(Disclaimer: If, after reading this story, you still think I'm Jo Rowling and that I own these characters, then I have a wonderful business opportunity for you. No checks, cash only.)
"Buckbeak's Flight"
by Paracelsus
* Part I *
Hermione hesitated at the door with her hand on the ornate knob. She was beginning to resent the word 'Gryffindor,' or at least its power over her. Lately, everyone seemed to be able to talk her into doing the stupidest, most dangerous things just by saying, "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?"
Like now.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door just wide enough to sidle through. She closed the door behind her quickly - she'd been warned to keep it closed - looked around the room, and gave its only other occupant a polite bow. Bowing to him might not be strictly necessary - he knew Hermione quite well at this point; indeed that was why she'd been brought here today - but to a hippogriff like Buckbeak, courtesy always counted.
Buckbeak stirred restlessly where he lay on the floor and disregarded Hermione for a moment, concentrating instead on the door behind her… as though determining if he might escape through it. Eventually he turned his great orange eyes on Hermione, still bowing, and inclined his head in response. She straightened from her bow as she gave a small sigh of relief.
"Hello, Buckbeak," she murmured as she slowly approached him. He was no longer paying attention to her; he was now gnawing dispiritedly on some old beef bones. "How are we doing today, old fellow? Are we feeling any better? Let's have a look…"
Lightly Hermione placed her hand on the hippogriff's body, where the wing joined his shoulder. She ran her hand along the wing's coverts until she came to the first of the injuries. Ever so gingerly, she eased aside the surrounding feathers, until she could examine the wound more closely. It was still red and raw, healing very slowly - but healing nonetheless, she was fairly sure. She had, of course, skimmed Remus's copy of Absolutely Fabulous Veterinary Practice before entering Buckbeak's room, but she still felt less than qualified to be treating injuries on a magical creature this size. With talons that sharp.
Making no sudden moves, she opened the jar of salve that Mrs. Weasley had given her. Hermione scooped two fingers' worth of salve from the jar and gently applied it to the wound. Buckbeak didn't seem to object, or even notice… he continued to gnaw on his bones. Hermione released the wing and moved back to Buckbeak's body, to the next wound: more severe, just under the scapula. As much as she tried not to, she couldn't help resenting Kreacher… he could have found some other means of distracting Sirius besides injuring an innocent hippogriff…
A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. "Hermione?" came Ginny's voice calling softly through the door.
Hermione turned to the door and opened her mouth to reply. Before she had a chance to speak, Buckbeak lunged to his feet, hissing angrily at the door. The sweep of his wing caught her squarely in her solar plexus and she fell to the floor, gulping for air, one hand pressed to her chest.
There was a quick scuffling sound on the other side of the door. After a moment, she heard Lupin's voice, full of worry. "Hermione?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
It took her another moment to catch her breath. "Yes, Professor," she replied, keeping the pain out of her voice with an effort.
The door opened and Lupin put his head in the room. He saw Hermione on the floor and began to protest, but she spoke first. "I'm fine, Professor - I mean, Remus. Buckbeak doesn't know his own strength sometimes, that's all."
Lupin frowned at Buckbeak, who was eyeing the door now that it was open again, looking for a chance to bolt. "If you're done here, could you come down to the kitchen? There's been a… development." He sounded exhausted, and his tone was far from reassuring.
Hermione immediately picked herself up from the floor and dusted her clothes. With a calming murmur to Buckbeak, she sealed and pocketed the jar of salve and left the room. As she left, she saw the hippogriff settle back down onto the floor, having again lost interest in her in favor of another bone to gnaw.
Outside the door, Lupin greeted her with a nod and a raised brow. By his manner, he knew that her collapse had been due to more than a tussle with Buckbeak, but he didn't speak of it directly. Instead, he murmured a sympathetic "I hate potions too." Hermione gave him a slight smile, which he returned.
Together they walked down the corridor to the head of the stairs. Ginny was waiting there anxiously, bouncing from one foot to the other. Sorry, she mouthed silently.
"So you should be," Lupin told her as he led the girls down the stairs. "You know how Buckbeak reacts to your family now. Not your fault, I know, but you want to take greater care."
