know?"
"Because…because how could Harry be dead when I still felt him there…in the room… I screamed and screamed and my head nearly burst--"
"Hermione, we can stop now, do you want to--"
"I knew it wasn't real, but it could be. I couldn't stop thinking…it could be real one day…"
**
Her body heaved against his. The tears had passed but dry sobs still lurched up her spine. His arms were numb around her, his head heavy on the back of her shoulder. A film of sticky dust clung to them both. Her hair was plastered all along her face and neck. Just to postpone the moment when he'd have to look through the fog in his mind, he listened to the voices that rose and fell around him, urgent but soft, almost a mere variation of silence.
"The potion for the Imprimere spell--Lucius must have gotten it from Voldemort and stashed it somewhere, then the boy found it."
"Not exactly, Tiresias. Severus is preparing Veritaserum right this minute, but even without that I have a fair idea that Draco got it directly from Voldemort."
"What do you mean, Professor?
"Draco Malfoy has received the Mark."
"Dear god! So that's--that must be what I felt, the danger. The reason why it was so strong yet so distant--that would have been because the boy was doing Voldemort's bidding--if only I'd sensed it earlier--"
"We cannot do that now, Tiresias, we cannot revert to 'if only' now. If anyone is to be blamed, it is myself. I should have known the moment we learned about the Imprimere spell--that and the Virtualis Charm are the only uses of that potion, besides of course, maintaining Voldemort's human body. And I should have known what was happening among students in my care--the Mark seems several weeks old, a few weeks short of Hermione's disappearance."
For a long moment no one said anything. Harry turned his head slowly and pressed his cheek to the side of Hermione's neck, pressing her even tighter, trying to feel her pulse beat at her back, against his chest.
"And it seems you were right all along, Tiresias, about Cariad magic."
Tiresias heaved a sigh. "Yes, but I still can't understand what the carrier would have been."
"I have an idea, but we will wait until the Slytherins have been questioned. Right now, there are things to be taken care of. Poppy?"
Hermione whimpered a little and Harry tried to straighten up. He had no idea where his glasses were. Robes and whispers rustled and a pair of arms reached to draw Hermione away. He stiffened. Blue robes swept close.
"Harry, we need to take her to the Hospital Wing. Harry? She's safe now, but she needs to rest, badly."
Harry raised his head and squinted at Dumbledore. His eyes and cheeks stung.
"Harry, you must let Professor Tiresias take her to the Hospital Wing."
Harry pulled away slightly. Tiresias came close carefully and lifted Hermione up. Madam Pomfrey held the door open. Then they were gone.
Her fatigued, soaked body removed from his side, he suddenly felt empty and insubstantial. He drew his legs up on the sofa and laid his face on his knees.
"Harry?"
His heart--it was too heavy, too painful to carry. He wanted to reach inside and pull it out.
"Are you all right?"
He lifted his head a fraction and looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore held out a glass of water.
Harry straightened and took it in unsteady hands. With his other hand he groped around for his glasses and put them on. He stared at the trembling water.
"What's the Virtualis Charm?"
"Harry, you should rest--"
"Just tell me."
Dumbledore sighed. He sat in the chair Tiresias had emptied.
"It's a very potent, ancient charm that has been used again and again for the wrong purposes. Casting this charm is like creating a miniature world which, while it's not actual, not real, feels real. When things happen in that world you feel the pain, the horror, or on the hand, pleasure--all the sensations you would feel if all of it was real. There is no defense against it, your senses are manipulated to such a degree that you cannot help but believe and be affected by what's taking place. You cannot differentiate between the illusion and the real. And the catch is, Harry, the illusion grows from what is actual."
"I don't understand."
"Possibility, Harry. To put it simply, the Virtualis Charm feeds on possibility. What is actual right this moment has infinite possibilities extending from it. You could call it the future of this moment. What Virtualis does is call up those possibilities, make them actual for a short period of time. When Voldemort cast the charm around Hermione, what she saw wasn't real and she somehow realised that--but remember what she said, Harry, she said it could be real. It could be real, given the reality of her life--all our lives--right now."
"You mean, everyone…dying?"
"We are on the cusp of a war, Harry. There is nothing that affects you more deeply, nothing that alters your reality like the death of a loved one. But you already know that. And to see it happen like that, so cruelly, and to be helpless against it--that's more than what anyone could bear. And no matter how much her mind told her it wasn't real, she would have felt everything. Everything."
