May 23, 1998
Harry and Hermione stood together in a momentary state of shock at the carnage of bodies. The shock at seeing his stepparents lay dead ripped through his mind. Wormtail watched Harry turn to the dead couple, thinking if he killed Harry, he might escape this mess. Harry paused long enough at the elderly couple for Wormtail to lunge at him from the shadows, brandishing the bloody blade that had taken two lives that day. Hermione saw the steel flash toward them from the corner of her eye and turned to the attacker. She protected her one true love with a shove and received the poorly aimed blow meant for him; the blade plunged deep into her chest.
"HERMIONE! NOO!" The terror from his dreams for over a year flooded his mind, in a fit of rage and anger, he raised his hand, and ignored the loss of his wand; he gave a wave and a grabbing gesture lifted Peter by the throat. With a vengeance reserved only for God alone, the wizard squeezed his hand, as if he had grabbed the traitor by his neck. He watched as the rat-like eyes bulged from their sockets and blood oozed from his mouth. He squeezed his hand tighter and the all too familiar sound of crunching bone told the story. He released his grip, waved his hand and with a flash the crushed body fell to the ground, his head flopped awkwardly to the side. He tightened his fist one last time and, as if he were throwing a stone, a flash of fire erupted from his now open fist, striking the body. The remains burst into flame and vanished, leaving a small pile of dust and a silver hand. Never before had Harry experienced anger and hatred like this, the rush of raw power he felt was intoxicating; it was as if the Dark forces of Tom Riddle had poured into his soul.
The remaining Death Eaters had watched their master fall. Then, after the total destruction of Pettigrew, they shed their hoods and masks to beg forgiveness from Harry, for fear he would exact his rage on them. In his blind anger he gritted his teeth and snarled his hatred for them. With a final wave of his hand, as if they were insects on the ground, he crushed them with a simple hand gesture. The carnage that lay on the ground made his head swim with lust. As the blood flowed from the crumpled bodies across the grounds, his voices grew louder, cheered him on.
He turned to his side in time to watch a young woman slowly drop to her knees as if he were watching a surreal movie. It was the same woman he swore to protect with his life; she had offered her life to save him. Her hand tightly clutched at her chest. He simply stood there.
"Harry, it's a scratch, I-I'll be fine," she lied as she held the wound tightly to try to hide it from him. She felt her breathing become pained and difficult, but fought through the pain. Her fingers tried to hold the wound shut and she felt the blade move with every laboured breath, telling her it was deep in her chest.
Harry stood over her and stared at her wound; she couldn't hide the blood now, as she fell to the ground. The blade that took his stepmother was lodged deep inside her. It was the same blade he once held in the chamber and had sought to destroy.
Hermione's wound was severe. The blade pierced the left side of her chest near her shoulder and was buried deep; the wound profusely bled bright red blood, evidence of the damage to her lung. She looked to him with fear and shock as their eyes met; every vision he had of this moment flooded his mind. He saw her body lay on the ground, blood poured from her wounds. A bright crimson ribbon flowed down her leg, pooling at his feet. Here she was at his feet, wounded, trying to protect him.
Albus Dumbledore watched in disbelief at her sacrifice, and muttered to himself, "Unexpected, this is." He slowly walked to the young man's side in his most dire moments with the hope he could offer some comfort.
Her breathing slowed and became shallow and pained; the punctured lung began to fill with blood, causing pressure with every new breath. She could no longer support her own weight. He dropped to his knees to offer what little support he could, and pulled her to his arms. He had never seen her eyes so icy and lifeless; they were always full of life and joy. He had never felt anger like this before, the rage swept through his soul like a wildfire in a drought.
She mouthed three words to him, knowing her fate, and reached up to him. He felt her lips meet his one last time; they were as cold and lifeless as her eyes. She did not close her eyes as she kissed him that one last time. He held her tightly in his arms when her body stiffened once and then went limp. He could no longer feel her breathe; her chest remained still, her last breath escaped from their lips. Her eyes remained open, but were now dull and lifeless.
He screamed in pure agony as a bloodstained hand fell lifeless to her side; a scream that drew all eyes to the scene as he screamed, his scream rocked the core of magic held within the walls of the school. The Fidelius Charm lifted as she died in his arms, revealing the young couple's true feelings and their shared pain.
"Harry," his headmaster began, "this was her fate. You have no control over death; none of us can control it, it is out of our hands, she is gone. All that can be done now is to help those that need it, those that have survived." He placed a fatherly hand to Harry's shoulder in an attempt to pull him away from the body he held.
"Harry, she's gone, let her go."
He remained holding her. His pain deepened, his anger sharpened, his hate grew.
"Harry, she's gone, let her go." Dumbledore repeated, hoping the journey for him to heal could begin. He knew Harry could recover from any other death, but not this one. He had to try to help the young man recover. He had to try and help him, and he had to be quick, because Harry's grief was now flowing to the growing crowd.