They arrived in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place to find Ron, Fred and George seated around the table. Mrs. Weasley was at the stove, ladling potion from a steaming cauldron into a goblet, which she handed to Lupin. "Here, Remus, this should help. Drink up and tell us what's happened… it's a shame you had to deal with it today, of all days."
"I think the choice of days was deliberate on their part." Lupin took a sip and made a face. "Ugh, wolfsbane. Awful stuff." With a look of resigned determination, he drained the entire goblet. Setting it down on the table, he murmured thanks to Mrs. Weasley and took a seat. "I don't know whether you all know," he began, "but I've spent most of the day at Gringotts, talking with solicitors. Both Gringotts' and… Draco Malfoy's."
The name caused Hermione to wince and Ron to scowl. "What the hell does he want?" Ron's language earned him a reproving frown from his mother, and he slouched into his chair disgustedly.
"The House of Black is - was, I should say - very conservative in many ways," Lupin replied obliquely. Despite the fact that he insisted on not being called 'Professor,' he automatically fell into lecturer mode whenever he spoke to his former pupils. Hermione, at least, appreciated both the extra information and its method of delivery. "They followed an old custom known as entailing… are you familiar with the term?"
Hermione nodded. "It means that the real property can only be inherited according to specific rules. It can't be willed to anyone outside the family line. That's how powerful families kept their estates intact through each new generation."
"Exactly. In the case of the House of Black, 12 Grimmauld Place can only be inherited by the closest male relative, according to the laws of primogeniture," Lupin said. "That worked to our advantage when Sirius's parents died: he would never have inherited Grimmauld Place if it hadn't been entailed. I'm sure his dear mother, in particular, would have preferred to will the property to someone who wasn't a 'blood traitor.'"
"And now it's to our disadvantage," said Mrs. Weasley. "Sirius's closest male relative is Draco Malfoy… his first cousin once removed, I think."
Ron sat up sharply, his disgust now mixed with indignation. "You mean… you mean all this," and Ron jerked his head to encompass the kitchen and the house beyond, "is going to the Ferret?! Mr. Death-Eater-in-training?! There is no justice…"
Mrs. Weasley spread her hands. "Well after all, dear, that's why I've had to put you all to work again this summer. Not like last summer, when we were cleaning out all trace of Dark magic - but to clear out all traces of the Order. Any clues to the names of whoever visited last year… every item that was stored here for safekeeping…"
"And Buckbeak," Hermione guessed. "That's why you brought me here, isn't it?"
"We'd have been happy to let you spend the summer with your parents, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley told her, "but some people can't leave well enough alone." She directed one of her patent-pending Glares at Fred and George, who stared at the tabletop and mumbled something about only trying to help. "It'll take time, but with your help we'll have the poor thing in fit shape to be flown back to Hogwarts…"
"There's our problem, Molly," Lupin interrupted her. "That's what the meeting today was all about. Thanks to the Malfoy family solicitors, we've run out of time." He drew a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy takes possession of Grimmauld Place tomorrow. More precisely, tonight at midnight."
Everyone at the table stared at Lupin in consternation. "But, Profess… I mean, Remus, it can't be tonight! Tonight's the full moon!" cried Ginny.
"Oh, trust me, Ginny, they know that. As I said, I think their timing was deliberate." Lupin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His features, already creased by years of pain and care, looked even more stark than usual. "They know I'm a werewolf, of course… that secret's long been outed. By choosing tomorrow, I'm sure they thought they were maximizing our inconvenience… as well as making it that much harder to, shall we say, clean up after the Order."
"But what about Buckbeak?" pressed Ginny. "Malfoy couldn't have known we had Buckbeak here!"
"I don't know… I don't know. It's possible that Kreacher might have told them about Buckbeak… last Christmas, when he defected to Narcissa. It would depend on whether Sirius ordered him to keep it secret."
"And besides," Hermione put in, "the Malfoys must've at least suspected that Sirius had Buckbeak. They both escaped from Hogwarts on the same night, after all."
"Huh. Malfoy'd love to be able to finally get Buckbeak executed," Ron growled. "If he thought he could catch Buckbeak here, before we had a chance to get him out…!"
