Author's Notes:
I figured I'd go ahead and post this next chapter since I've gotten a thousand hits since the last one, though not as many reviews as I'd like. So review this one, please, please, please. *puppy dog eyes*
Those of you who are worried about R/Hr, and the significance thereof, please remember we're exploring the past through Harry's memories. How much do you think is going to happen?
And yeah, the arm hurts, but I'll be out of the sling in a couple of days, thanks for worrying, though somehow I think it's cause you want more story rather than any actual concern for me. *grin*
Anyways, so that's going to be my new posting policy, unless I catch up to myself and don't have anything written. 1000 hits, 15 reviews, or two days, whichever comes first. Thanks for reading and reviewing. *coughhinthintcough*
Chapter Two: Sixth Year
The whole scene turned watery for a moment, and Harry found himself looking at the Pensive again. Which is when he felt the tears running down his cheeks. Of course Ron could not have kept her safe. Neither of them would have done anything but try to help him.
They had both loved him, and he had loved them. But it he was wasting time. Another day and the first of those memories would be out of his reach. And it had to be an extraordinarily clear memory for this to work, which severely limited his options after this much time. He smiled slowly at the picture of Hermione on his desk. So young, so long ago.
The picture smiled back, and Harry Potter lowered his head, gazing into the Pensive once more.
* * * * *
Walking around Hogsmeade, Harry turned in surprise when he stopped talking and neither Ron nor Hermione answered him. They were gone, he realized with a start, and could not believe Voldemort had struck here in Hogsmeade, so blatantly.
Then he spotted them going into Madam Puddifoot's, and he barely managed to keep himself from gagging. Reflecting over the last few weeks, he shuddered.
Two things had been bothering him most of all. Ever since Harry had gone to be with the Order for the rest of the summer, Voldemort and his followers had been increasing the violence of their activities. It was getting out of control, and it was becoming clear that the Ministry could not stop them, nor could the Order.
Seemingly random attacks on Muggles at first, then strikes at wizarding families, like Hermione's, that had new wizarding blood in them. Apparently, Hermione had not spotted the pattern, which was unlike her, because she did not seem to be worried about her parents.
Harry was pretty sure that the random Muggle killings had her confused. Then there were the strikes on Wizarding Institutions. The Knight Bus, blown apart while full of wizards, in the middle of the Tower Bridge in London. The bridge was shattered beyond repair, even with magic.
Not only that, too many had seen it, and the Ministry did not even try to cover it up. The Muggle news had made some announcement about a terrorist attack. The smaller Beuaxbatons School of Magic had been destroyed, and the survivors had been brought to Hogwarts to continue learning. Viktor Krum had reported to Dumbledore that he had been unable to reach Durmstrang, and it was discovered that it was sealed to any who tried to approach.
No one had told Harry what that meant, but he knew it could not be good.
But frankly, the one thing that bothered him more than all the reports of the growing power of the Dark Lord and his followers was Ron. Well, Ron and Hermione, truth be told. In the two months since Harry had gotten Ron to ask her out the first time, they had grown far closer to each other, and at the same time, slightly more distant from him.
Well, no slightly about it now. A year ago, they would have never left while he was trying to discuss the ongoing destruction and devastation the Second War was causing. Now, it seemed, nothing was more important than sneaking off for a kiss somewhere he was not.
Which had been his intention, hadn't it? Hadn't he wanted to cause them to pull away from him, so that when the time came, their deaths, unlike his parents, unlike Sirius, unlike Cedric, would not be on his hands, that they might live, even when he did not?
Yes, that had been his plan. But he had not expected it to hurt so very much, or move so quickly. The speed at which they were moving made it almost seem like the relationship would burn out before too long. Part of him rejoiced at the very idea, some small leaping flame in his heart.
He crushed it down. The idea of the friendship falling apart completely if Ron and Hermione's relationship did end was horrid. Ron would never admit to it, but he would blame Harry, deep inside, for pushing him into it. He was unsure how Hermione would react, in that event, but nothing would ever be the same.
