(A/N: First, let me thank everyone who's reviewed this story! I've said this in the past, but I mean it: I appreciate helpful criticism fully as much as more effusive reviews. They help me temper my craft… which I think you'll agree can still use it.
Second, it should probably be noted that "Buckbeak's Flight" is not going to be a long epic adventure. It was originally intended to be a one-shot; then it sort of grew and I had to break it into manageable parts. This chapter is rather shorter than the first chapter, but I broke it off at what seemed to be the logical point.)
(Disclaimer: I didn't create either the characters or their universe. At best, I launch exploratory interdimensional probes.)
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"Buckbeak's Flight"
by Paracelsus
*Part II*
They'd flown for hours now, heading north. London was far behind them, and the full moon transmuted the landscape into an eerie silver mosaic. Hermione might have found it beautiful, if she weren't painfully aware that she was a mile above the ground on the back of a flying monster. It was borne upon her again how much she hated, really hated flying. "The next boggart I see will probably look like your Firebolt," she shouted to Harry, before she could stop herself. She bit her lip and swore silently.
Or possibly a dementor kneeling over Harry's body.
Both her arms were tight around Harry's waist now, and she'd pressed the side of her face against his back. Doing this let his body shield her from the wind… as well as block half of her field of vision, which was all to the good. And to think I was trying to find a way to make Buckbeak invisible! What was I thinking? Wasn't the thestral ride last month bad enough?
She'd done her best not to attempt to talk to Harry, partially because it now meant shouting into the wind… but more because it distressed her so much when he didn't respond. Harry had yet to respond to anything Hermione had said or done. She couldn't help herself, though: nerves made her talk. Babble, actually, she thought ruefully.
And it wasn't as though her talking had done any good. Well, not yet anyway. But, she reasoned, he had to be at least somewhat aware of his surroundings: at one point, when Buckbeak banked into a turn, Harry had leaned in the right direction. And he'd reacted to her grip on his shoulder… but it was the reaction of an automaton.
Instead of talking, Hermione had spent her time racking her brain… trying to come up with something that might explain his behavior. Finally she recalled traumatized soldiers of the First World War, casualties sent home from the front during the first months of combat - victims of the condition later christened "shell-shock." The worst cases were close to catatonia… their senses, and their sensibilities, had been assaulted so violently that the mind's only defense was to retreat. Harry fit the descriptions of those soldiers, the "walking dead"… but she couldn't remember how they were treated…
"What's happened to you, Harry?" she asked sadly, her face against his back. She wasn't expecting an answer, but again she couldn't help herself. "How did it happen? You weren't like this when we stepped off the train… when I promised you I'd see you really soon…"
No response, verbal or otherwise, from Harry. What could have happened to him? Surely, after all that Harry'd gone through in the last year - his persecution by Umbridge and the Ministry, the attacks on his mind, the battle in the Department of Mysteries, and worst of all, the death of his godfather - if Harry were going into shell-shock, surely that would have been enough to do it.
Whatever it was, then, had to have happened since leaving King's Cross... yet it was hard for Hermione to see what it might have been. Besides, since arriving back at Privet Drive he'd been in contact with the Order - not very frequently, perhaps, but enough to let them know that nothing bad had happened.
Nothing Harry would admit to, anyway.
She sighed and shifted her weight from one buttock to the other. Flying Buckbeak wasn't exactly like riding a horse: the muscles that moved his wings didn't cause any shifting of his hindquarters. But still, she was sitting bareback, without so much as a horse blanket between her and Buckbeak's spine. After the first ten minutes it had stopped being even remotely comfortable.
Letting her mind drift, Hermione tried to imagine what was going on back at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Weasley would have realized that Harry had arrived and left… with any luck, Fred and George would have been Transfigured into little red-headed Gila monsters and sealed in a terrarium… Ron and Ginny were probably back at the Burrow by now. They wouldn't have waited around for Malfoy to arrive… was it midnight yet?
As for Remus… come to think of it, did Ron say where Remus was spending the night as a wolf? Not at Grimmauld Place, certainly, not if Malfoy insisted on taking possession tonight and not wait until morning. On the other hand, Remus was the last of the Marauders. He might have thought it a great joke to force Malfoy and his solicitors to try and evict a werewolf on the night of the full moon.