Lupin acknowledged their points with a tired nod of his head. "Originally, we'd planned to wait until Buckbeak's injuries had healed somewhat - then I'd fly him back to Hogwarts, where Hagrid could care for him. Dumbledore was sure he could keep Sirius's estate tied up in probate until then. Unfortunately, we weren't expecting this latest legal maneuver." Lupin's eyes met Mrs. Weasley's, and he sat up a bit straighter. He assumed a more businesslike tone. "So, then. We'll need to Floo Dumbledore immediately - the Fidelius Charm must be removed from Grimmauld Place at the stroke of midnight. Molly, if you'd direct the final cleaning of the place? I think we've gotten just about everything…"
"Buckbeak?" Ginny persisted.
It was odd how Lupin couldn't quite meet Ginny's intense gaze. "We'll wait until dusk… then let Buckbeak loose. With luck, he'll find his own way back to Hogwarts."
Mrs. Weasley nodded in sad agreement. The others at the table looked aghast. "But… no!" said Fred, speaking aloud for the first time. "He's almost sure to be seen by Muggles - the Ministry'll have to catch him then!"
"And once he's back in custody…!" began George.
Sudden anger blazed in Lupin's face. "Do you think I like it?" he demanded, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. "What choice have we? I would have flown him back to Hogwarts myself, but I can't now - not tonight. I'll be spending the evening in a locked room, doped to my eyeballs with Wolfsbane Potion. And thanks to your unparalleled stupidity, neither you nor your family can fly him there in my place! If you two had tried, you couldn't have made more of a mess of things!!"
George swallowed nervously. Remus Lupin had never before lost his temper in their hearing, and it wasn't pleasant to watch. Less pleasant to have that temper directed towards him and Fred. And even less pleasant to know that it was fully justified.
The flash of temper was gone as quickly as it had come… Lupin had years of practice keeping the wolf in its place. He looked away from the twins towards Ginny and Hermione. "I'm sorry," he said with an air of defeat. Mrs. Weasley leaned over and sympathetically put her hand on top of his, and he gave her a grateful glance.
"No, wait, there has to be another solution," said Ron, thinking hard. "Can't Hagrid come down to collect him?"
Hermione shook her head. "Hagrid can't leave Hogwarts this summer," she reminded Ron, choosing her words carefully. "Big Brother is watching, and all that." Ron understood: Grawp was still living in the Forbidden Forest. And considering what had happened the last time he'd been left unattended, Hagrid didn't dare leave him alone again - even for an overnight trip to London.
"Someone else, then?" asked Ginny hopefully. "Someone in the Order?"
"I've already made inquiries," replied Lupin. "Tonks and Kingsley are working double shifts, now that You-Know-Who has officially returned. Mad-Eye's out of retirement and busy helping them. The others… well, I asked Hestia and she flat-out declined. Said she'd as soon stick her head in a dragon's mouth as ride a hurt hippogriff all the way to Scotland." He sighed. "I can't really blame her - it's not as though she was in Gryffindor, after all."
And there it was again. Nobody was even looking in her direction, and she could hear the words. You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?
It didn't help that she heard the words in Harry's voice.
"I can fly him there," Hermione said in a creditably brisk tone. "Buckbeak still trusts me, I think he even likes me. We'll wait until dusk before setting out, as you suggested, Remus. I'll need some supplies, of course…"
"Hermione!" Ron stared at her as though she were insane. "You aren't up for…"
She cut him off before he could say more. "As Remus said, what choice have we? I'm actually the best qualified of us all, since I've at least flown Buckbeak before."
"But you're… I mean, you aren't strong enough to…"
"It's not a question of muscles, Ron," she said, deliberately misinterpreting his words. "Buckbeak responds to me, and that's what counts. Isn't that so, Remus?" she added, turning to her old professor with a glint of challenge in her eye. If Lupin chose to mention her collapse in Buckbeak's room a few minutes before, he was as good as condemning the hippogriff to death.
As she expected, Lupin sighed mildly. "It's still going to be physically demanding," he said. "But I'm afraid it's our best solution."
