Chapter Five: Painful Memories
Hermione and Abuse, (who Hermione, with his consent, had decided to call Four, because he looked like he was about four years old) were walking down a road that Four had discovered by accident, chasing after a rock that had fallen through a hole in his pocket. When he showed Hermione the rock, she realized it was not a rock at all, but a piece of glass, that Four had insisted he could not remember ever being without.
Hermione had told him that this piece of glass was very important, and that he could hold onto it, as long as he promised not to lose it. So Four, with all the wisdom of a child, had placed the piece of glass in Hermione's hand. He said that she could keep it in her pocket, because his had a hole. Hermione's eyes had filled with tears again when he did this, because, although Four didn't know it, this was in a sense the second time today she had been entrusted with his soul.
Four was skipping ahead of her on the road, playing, as far as Hermione could tell, a form of hopscotch that didn't require lines or boxes. He seemed to be enjoying himself though, so Hermione didn't stop him, though she sometimes had to jog to catch up with him.
Hermione looked around, not really expecting to see anything new, but hoping that the mist might have cleared. It was so thick that she couldn't see more than twenty feet all around her. For all she knew, she and Four could have been walking in circles all this time.
"Four, come back here a minute, please."
Four skipped back along the road towards her. "What'sa matter, 'Mione?"
Hermione sank down onto the dirt and patted the ground beside her. Four plopped down next to her obediently. Obedience - that was another thing she had noticed about him. Since they had set off, whatever she told him to do, he did it immediately, and, for the most part, without question. She had once read that abused children are often frighteningly well behaved, because they learn the hard way that disobedience is a bad idea. Hermione had tried not to order him around too much, saying that he could go where he liked, as long as she could still see him.
"I need to ask you a couple of questions now." she said.
"OK, it's about time you asked me something, isn't it?"
Hermione smiled. "Yes, it's my turn. First, have you seen anyone else besides me here?"
She knew that Abuse wouldn't be a Gathering Point, even if Harry had one, but he might have seen another Shard.
Harry scratched his head. "No," he said finally. "Just you."
Hermione sighed. Oh well, even if he had seen another Shard, he probably couldn't have found the place again with all this mist. "Okay then, next question, do you know where we are?"
"No, I don't know where I was when you found me either. I'm just-- here, like you."
Well, then, have you heard or seen anything strange?"
"No, just you." He said again. Then, at the look on Hermione' s face, said quickly, "I don't mean you're strange or anything, you sound beautiful, especially when you sing, and you look very beautiful, too. Not strange at all." He said with finality, nodding half to himself, half to her.
Hermione blushed. "I'm not pretty, much less beautiful. My hair's bushy and my teeth used to be big and I'm too much of a bookworm to be pretty."
Harry crossed his arms and glared at her. "You are too pretty." he said grumpily.
Hermione crossed her arms and glared right back. "Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too!"
"Am not!"
He cringed and looked at the ground. Hermione, realizing she had shouted again, said "What makes you think I'm pretty, then?" She thought the best way to stop this endless argument was to give him some hard evidence. Her mother had stopped telling her she was beautiful years ago, because Hermione had taken to asking her "What makes me so pretty then?" And her mother had never answered, just smiled. She expected Harry to not have an answer either.
He looked up at her. "Because you make me feel happy. Because since I've met you, I haven't felt as scared as I usually do. Because I cried in front of you and that didn't make you angry with me. Because when you held me on your lap you made me feel safe."
Hermione was speechless.
He went on. "There's more to beauty than how you look, you know. My aunt looks nice on the outside, but she's mean to me. She's not beautiful. You're nice to me. Your hair is pretty and brown and curly, and your smile is perfect, because it's honest, and kind. You are beautiful, Mione, inside and out." He looked at her as if daring her to argue. On seeing the shocked expression on her face, he smiled at her, the same smile her mother had used, when Hermione insisted she wasn't pretty.
Hermione was astonished. How could someone, meant to represent abuse, speak like this? Of all Harry's Shards, she had expected this one to be melancholy, sad and depressed. How was it possible for him to be so…good?
Four stood up. Dusting off his pants, he said, "Well, should we get going then?" Without waiting for an answer he started off down the road again, humming Hermione's lullaby.
Hermione stood up quickly and followed. Hurrying forward, she took Four's hand in hers. When he looked up at her, she smiled at him and whispered, "Thank you."
*
How long they followed the road, Hermione didn't know. It seemed to her she had been walking this gray and misty land for eons. Four had been walking quietly beside her, hand in hers, for quite some time before she realized he was dozing on his feet. She asked him gently if he would like to ride on her back for a while. He nodded sleepily, trying to keep his eyes open while Hermione knelt in front of him, her back to him. He climbed on and she put her arms under his knees, standing up and carrying him piggyback down the road. He didn't say anything further to her for a while, and she could feel his head resting against her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him once, and smiled when she saw he was sucking his thumb. He looked so cute, sleeping like that. So much different from how he looked in his room back in Grimmauld Place, when she had first discovered him this morning.