But Harry had known that, that had been his intention all along. To protect them, they could not be as close as they once had been to him. He shut his eyes, standing there in the middle of the street, when he heard a sneering voice behind him.
"Potter, have your groupies run off on you finally? The Weasel and the Mudblood?" The words drove Harry over the edge. He spun angrily on Malfoy, his wand slashing out of his robes. He spoke the incantations so fast it seemed that they were one. Malfoy collapsed to the ground, stunned, Crabbe and Goyle, disabled temporarily.
By the time the red haze cleared, he spotted Pansy Parkinson running from him in fright. He grinned, noticing that Malfoy's blonde hair was pressed into a pile of what looked like horse dung, but in Hogsmeade, who knew, exactly. Taking those three down, even for a short time, had made him feel much better.
He made himself scarce, though, not wanting to be around when they recovered.
The world twisted, and the memory faded, and before the next one started, Harry had time for one thought. I should've killed him when I had the chance then. Then she wouldn't've turned, and she wouldn't've died…
A swirl of colors brought him back into Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
He was sitting on the couch, and the corner of his shirt was soaked through with water. Tears, really, which were still coming from Hermione, sobbing into his shoulder. Well, there were no more tears, actually.
She had cried herself out of them some time ago, Harry was not really sure how long. The Weasley family had moved into hiding, of course, some time back, about the beginning of term, and she did not know how to find them. But she knew how to find Grimmauld Place, or at least, that it was in London. And for a sixteen year old, as bright as Hermione, getting to London was simple enough. A taxi had brought her the rest of the way. Harry had been the one to answer the door, as he and Lupin were the only ones there currently, and it had been a full moon the night before, so Lupin was asleep.
And so Harry still did not know what had happened, merely that Hermione had shown up on his doorstep, crying her eyes out. The sobbing finally slowed to whimpers, and then stopped. Harry spoke softly. "Hermione, what's wrong?"
He glanced at the cup of tea he had made for her, still full, and undoubtedly cooler than merely tepid now. Soft footsteps interrupted his thoughts as he concluded from the young woman's lack of response that she had cried herself to sleep.
"Harry? What's Hermione doing here?" came Lupin's soft voice. "And um,…"
And, um, indeed. Harry realized that cuddled on the couch, with his arms around Hermione in his lap was fairly non-platonic looking. "I don't know why she's here, Professor. She showed up about an hour ago, crying her eyes out on the front step," he replied softly. "I think she's asleep now."
"Do you think we should put her in one of the beds?"
Harry realized that was the last thing he wanted to do, when it came to it. Having her curled in his lap felt so…
Everything.
"No, I'm okay for now holding her." Harry's mind was at work, though, trying to figure out what was wrong. Now that the crying had finally stopped, and Lupin was making him think again, it came around fairly quickly. Hermione might be the brightest witch her age, but Harry was pretty damn clever, when you got right down to it. "I think something must have happened to her parents. She was supposed to be meeting them for a few days before Christmas. That's the only reason I can think of as to why she's not there, and is here instead. Only wizarding place she can get to with Muggle transport where there was someone she could trust."
Lupin nodded. "That makes sense. We need… I'll… I'll see what I can find out." He left the room as softly as he had entered it.
Harry breathed in deeply as Lupin left. He had never been this close to Hermione before, and part of him was very glad she was distracted, as his sixteen year old body was unable to control its response to the warm softness of her in his lap. He ran his finger lightly along her back and squeezed her in his arms, wishing there was something he could do to help.
But he did not even know what was wrong. Lupin came back in as Harry was forcing himself not to tangle his fingers in her curly brown hair, which was matted down from the snow outside. "Kingsley is on his way to her house now. He was closest." Lupin continued staring at Hermione for a long moment. "She was in a right state when she arrived, wasn't she?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "Her bags?"
"In the hall."
"Do you think she would have noticed anyone following her?"
Harry's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "I don't think she would've noticed a hundred people, let alone one."