"Well then, you should probably get in a kip this afternoon, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, accepting the inevitable. "You'll be flying all night, after all. Your bedroom's ready… I'd best pack you something to eat along the way. Oh, and there's Buckbeak's ointments to take. Thank Merlin, Dumbledore got permission to stockpile some Portkeys - you can take one with you to bring you back…"
Still heavily in organizational mode, Mrs. Weasley bustled Ginny and Hermione out of the kitchen. Lupin waited until they were out of earshot before saying, "I think a final check on the Memory Charm on Kreacher is in order. Ron, would you care to assist me? A very useful bit of magic, Obliviation…"
"And a lot better than that little toerag deserves," Ron growled as he stood from the table.
"No argument there," Lupin replied evenly as they left, leaving the twins in the kitchen alone.
Wordlessly, George stepped to the icebox and drew out two cold bottles of butterbeer. Opening them with a tap of his wand, he passed one to Fred and took a thoughtful swig from the other. "The Professor's right," he said after a pause. "We really were stupid."
"That bleedin' hippogriff," grumbled Fred. "He's just overreacting, that's all. I mean, I quite understand him being mad at us, but mad at our whole family? It's a bit over the top, if you ask me."
"Which no one did."
Fred winced at George's flat tone. "Our fault then, you reckon?" He gave a theatric sigh. "Me too."
A gloomy silence returned as the twins sipped on their butterbeers. "Hermione hates flying, you know," George observed after another minute.
His brother nodded agreement. "And I don't care what she says, she's a slip of a thing and just hasn't the strength to handle Buckbeak. If he decides to be trouble, that is - and he probably will."
"And if anything happens to her…"
"We're rat meat." Fred cocked an eye at George. "I'm open to suggestions."
"Just brainstorming here… Hmph. He's too big to Apparate with. And even if he'd fit in the fireplace, the Floo Authority'd be sure to notice a bloody great hippogriff going through. Mmm, maybe we could modify one of Dumbledore's Portkeys?"
"No such luck. I've already checked: Portkeys can't be used with magical creatures. Some incompatibility in the magic, it drives them into a frenzy." Fred leaned back in his chair and smiled in reminiscence. "Pity, that. It would've been so much easier for Charlie to bring the dragons to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament if he could've used Portkeys. And Harry and Hermione could've used Portkeys to save Buckbeak and Sirius back in our fifth year…"
"Hold on!" A broad grin was blossoming on George's face. "That's it! Fred m'lad, you're a ruddy genius!"
"Of course I am. Uh, what did I say?"
"The answer to our dilemma, of course. And come to think of it, we will need to modify one of Dumbledore's Portkeys…"
*
Petunia Dursley couldn't help scowling at The Boy as he coughed again. She and Vernon were being especially accommodating to him this summer, she considered. They were allowing him to watch the evening news with them before sending him to the kitchen to wash the supper dishes. As long as he remained quiet, that is… which was apparently too much to ask for.
"BOY!" her husband hissed. "I am trying to listen!"
He didn't reply, didn't so much as acknowledge Vernon's request. The Boy simply sat in the chair furthest from the television, staring at the screen without ever blinking those painfully green eyes of his. Of my sister's, Petunia reminded herself with the closest she ever came to guilt. She disliked guilt, and she tended to resent The Boy for evoking it in her. He probably did it on purpose.
The Boy managed to be quiet for another minute before coughing yet again. The cough was quickly followed by a sneeze, and he didn't even bother to cover his mouth with his hand. Vernon roared at The Boy to be quiet, but Petunia's attention was drawn to his face. She noticed for the first time how tired The Boy looked: there were bags under his eyes, and his skin had an unhealthy cast.
"Go up to bed," she ordered him, interrupting Vernon's protests. "Go on. You need rest. And you needn't worry about getting up to fix our breakfasts tomorrow, either. I think it would be better if you were to sleep late for once." Petunia turned to her husband, who was staring at her goggle-eyed. "If he's coming down with a summer cold, we don't want him giving it to us," she explained briskly. "Duddie's constitution hasn't been the best since he's been home. And we certainly don't want him handling our food."
"Good point, dear," said Vernon, relaxing into a smile for her - which quickly became a glower for The Boy. "Well? You heard your aunt - go to bed, boy!"
Petunia watched The Boy for another moment as he shuffled out of the room. Bad posture, slovenly appearance, and not a shred of gratitude for being allowed to sleep late. With a last disdainful sniff at her nephew, Petunia banished him from her mind and returned her attention to the evening news.