Had it really only been that long? When she woke up this morning, the only thing on her mind was how excited she was at seeing Harry again. Now she was inside his mind, trying to gather the lost pieces of his soul. How quickly life could change.
She was so lost in thinking that at first she failed to notice the change in the landscape. It was nothing very special, just a tree, standing on one side of the road, but it was the first thing Hermione had seen besides mist or dirt road, so she stopped to stare at it. Nothing remarkable, just a tree - she wasn't even sure what kind it was. Its branches spread out and up, completely bare of leaves. Looking at the ground, she saw where the leaves had gone.
They were scattered all over the place, still green, and looking much the worse for wear, as if a giant hand had pulled them all off and scattered them on the ground. She looked closer at the tree itself, and noticed that many of the branches were broken, and on one side the bark was almost completely stripped off. She remembered a TV documentary she had seen, about the effects of tornadoes on trees and houses. This tree looked like it had been the victim of some violent storm, or explosion. As she thought this, the smell of smoke reached her nose. Looking in the direction it had come from, she could see a faint reddish glow in the mist. Carefully, she put Four down underneath the tree. He stirred at the loss of warm contact from her body, but sighed and settled back into whatever dream he was having without waking up. The path seemed to lead to the glow. She glanced down at Four, guilty at the mere though of leaving him, but if whatever was causing the glow was dangerous, she wanted him to be safe. And I won't be gone too long, she reasoned. Just until I find out what that light is.
*
Godric's Hollow the sign proclaimed.
Hermione had never heard of the place, though she could assume it was named after Godric Gryffindor, the founder of Gryffindor house. If that was true, then it must be a wizarding community. She walked past the sign, which also bore signs of recent trauma. The road led her up a hill. She stopped near the top to catch her breath; looking back, she could faintly see the branches of the tree where she had left Four. Turning back the way she was headed, she climbed over the top of the hill, and looked down.
What she saw would remain in her nightmares for years to come.
What must have once been a fine house or manor lay in ruins. Fires still glowed here and there, and she could smell the scent of smoke and melted glass. There was another smell, too, one she couldn't name.
She ran down the hill, afraid that one of Harry's shards might be trapped inside the the ruins of the house. She stopped at the edge of a pile of wood that must have once been the front door, looking for a place to walk. She stepped on a wooden plank that looked sturdy, but it snapped beneath her weight, and she fell forward. Raising her head, she looked into a pair of dead eyes.
She screamed.
The corpse before her bore a remarkable resemblance to Harry, but the eyes were hazel, not green, and he was older than Harry, about twenty or so. The realization that she was staring at the body of James Potter hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks. This must have been Harry's house. This must be just after Voldemort had tried to kill Harry. She scrambled backward away from the body, getting hurriedly to her feet. She turned her head away, afraid she might vomit, when she heard something that made her forget her nausea immediately.
A baby, crying.
Turning away from the body of Harry's father, she looked around wildly. She thought the cry had come from her left, but she couldn't be sure. She willed the baby to cry again.
She stood silently, listening, hoping…
The cry came again, louder this time. Hermione dashed off toward the direction it had come from, heedless of what she was walking on and stumbling several times. She stopped at a piece of wood, covered in baby's wallpaper. Afraid of what she might find beneath it, but more afraid that she might be too late, she set her hands under the edge and heaved, flipping the plywood over onto its opposite side.
Looking down, she thought her heart would break.
Lily Potter lay dead, red curls spilling across her face, eyes closed, one hand reaching out toward a cradle, lying on its side, as though her last act had been to reach out to her son.
Hermione carefully stepped around the body, coming to the cradle. The rockers were faced towards her, the basin and its contents hidden from view. The baby cried again.
Hermione walked around to the other side. At first, all she saw was a bundle of blankets, then the blankets moved, and she heard a small hiccup. Kneeling down, she carefully unwrapped the bundle, layer by layer.
A baby boy, his forehead covered in blood, lay on his back, squinting up at her.
Hermione couldn't take her eyes from his forehead, where she could clearly see a fresh cut, like a bolt of lightning. The baby cried again, reaching up towards her. He couldn't have been more than a year old.
Sobbing, Hermione reached down and lifted Harry. She laid his head on her breast, rocking back and forth and crying. He squirmed in her arms, and she realized his blanket had fallen off his head, and a chill wind was blowing. She wrapped him up more securely against the cold, and as she did so, a piece of glass fell from the blanket and landed beside her. She picked up the piece of Soul Glass and pocketed it, along with the one Four had given her. She wiped a hand across her eyes and continued to rock Harry.