"Damn. We may need to move in a hurry. I'd better let as many as possible know." Lupin walked out, a brisker step making a louder noise upon the flooring. The noise caused Hermione to stir in Harry's lap, and her movement caused something else to stir.
Not athletic, but fit and slender, warm and soft, Hermione's body was a nightmare for a sixteen-year old at this point, and, of course, his wildest fantasy at another. But not now. Her head moved on his shoulder, and her breath exhaled softly against his neck.
"Harry?" She lifted her head, still sleepy as Harry turned to look at her. Her face was a mess with her tears, though certainly no worse than when she arrived. "Oh, Harry…" The sobbing started again, quieter, not as fierce. "They're gone. They murdered them."
"What happened, Hermione?" Harry questioned her, looking her in the eyes, forcing her to look up and stop crying, just for a moment.
"My parents, they weren't going to be able to meet me at the station, so they had me take another train, and then a taxi home. I always carry Muggle money when I go home, just in case… When the taxi turned the corner… there was nothing left of the house. I had been dozing in the back. The driver woke me up, scared. He had merely pointed when I saw it. The house was obliterated, and the… the… Dark Mark was hovering there, over the rubble. My parents were lying dead in the yard. I told the cabbie to take me back to the train station, and I came straight here. Oh, god, Harry, they were…"
The nearly emotionless Hermione had sounded almost like her usual self, reciting a lesson she had learned. But she never spoke the last word, bursting into tears again, and Harry tightened his arms around her. He nearly said that it would be okay… but he knew it would not be, ever again. Just like his life had never been okay. "I'm here, Hermione. We'll stop them. I swear it."
I'll get them for hurting you like this before they kill me.
He had stopped them. But he had not prevented them from hurting her again and again. Every time a friend was lost, every time the Death Eaters killed, Hermione grew grimmer and grimmer. School and magic became the only things for her. She had been trying to learn everything she could.
Harry, at the time, thought it had been for revenge. But now, looking back over the rest of his life since the fateful night in the Ministry of Magic, he knew what she had actually been attempting to do. Find a way to do what he was about to do. She had been putting the pieces together for less than a year before Dumbledore had ordered her to stop, before she went too far. With his help, and Ron's, she had nearly returned by the time their N.E.W.T.s approached to the old Hermione. Thanks to all her research, she had casually completed the tests in half the allotted time. But that covered the next sixteen months far too quickly.
The next memory that swirled into view, Harry had not expected to see. It was not really his, but one he had torn from the traitor before he had killed her.
Ginny smiled in the fading light of the summer day as she looked over the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. They would be returning, well, not home, because the entire family was in hiding, and for good reason.
Voldemort and his Death Eaters were everywhere. Five students had been killed over the Christmas holidays, and four more had lost family. Ten more over the course of the term. She flipped her red locks back that had fallen in her face and closed her eyes. Cutting off the other sensory input was the only thing that allowed her to hear it.
"Imperio." Her mind blanked, and she stood, moving slowly towards the Forbidden Forest as the dusk grew towards night. She looked curiously at the grinning Malfoy when she arrived. "The youngest Weasley. You'll do very well." He grinned at Crabbe and Goyle standing the shadows. "Strip."
Ginny did as she was told. This had not been part of the DA training, she could not fight it at all. She slipped her robes off first, then her uniform was next, placed in a neat pile until she stood naked before Malfoy and his leering hulks of compatriots.
"Hmm, I think I see why Muggles study anatomy in their schools now," Draco chuckled, moving up and running his hands over her small, fifteen year old breasts. He pinched her nipples, hard, when she did nothing. "If it hurts, scream, little Weasley." The grin was plastered permanently on now. "If you like it, let me know."
He pinched again, digging a thumbnail into her nipple, which was hard from his touch and her complete reliance on Draco for orders. Ginny moaned.