*
The doorknob began to turn and Fred nodded to George. George swung the door wide, took Harry by the arm and pulled him bodily into his bedroom. "Quiet, Harry," he said rapidly, "it's us. George and Fred."
"Fred and George," corrected Fred, quickly closing the door and placing a Silencing Charm on it. "Don't be startled, Harry, we had to be a bit crafty to avoid your watchers. Trust us, we're here to… to help…" His voice trailed off uncertainly. Their warnings to Harry had been quite unnecessary: Harry hadn't needed to be quieted, for he hadn't said a word. Not only did he not act startled at their presence, he didn't so much as smile or frown at them. Harry just… looked at them.
Fred quickly recovered. "Yeah, and we're sorry about the sneezing and coughing," he said blithely. "It made for a good excuse for you to keep to your room, though we didn't think your aunt'd actually give you tomorrow morning off. Bit of luck, that." He smiled reassuringly. "It was just a milder form of one of our Skiving Snackbox selections… perfectly harmless, don't worry."
There was a moment's pause, while Fred and George waited for Harry to ask why they'd come to Little Whinging. The pause stretched, and grew uncomfortable. "Right," said George brightly, "you're probably wondering why we're here. Fact is, Harry, we need your help. But we also thought it'd be a chance to help you, too… get you away from your loving family for one night, at least."
"Long story short, Malfoy's moving into Grimmauld Place at midnight, and if he finds Buckbeak there, Buckbeak's dead." Fred grimaced. "Normally, Lupin'd be dealing with this, but tonight's the night of the full moon, and he's, uh, indisposed."
"And Fred and I…" George traded a speaking glance with his twin, reached consensus, and turned serious. "Well, we made a dog's dinner of things. Lately Buckbeak's been getting antsy, trying to escape. So we thought we could scare him into staying in his room. One of our special fireworks, a little one, right by the door… We should've known better, really. Nearly took my arm off, he did."
"And now he's attacking anything with red hair," finished Fred glumly. Like George, he saw that total honesty was their best option at this point. "So that doesn't leave a lot of people Buckbeak trusts enough to let near. We were hoping you'd be willing to help us."
Harry hadn't moved during this explanation. Hadn't spoken. Fred wasn't sure he'd blinked. He just… looked at them. Some might have called it a pleasant change from Harry's continuous anger last year, but actually… it was a bit unnerving.
"Buckbeak needs your help, Harry," Fred added, unexpectedly softly.
At last Harry moved. He walked over to his wardrobe, opened it, and took out a dark jumper. It was two sizes too large for him, but that was an improvement over past years. George waited until he'd slipped it over his head before handing him a small brass tube, like the top of a lipstick. "We nicked this for you," George said. "Dumbledore made a set of Portkeys - it's amazing how cooperative the Ministry can be once they're shamed into it - this one's keyed to Grimmauld Place. The Portkey's at the bottom of this tube, you reach your finger in and touch it when you want to leave. The tube keeps from triggering the Portkey unintentionally. Right clever, don't you think?" He grinned at Harry, the grin fading when Harry didn't smile in return.
"Uh, well then…" said Fred. "You use the Portkey, and we'll Apparate. Meet you at Grimmauld Place." A last quick glance at George, and silently they agreed to wait until Harry'd left before they did.
*
Buckbeak's medicines, check. My medicines, check. Change of clothes, check. Portkey to return to Grimmauld Place, check. Food enough to feed an army, check. Hermione zipped the knapsack closed and slung it over her shoulders. "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she told Ron.
"Hermione…" Ron began.
Hermione interrupted him, hoping to forestall what she knew would be a hard-fought row. "I wanted to ask Fred or George about their Headless Hats," she said lightly, picking up a hat from the table. "How they designed the invisibility field to cover your head… I was hoping I'd be able to make Buckbeak and myself invisible, extend one invisibility field over us both. Have you seen either of them this afternoon?"
He sighed unhappily. It was obvious he wanted to press her to stay behind, but for the moment he seemed willing to let it slide. "They're probably afraid to show their faces, the way everyone's mad at them," he said instead. "Especially, uh, Remus." After a moment he continued in a lower tone, "Remus is down for the night. He really hates this, I reckon. Not the fact that you're riding Buckbeak," he added quickly, "but the fact that he isn't. It's like… he's taking it as a personal failure, y'know?"