Hermione was startled out of her thoughts by a plaintive shriek from Buckbeak. She peered around Harry's torso, trying to get a look at their mount. Buckbeak was tossing his head, his shriek dampening to an ekkk, ekkkk sound. He was obviously in distress… She gave a gasp of fright as Buckbeak's wings missed a stroke and his body bobbed dangerously in mid-air. Hermione understood immediately what was happening. But could she make Harry understand?
She had to try. "Harry? Harry, we have to land. Buckbeak's in pain. He's still recovering, Harry, and he's hurting… we need to…" She broke off. At her first words, Harry had leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of Buckbeak's neck. It was a gentle pressure but firm, and Buckbeak responded gratefully to it. His cries of pain subsided. They began to descend.
Hermione sneaked a peek at the ground as they got lower. They'd crossed the Trent some time ago… at least she assumed it was the Trent, given its direction and how long they'd been flying. She tried to recall the details of the maps in her knapsack. They'd kept to the hills, less likely to be spotted there… Mmm, would those lights to their left be Manchester? No matter, she had a rough idea of their location now. They still had hours to go before they reached Hogwarts.
With a jarring thump that sent a shot of pain through her scar, Buckbeak landed in an empty field. A small copse of trees to one side gave them a place to hide, should any Muggles show up - Hermione devoutly hoped none would. She wished for a moment that she could have mastered the twins' invisibility spell, or even a Disillusioning Charm… but they'd been so rushed this afternoon… ah well. We'll just have to be as inconspicuous as possible, she decided ironically.
She slid down from Buckbeak's back, wincing and trying not to show it, and swung the pack from her shoulders. Buckbeak was looking around, peering into the trees… looking for another chance to escape. Quickly she set her pack on the ground, unzipped it, and began to rummage through it. It only took her a moment to find the jar of salve, but it was a moment she wasn't paying attention to the hippogriff.
Without warning he started walking away quickly, towards the trees… Hermione looked up to see him trying to leave, and felt exasperation explode inside her. I don't have time for this!
Before she knew what she was doing, she'd marched in front of Buckbeak, planted herself in his path and looked him sternly in the eye - without bowing first. She immediately realized her mistake… but having committed herself, she didn't dare back down. The best she could do was keep her eyes fixed on his eyes, and not on his talons.
To her amazed relief, the hippogriff bowed to her first. Only then did she notice that her chest ached again, though not only from her wound - she'd forgotten to breathe. She exhaled slowly and returned Buckbeak's bow… and couldn't help mocking herself, just a bit, for her moment of recklessness. You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?
"All right then," Hermione told the beast, "no more nonsense out of you. Let me take a look…" Opening the jar, she moved to his shoulder wound, thinking it was probably hurting the most, and squinted. The moon was behind Buckbeak, putting the wound in shadow.
"Buckbeak, I need to turn you so I can see this," she said patiently. Buckbeak gave no sign he'd heard her… evidently, having been stopped in his attempt to get away, he'd decided to sulk. In any event, he wasn't cooperating with her. Hermione tried again, still with no effect. "C'mon, boy, turn this way… into the light…"
Sudden bright light illuminated the wound with perfect clarity. Startled, she looked over her shoulder. Harry stood a few steps behind her, a store mannequin again, but a mannequin holding a lighted wand. He showed no more animation than he had before, but he'd given her the light she needed at the moment she needed it.
Hermione was sorely tempted to drop the salve, seize Harry's moment of lucidity and try to reason with him. She discarded the idea: the moment would have passed as soon as it had come. She'd have to wait… and in the meantime, Buckbeak's injuries required her attention.
The salve went on quickly, now that she could see what she was doing. Buckbeak made no further attempts to escape… indeed, he seemed not to care that she was treating him. He must be more tired than I thought, Hermione chided herself. Once she'd finished with the last of his wounds, she resealed the jar and knelt in front of her knapsack. Without looking up, she said, "We should probably wait a few minutes and let Buckbeak get his wind back."
The light went out. Harry lowered his wand but otherwise didn't move.