Eventually, his crying stopped, and his breathing slowed. He was asleep. Hermione stood, careful not to wake him. She looked down at Lily. Maybe it was her imagination, but Lily looked almost as if she was smiling slightly.
"I'll take care of him." Hermione whispered. Then she left, taking a safer route out of the wreckage. She walked toward the path, away from the ruined house, and the bodies of Harry's parents, with a sleeping baby, representing Loss, held firmly in her arms.
*
Four was just waking up from his nap when Hermione came over the hill. He sat up and blinked at her sleepily. Unsurprisingly, he had another question.
"What's that?" He pointed to the bundle in Hermione's arms.
She crouched beside him and unwrapped the blanket from the baby's face.
Four looked down at Baby Harry with some surprise. Placing a hand to his own forehead, then the baby's, he said, "We both have lightning bolts!"
Hermione nodded. "You two should get along very well then, since you have so much in common." She knew that trying to explain the circumstances of her being here in the first place, the fact the he and the baby were the same person, and would become so again if she succeeded, would probably just confuse Four.
Four stared down at the baby, his face scrunched up as if he had something he wanted to say, but didn't have the courage to say it. Hermione waited in silence, suspecting what Four wanted, but wanting him to say it himself.
Finally, in a voice no louder than a whisper, as though afraid he might wake the baby, Four asked, "Can I hold him?"
Hermione nodded. Four sat cross-legged next to her, and Hermione placed the sleeping baby in his arms.
Four looked down at the baby in wonder. He studied every inch of the sleeping infant's face, smiling when the baby yawned, and staying stock-still when he stirred, as if he might wake up. Four looked up at Hermione, a serious expression on his face.
"I think we're related." He said solemnly.
The irony of the situation was too much. Hermione laughed aloud, falling back onto the road and putting a hand to her mouth to stifle her mirth. Four was truly a strangely wise individual.
The sound of Hermione's laughter had woken Baby Harry. Four raised a finger to his mouth and said, "Shhh!" Then looked back at the baby he held. Baby Harry and Four looked at each other. Then the baby smiled, and raised a hand up to touch Four's face.
Four raised a hand to his own face, and touched the baby's tiny fingers. Four didn't say anything, didn't move, only watched in complete awe as the infant's fingers wrapped around his own.
Hermione had long since stopped laughing. She felt like she was an intruder on a sacred meeting: that of Innocence and the harsh Knowledge that Harry should never have possessed at such a young age. She could feel tears welling in her eyes again. Harry had grown up too fast. Exposed to suffering at the hands of his family, pain that most people wouldn't expect from their enemies, Harry had known things as a child that are not often given children to know. He knew and understood things about the world that adults spend hours trying to fathom. And yet, for all that, when Hermione had met him, he had seemed a normal 11 year-old boy, and she had had to look very closely to see the signs and proof of that terrible understanding.
Four looked up at Hermione, and asked the most important question he ever had of her.
"Will you help me take care of him?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I swear, by all I hold dear, I'll keep him safe. I'll keep both of you safe." Four smiled at her. She closed her eyes.
I will do all I can to protect you Harry. I promise.
And at that moment, though Hermione didn't notice, the two Shards of Soul Glass in her pocket started glowing.
*
Back in Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore sat back and sniffed loudly. He had witnessed everything that had happened since Hermione had entered Harry's mind. He had not been as shocked at the revelation of Harry's life at the Dursleys as Hermione had been though. Mrs. Figg had often reported to him instances when Harry would come to her house beaten up. Harry had always insisted that bullies did it to him, but she knew better. She knew all too well what the Dursleys thought of magic. Dumbledore had done his best to ignore the harshness of these reports, soothing his conscience by telling himself that it would all be for the best in the end. But now, he wondered if Harry might not have been better off somewhere else. Where was the line that divided it? Keeping Harry away from the Dursleys might well have meant his death, but it seemed he had come close to meeting that fate anyway, at their hands.
He had once told Harry, "Indifference and neglect often do more damage than outright dislike." Harry had looked at him as if to say, "You think I don't know that already?"
Where was the line that divided wanting to keep someone safe, and causing more pain than they would have suffered if you had not tried to keep them safe? How much worse could Voldemort's supporters have hurt Harry than the Dursleys did? At the hands of the Death Eaters, Harry might have been granted a quick death. At the Dursleys, he had been subject to eleven years of pain.
But he was alive.
That was what it all came down to. Harry needed to live, so he could defeat Voldemort, or die anyway in the attempt. But at least then his death would have some meaning.
Wouldn't it?
What have I done?
( AN: Like Harry, I'm not really too pleased with Dumbledore right now, and so I thought it fitting that he feel guilty. (glares at picture of Dumbledore on picture file.)
I think that during Half-Blood Prince, Harry is going to storm at Dumbledore a bit more than he has already. And let's face it, he deserves it.)