It was remarkably perceptive for Ron - for anyone, Hermione admitted to herself. "He's still mourning Sirius, after all," she said quietly. "They were closer than brothers. I think… I think trying to preserve Sirius's legacy… keeping Buckbeak safe… working for the Order, all that is Remus's way of dealing with grief. And being unable to do all that himself… yes, I'm sure he feels he's failing Sirius." She shook her head. "Someone needs to talk with him."
"Sirius's godson, you think?" Ron put his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Talk about preserving Sirius's legacy… he's really fussed about Harry. Have we heard from him recently?"
Hermione nodded. "Hedwig's brought letters. Not as often as we'd like, but at least he's writing." To the Order, she added silently. Not to us. Not… not to me. It worried her sick, not knowing exactly how Harry was handling his stay at Privet Drive this summer. More than once she'd been sorely tempted to visit Harry in person, to see with her own eyes that he was doing well…
Once I'm back from taking Buckbeak to Hogwarts, I'll write him again, she promised herself. A long letter. And I'll make it clear I'll keep writing until he answers.
In the meantime, there was her other best friend, who had steeled himself to talk about the issue that most concerned him. "Hermione, I really don't think you…"
"We've been through this, Ron," she interrupted, more sharply than she'd intended. "Unless you have something new to add…?"
"Nope," he shot back. "Not much point to it, since you weren't listening to anything I said before now!"
"I might have listened, if there'd been anything worth listening to!"
"The thestrals, Hermione! Have you forgotten how much you hated our thestral ride last month? I haven't. And I've seen you trying to fly a broom in Hooch's classes, too. You - don't - like - flying! Which makes you about the worst choice to fly Buckbeak to Hogwarts, I don't care if you've flown him before!"
"Best choice, worst choice, it doesn't matter! I'm the only choice!" She slammed her hands on the table. "I'm not doing any stunt flying, Ron. All I have to do is stay on Buckbeak's back. I think I'm competent enough to handle that, don't you?!"
"It isn't a question of competence, is it! It's a question of… of…"
"Yesssss?" asked Hermione, her voice dropping dangerously.
Ron hesitated. Hermione knew what he wanted to say… but though he might suspect, he didn't know, not for certain. And if he was discomfited about discussing a woman's health, she wouldn't scruple to take full advantage of his discomfiture.
She raised her head and straightened her posture, composed and determined, and gave him a slight smile. "I'll be all right, Ron," she said in a more conciliatory tone. "Nothing will happen, I'm sure."
"Sure." It was amazing how much opinion Ron could squeeze into a monosyllable.
Hermione waited a moment… sure enough, he was preparing to argue more. He opened his mouth, and she cut in. "Don't, Ron," she forestalled him. "Just don't."
"Fine! Fine! You win." Without meeting her eyes, he took the hat from her hand. Fiddling with the brim, he mumbled, "You always win. Don't know why I bother arguing with you, really…"
"Well, it can't be because I enjoy it so much." She grimaced. "I hate it."
Now Ron did meet her eyes, with a look of surprise in his own. "I thought you liked it. Well, not liked it, but… well, you know…"
She shook her head. "I know we tend to bicker, but I always thought you relished the challenge."
"Yeah, but you argue with everyone, Hermione."
She was about to argue that she didn't argue when she realized how absurd it would sound. It brought her up short. "I don't mean to," she said after a pause. "And you know… I really don't enjoy arguing. Well… not as much as I used to."
"Oh." A rueful smile began to spread on Ron's face. After a moment, he said, "Um, y'know… we had a bit of a truce for a while there, last year. Because Harry asked us to."
"Yes, I remember," Hermione said, astonished that he remembered. Harry had been quite upset by what he called their "always having a go at each other."
"D'you… d'you suppose we could do that again this year? A truce? For Harry's sake."
If she was astonished before, she was astounded now. This was a new level of maturity for Ron. She returned his smile brightly. "Of course, Ron. For Harry's sake, then: pax."
"Done!" Ron spat into his right hand and extended it to her to shake.