It was exactly what Hermione was expecting. It would take a moment for Harry's eyes to adjust to the lower light levels, and she took advantage of that moment. She slipped the jar of salve into her knapsack and brought out a bottle of potion. Quickly she uncorked it, took a healthy swallow, and corked it again. She had the bottle back in the knapsack before Harry could notice. There was no need for him to know she was still in pain… if she hadn't told Ron, she certainly wouldn't tell Harry.
And right now, the last thing she wanted to do was remind Harry of her injuries… and the circumstances surrounding them.
With her and Buckbeak's medical needs taken care of, Hermione focused her attention on her friend. If her thoughts on shell-shock were right, there was no point in trying to reason with him: Harry wouldn't be able to respond. For once, she found herself in the rare situation where words, her most powerful tools, were useless… she was at a loss what to do.
And she couldn't bring herself - didn't dare - to do the thing she wanted most to do: step up to him and hold him, hug him as hard as she could for as long as it took. Because it might make his condition worse, she began to say to herself… but even as she did, she knew it wasn't true.
Because he might not respond to my hug, she admitted. Or worse… he might flinch, shy away. And if he did that, if he rejected me like that - I don't know how I'd handle it. I'm not sure I could.
So Hermione took a step closer, almost close enough to embrace him, but kept her arms at her sides. She gave Harry a small smile, both anxious and hopeful, but made no overt movements … she simply stood before him, as motionless as he, and managed to not speak aloud for five long minutes. Her passive stance was her message: I'm here, she told him silently. I'm not a threat. I won't reach out if you don't want it. I'm here.
The minutes stretched, and neither of them moved. This total passivity was harder than Hermione had thought it would be. To not talk to Harry… to not touch Harry when he clearly needed to be touched… and when she so desperately needed to touch him, hold him, reassure him…
"Can you hear me?" she pleaded at last. "Please, Harry, you have to try. You have to come back to us… back to me. I…" Her lungs felt constricted, and she had to take a shaky breath before she could continue. "I… I miss my…"
Friend, she tried to end the sentence. But her mouth wouldn't form the word.
Friend, her brain insisted. For nearly five years, friend. He's defended me… I've supported him… we've been there for each other.
Friend, her heart agreed. And after five years, more than friend. Deny it if you can.
For a little while longer, argued her brain. We must.
"I miss my friend," her mouth said simply. Her eyes closed, unable to continue to look at Harry's lifeless face. She forced her breathing to slow back to normal.
A soft scrunching sound caused her to open her eyes quickly. Had Harry taken a step towards her? If he had, he was making no further moves. She knew that helping Harry through his trauma would take time and patience - but for the moment, she felt only frustration at his lack of response.
"We'd better get going," Hermione sighed when she stay silent no longer. She wished, oh how she wished that those green eyes would look at her, not through her, if only for a moment. Just long enough to give her some hope, that's all.
She stepped back to her knapsack and slid a map from it before zipping it closed. She hoisted the pack from the ground and slung it over her shoulders. When she looked up, Harry was in the process of clambering onto Buckbeak's back. Without a tree stump or other aid, it looked none too easy: Harry had to pull himself up by grabbing the opposite wing - something Buckbeak usually wouldn't permit.
Hermione waited until he was settled before approaching the hippogriff's side. With Harry already mounted, she wouldn't be able to climb onto Buckbeak's back the way he had. She tried to jump up and throw herself over his back, but felt herself sliding back to the ground. "I could use a hand," she muttered irritably as she tried to scramble back up.
Wordlessly, Harry extended his hand. She had grasped his hand and pulled herself up behind him before she realized the significance of what had happened. He heard me! He responded to me! What just happened?
An idea began to form in Hermione's head, but she wanted to think about it very carefully before she did anything. For the moment, it was time they were on their way.
She considered the map for a moment, turning it over in her hands, before drawing her wand from her pocket. She balanced it on her outstretched palm and commanded, "Point me." Her wand spun once and stopped with its end pointing north. Picturing the school and the map in her mind, she added, "Point me to Hogwarts." The wand's end budged slightly to the left. Hermione was rather proud of having devised that modification to the charm. If she gave any thoughts at all to the Restrictions on Underage Sorcery, she dismissed them… they'd already broken so many other rules tonight.
"That way," she told Buckbeak and Harry, reaching around Harry's body to point. Harry bent low over Buckbeak's neck and gave a little kick with his heels; the hippogriff made a running start before leaping into the sky once again.