"I think the little witch likes it, boys." Not that she had a choice, under the curse. "Stand with your feet wider apart, and bend over to touch your toes," he directed her. She did so, feeling no shame at having her arse stuck into the air, her legs spread fairly wantonly. She still felt no shame when Draco's fingers had touched her, intimately, caressing where no one had touched her before. Ginny moaned again as Draco fingered her. "She definitely likes it." He grinned. "And she's definitely a virgin. Not at all loose like that whore Pansy."
One of Goyle's rare moments of speech came just then. "Not when we're done with her." Crabbe chuckled, as sinisterly as he could. It turned far colder and more sinister in moments, though, as a new form appeared.
"My lord," Draco said, dropping to one knee, Crabbe and Goyle awkwardly following suit and mumbling something similar.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named chuckled once more. "Is this the limits of the power your father's have taught you while they hid to protect themselves from those who hunted me?"
"Milord, we were trying to cause worry and fear here at Hogwarts. We were trying to distract them with pain closer to home." Draco still refused to look up at Voldemort, and Crabbe and Goyle were cowering on the floor of the forest.
"My dear child," the hissing voice began. "Your ideas are sound, your execution is not. Unfortunately, you do not have that which it is you need to make this truly effective." The hissing laugh again. "Tell her to stand up and answer all my questions truthfully."
Draco did so, immediately. Ginny looked unconcerned at the Dark Lord, who spoke his first question. "Do you remember me possessing you, pure blood child?"
"Yes."
"What do you remember about the possession?"
"Nothing," Ginny replied calmly. "But… occasionally I have nightmares."
"Very well, little Weasley. Do you remember Harry Potter failing you, letting you get taken away to the Chamber?"
"Yes."
"Good," the hiss was pure venom now. "Do you know why he failed you, why he did not return your love for him?"
"Hermione."
Draco spat. "That filthy Mudblood."
Voldemort chuckled. "Quite, Draco. They all are." The piercing, inhuman eyes shifted to Ginny again. "Did you want to get her back for it? Do you want to get Harry back for it?"
Ginny breathed out her answer in a hiss, the truth of her feelings revealed at last, why none of her other boyfriends had ever worked. None of them were Harry. Harry Potter, who did not care for her at all, who gave out his love to… to… to a Mudblood. "Yessss. Master."
Then she felt him in her mind, the pain as he tore into her memory, tearing down the barriers his younger self had put there, bringing the blocked memories back to her, letting her feel the destruction, the power, the sensuality of control the basilisk once more as it hunted and destroyed.
As he withdrew his mind from hers, he broke Draco's Imperius Curse easily enough, but Ginny did nothing. Draco felt he curse break with a jolt, and started to raise his wand once more. "No, Draco, that won't be necessary. She's with us now."
Then she spoke softly. "Can I put some clothing on?"
Voldemort chuckled. "If you want, and you can think of a better way to strike at Harry this instant than doing what Draco wants from you." He stepped back, fading into the forest. A lust for flesh no longer drove him at all. Just power.
Ginny smiled at Draco, then Crabbe and Goyle. "All of you, strip." They complied readily and quickly, standing naked before the naked younger one. "Well, Crabbe, Goyle, you two just this once, unless I feel like being truly naughty again. Draco, though, you and I, this won't be the last time. Draco first." She beckoned him with a hand, and pushed him down on a convenient log, kneeling before him. Red locks brushed his thighs as her tongue flicked out against Draco's standing erection.
The old Harry tried to leave the scene then, escape the memory, but it clung to him, Ginny's first, but certainly not last, betrayal. He was forced to watch as her small pink tongue circled the head of Draco's manhood, then as her lips closed on the throbbing shaft before sliding down its length. Despite the red hair barring his vision, the future Harry knew exactly what she was doing, it being Ginny's stolen memory, after all.
He was forced to relive it all with her, but closing his eyes helped blur the details, though the cries of pleasure and pain echoed strongly in his ears.
Finally the memory ended, and Harry came up for air, breathing hard. The old man who had once been the Boy-Who-Lived shuddered, pushing the images and sounds out of his mind.