Hermione immediately lost her smile. She stared at Ron's hand as if it had been a dementor's. "You must be joking…" she said coldly, and looked up to see his shy smile transformed to a smug grin. Right. That's the last time I forget that Fred and George are Ron's role models, she promised
Right, then. Without taking her eyes off his face, she brought her own palm to her lips. Delicately, she licked her palm with the tip of her tongue. She smirked when she saw him blush, and only then reached out to shake hands with him, sealing the bargain. Both of them grinned happily at the prospect… Ron, indeed, seemed unwilling to let go.
They were interrupted by the appearance of George's head in the doorway. "Ah, I thought I'd find you two here. Can you -"
"Where've you been? I was looking for you," said Hermione, hastily pulling her hand from Ron's. She noticed Ron surreptitiously wiping his hand on his trouser leg. "I had questions about your Headless Hats…"
"Happy to talk about 'em later… but right now, can you join us in the front parlor? Something's come up." George disappeared before any questions could be asked.
She gave Ron a quizzical look; he replied with an eloquent shrug. Mystified, they went downstairs to the parlor. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were already there, seated and facing George, who stood at the far end of the room. George waved Ron and Hermione to empty chairs.
"Thanks for joining us," he said as Hermione unslung her knapsack and sat down. "Well now, I just wanted to say that Fred and I are very sorry for causing so much inconvenience." He ignored the simultaneous snort from Ginny and Hermione and continued, "Seeing as this mess was our fault, we felt that fixing it was our responsibility. And you'll be pleased to hear that we've done it. We found another way to get Buckbeak to Hogwarts." He beamed at his audience, seemingly unaffected by the disbelieving expressions on their faces.
"So Hermione," George concluded, "you can unpack your bag, you'll be staying home. Fred and I found a better solution. We know you were willing to make the trip, and we thank you for that, but it won't be necessary now."
"Really." Hermione didn't try to keep the skepticism from her tone. "An alternative to flying him? Surely you're not thinking the two of you can Apparate him to Hogwarts?"
"You can't Apparate to or from Hogwarts. Haven't you read Hogwarts, A History?" George said with a grin, in a perfect imitation of Hermione's voice. Ron couldn't suppress a chuckle as the phrase she'd delivered so many times was returned to her.
Hermione was not to be put off. "Portkeys won't work. Floo powder won't work. What 'better solution' did you find?"
"George," said Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, "this isn't another of your untested spells, is it? Or… you weren't planning on letting the poor beast loose?"
"No, Mum, of course not," said George earnestly. He looked over their heads and nodded - very slightly, but enough to catch Hermione's attention. She turned in her chair to see Fred in the doorway behind them. Hermione was positive he'd just given George some sort of signal.
George immediately began speaking more loudly. "Truth be told, we found a way to, well, guide Buckbeak to Hogwarts. You'll appreciate this, Hermione…"
But Hermione had stopped listening… since it was obvious that George was simply trying to distract them, keeping their attention fixed on him and away from whatever mischief Fred was doing. Her eyes focused on infinity as her brain worked feverishly: The idea of a spell that would guide Buckbeak was nonsense. The only way to steer a flying hippogriff was to ride him. But if they'd found someone else to ride Buckbeak, why didn't they just say so? And why wait until the last minute to tell them? Remus was already locked away for the night…
Come to it, they couldn't have found someone else to ride Buckbeak. As far as she knew, nobody but she had ever ridden him. Well, excepting Sirius of course. Sirius and…
… No.
"You idiots!!" she cried. "How could even you be so stupid!!" She was already out of her chair, grabbing her knapsack as she ran for the door. Fred, still standing in the doorway, was about to say something calming when he saw the fury on Hermione's face; he made a life-saving decision and hastily ducked out of her path as she pelted down the hall. "Harry! Harry, wait!"
Behind her, she heard Ginny yelling, "You brought Harry here?! Unprotected?!" A cry of pain from George immediately followed, but Hermione couldn't spare the time to enjoy it. Buckbeak couldn't fly out of the bedroom window, he was too large for that. But if Fred had thought it safe to give an all-clear signal to George, then departure was imminent. Which meant…
She raced through the house, shrugging the knapsack back onto her shoulders, ignoring the throbbing that was building in her chest. "Harry!" she called again, as she burst out the back door of Grimmauld Place into the walled garden behind the house. Buckbeak was already there, with Harry mounted on his back. They were facing away from the door… Buckbeak's great wings were spread, he was rearing on his hind legs, he was one second from launching himself into the sky…
Days later, Hermione would take a moment to measure the distances in the garden - and conclude there was no way she could have done what she did in that one second. Perhaps it was a combination of factors: her forward momentum as she ran, the fact that the back door had a porch almost as high as Buckbeak's back… and the strength that comes from desperation. Or perhaps she levitated herself without realizing it - and without using her wand.