His brain strained to take it all in but he was distracted by the anger skittering up his spine.
"Why didn't anyone realise that? All those Healers and all that magic you used to examine her, how come you didn't even discover a hint of what had happened?"
"Harry, that is exactly why this charm is dangerous. It cannot be detected. You see, it is not an incantation that is directed at anyone. All it does is create a space which, if you happened to be trapped inside it, seems every bit real. It doesn't interact with you directly, it's sustained merely on your response to it. The charm didn't touch her, therefore it didn't leave any trace to be discovered. The only way to find evidence of it would be to obtain the wand that performed it and put it through Priori Incantatum."
Harry pushed his face into his hands and clutched his hair. Dumbledore stood up and walked to the window.
"So, you mean, she lost her voice because of that?"
"Yes. And her memory of it. Trauma does unimaginable things to people, Harry, their minds try to deal with it in ways that they themselves have no control over. Professor Tiresias would be better at explaining this, but…I would say that that was how Hermione's mind dealt with it."
"Because of something that wasn't even real."
"Her mind made it real. That everyone she cares for could die just like that is a very real possibility, probably something she thinks about every day. Voldemort would have realised that when he looked into her mind trying to determine whether she was telling the truth about the Prophecy. He manipulated that with the Charm. When he realised that--"
Dumbledore paused and dropped his head. Harry wondered vaguely whether he'd ever seen the Headmaster do that.
"When he realised that he and his Death Eaters couldn't touch her, physically or magically, he found a way to cause harm without touching her."
"In a way that was a hundred times worse." Harry's voice didn't carry; it laboured in the air and disappeared.
"Yes."
Harry straightened and leaned back. The window had darkened. Against it, Dumbledore's gaunt reflection stared back into the room, dissolving around the edges. Fawkes stood with a drooping head at his perch.
"From very early on, Harry, we suspected that Hermione's malady was not magical. But I was not discerning enough, I should have known, should have made the connection. It seems so simple now." He almost seemed to be talking to himself.
"You see, the Virtus potion, which forms the base of both the Virtualis Charm and the Imprimere Spell, is the means through which Voldemort maintains his human body." He paced to his desk and sat down. When he failed to say anything for a long time, Harry spoke.
"What do you mean?"
Dumbledore sighed, looking as though every word was being pulled out from the bottom of his tall frame. "His body, though substantial now, isn't human the way yours or mine is. Its humanness is artificial. It needs to be maintained through external means. The only way to do that--apart from the Philosopher's Stone--is the Virtus potion." Dumbledore sighed. "This is dark magic at its very worst, Harry. You see, the main ingredient in the potion is human sinew."
This information only lightly scuffed his already shocked mind. He thought that if he had a hundred years, he still would not be able to get past the image of Hermione huddled on the floor of some dark, unknown place, blood and particles of flesh all around her.
He pulled himself up from the sofa. Dumbledore gazed at him, chin on tented hands.
"Where are you going, Harry?"
"Where do you think?"
Dumbledore fell silent. Harry stood with his back to the Headmaster, staring at the the elaborate runic patterns etched to the door in front of him.
"So, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."
"Yes."
Harry gave a short bark of strangled laughter. "And you didn't know. Let me see, what was it you said at the beginning of the term, 'Hogwarts is still the safest place.' Or did I not hear it right?"
Fawkes flapped his wings and burrowed his head under them.
"Harry, you cannot imagine how much I regret my oversights. All I can say is, I'm--"
"Oh, save your sodding apologies!" Harry swung around. Silver ticked and whirred unseen. No one had remembered to light the torches; the room floundered in dying daylight. Harry could only just make out Dumbledore sitting at his desk, hands clasped on the table. Against the quick-footed, broad-chested gloom, he looked so abnormally still and small, almost a trick of light.
He turned around and walked out.
**
Even if he had several lifetimes, he still wouldn't be able forget.
He wished he could scrub his skin clean of himself. Of the scar, of his name, of his memories, of all the things etched to his life and tagged 'destiny'. But most of all, he wished he could strip himself of his feelings. If only he could stop the longing, the intensity, the completeness that chained him to her, he could probably keep her safe. If only he could.
The gargoyle's grotesque shadow loomed over the passage. Torchlight shivered. The walls were stepping close, the passage growing narrow. Dark reached out and snaked an arm around his shoulders.
He began to run.
****