However she managed it, she did the impossible: without hesitation, without breaking step, Hermione leaped out the back door and landed astride Buckbeak's back behind Harry. In the same instant Buckbeak's wings swept powerfully down, and the three of them were over the rooftops and into the air.
Instinctively, she wrapped one arm around Harry's waist and held on for dear life. Her other hand came up to her chest, to the sharp throbbing pain that could no longer be dismissed. There were potions for the pain in her knapsack - at the moment, as unavailable as the moon. She rubbed hard at the scar on her chest, and sternly told the pain that it wasn't welcome here. After a couple of minutes, it subsided to a dull ache.
The scar and the pain were her mementos of the battle in the Department of Mysteries, less than a month ago. So far, Hermione had kept both of them secret: Madam Pomfrey knew, of course, and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, but no one else. Her parents thought the potions were for the "last bit of clean-up" of her injuries; they had no idea how extensive those injuries had been. They were far from healed - they might never heal fully.
She felt somewhat guilty that she hadn't told her friends the full truth. Not that it mattered: Remus had deduced it earlier, and even Ron seemed to know there was a more of a problem than she let on. He was more perceptive than people gave him credit for… Of course, if Ron knew the full truth, she'd end up in St. Mungo's for the rest of the summer. He was a bit overprotective… bless him. Hermione resolved to tell them everything upon her return.
By now, she'd gotten her breath back. "Harry, what are you doing here? You were supposed to stay with your aunt and uncle again this summer. How did Fred and George… oh of course, they gave you a Portkey, didn't they? And they probably told you about Malfoy, too. Harry, I understand how much you want to help, but honestly, it was incredibly reckless of them to bring you here! And I know for a fact they didn't clear it with anyone in the Order, certainly not Remus. What will Professor Dumbledore say when he hears you've slipped away from your guards again? Harry, you know how important your safety is… you shouldn't be risking it just to help Buckbeak. Not that Buckbeak's not worth saving or that you couldn't do it, I don't mean to say that, but I was already prepared to ride him to Hogwarts, it wasn't necessary for you to leave your protection…"
Her voice died. It wasn't for lack of breath. The body she was holding was as responsive as a store mannequin. Harry continued to look straight ahead, unmoving, unmoved. He gave no sign that he'd heard a word she'd said.
To be sure, it wouldn't be the first time Harry had ignored her words. Last year, he'd almost made a habit of it. But never before had he ignored her. He might disregard what she was saying, but never had he pretended she wasn't even there. Hermione felt a flash of irritation at such juvenile behavior. "I know you don't want to hear this, Harry, but you need to listen to me. You need to realize how irresponsibly you've acted by leaving your aunt's house. Harry…?"
Still no response, and Hermione lost all patience. With her free hand she grabbed Harry by the shoulder and pulled, determined to force him to look at her. She was aware that her fingernails were digging into his shoulder, but she didn't care. "Harry Potter, will you at least look at me…!" And then she got her first look at Harry's face.
It was the face of a dead man.
The skin was dull and waxen. The lines of the face sagged. No expression at all was visible… a postage stamp showed more personality. The eyes - the eyes were the worst. They were dull, lifeless bits of stone. They stared at her fingers as they gripped his shoulder, neither blinking nor flicking to her face nor showing interest in anything else. Hermione found her fingers loosening from his shoulder, moving to cover her horrified mouth.
As soon as his shoulder was released, Harry turned away from her and resumed his steady stare ahead. She was reduced to shouting into his back: "Harry, please, what's wrong? What happened to you? Talk to me, Harry!" She soon gave up. He wasn't ignoring her - he couldn't hear her. Her beloved friend was lost somewhere behind his deathmask of a face, and her words couldn't reach him.