The number of dead had been overshadowed by the heroic actions of these two, standing side by side until one fell protecting the other. From the crowd, the murmurs and muffled voices joined with distinctive sobs that went unnoticed by Harry. Eileen managed to work her way to the front of the small group, her shock at the scene of death had been more then she could bear; she had steeled herself for this fight, always knowing Hermione and Harry would be together protecting each other. She turned to Jake, who had remained with her during the fight, and she began to grieve now, not only for her cousin, but because finally for her own father had given his life to protect the dead girl. Jake let his pistol drop to the ground to hold and comfort her.
"She can't be dead," Harry screamed as he pulled his shoulder from his mentor's touch. "I-I have to help her. She's bleeding... she's just hurt... she's not dead... she can't die... I won't let it happen... HERMIONE! DON'T DIE, I LOVE YOU!" Harry pulled her close to his own body and held her. He felt the warmth of her blood soak into his clothes.
"Harry, this is her fate, please let her go." Albus repeated. He put his hands on Harry's shoulders in a renewed attempt to pull him from her body; he needed to get Harry to admit she was gone before he could begin to recover. Harry let her slip from his grasp, and she slid from his lap.
"Harry, it's over, we must face the fact that she's gone..." Dumbledore repeated as he stepped back from the scene.
He stood and looked at her body on the ground, her blood still on his hands. The raw anger that flooded his soul with every passing second deepened to hatred. That hate blinded him and fogged his mind. He staggered away from her body and his mentor.
In his blind rage a vortex of pure magic began to build around him. His voices grew louder. His hate grew stronger. His ears were still ringing with Dumbledore's words, ' She's gone.'He couldn't stand that sound another second. He raised his hands and lunged at his mentor as green beams shot from his fingers, engulfing the ancient wizard. Before he could draw another breath, the man fell dead.
All Harry could see were people coming toward him, attacking him, trying to kill him. His rage and anger began to destroy his mind. The group of students that came from the safety of the school offering help instead found death. Beams of pure magic shot out from his fingers as tendrils of death attacked from all angles, slicing into anyone in the way. In a brief few seconds, dozens of his classmates fell dead, cut in half as cleanly as if by a razor.
He staggered past the bodies that now lay across his path, some still moving, not fully realising only half a body could not survive.
He stumbled along the stone path; the screams of the dead now seeped deeper into his mind. The screams of those he just killed joined his other voices that began to drive him mad nearly two years ago. The barrage inside his mind was deafening as he fell into a single remaining wizard, alone in the shadows.
Lucius Malfoy never expected to see this depth of pure hate in any living soul. He stood and watched as Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, viewed him in the shadows. Harry had only one thing in his mind, only one act he was capable of this day, he grabbed the air in front of him, and his adversary began to choke. He tried to scream, but all that came from his mouth was a fine crimson spray. The all too familiar sound of crushing bone was the last thing Malfoy heard before his body fell to the ground.
Harry collapsed where he stood.
The growing crowd around Hermione's body held two people that loved her as much as Harry. Ginny and Ron fell to her side, as Ron gently held her in his arms and closed her eyes in death. He still loved her, even though his love for Luna had begun from the ashes of his feelings for this dead woman, she will always be a part of him. Luna had come to terms with knowing that there would always be a small piece of Ron's heart she would never have, but what was left was hers, and she could live with that. Ginny reached a hand to her brother, he took it, and they both found a little comfort in the simple touch.
Hermione felt a presence, a peace she had never felt with Harry before. Harry, she needed to tell him she was fine and she had been happy with him. She wanted to tell him she would always love him. She heard every word she tried to say to him, but it was only in her mind. She thought about her only love as she felt herself drift away.
The screams she heard in the moments after death deafened her soul, and the rush of young faces tore past her. She felt a need to stop him, to call on him and calm his rage.
Ron held her in his arms as Ginny came to his side. Ron began to remove the dagger from her chest, it didn't belong there and he couldn't stand the sight of it another second. Ginny fell to her friend and gave Hermione a last embrace. At that moment, the brother and sister both felt a pull deep within their own beings. They felt a deep pain as life itself was being violently ripped from their bodies, the pain they felt radiated from their cores out through every pore. Their blood felt as if it had frozen in their veins, and in a last blinding flash of pain, both fell limp to the ground.
The glow from the three bodies blinded the onlookers; none of them had ever seen a sight such as this, waves of chestnut and crimson intertwined bonding and fusing as one. The single radiant glow sunk back into one body on the ground, seeming to illuminate each pore of her body.
She lay there; an arm from each friend lay across her bloody chest, the fingers of their hands were still woven together for the last time. She coughed bloody froth, as Jake bent to her aid, pushing the arms from the now dead boy and girl from her so he could carry her to safety and medical attention. In the fog of her mind she thought she saw Ron and Ginny stand and turn away from her, then disappear.
The wound from the dagger had sealed itself, but she wasn't whole, there was a deeper gash cut through her very soul, she felt a loss she couldn't identify; she had taken what wasn't hers.
Present Time
He again held her hand so he knew she was near, but this time they were bound with a short rope at the waist, additional insurance this time. He could smell the fragrance in her hair as it again swirled and flowed in the cosmic winds and eddies, this time he could feel her hair as it danced across his face. She was nearby. He again refused to let her had go, even for a moment, last time he mentally apologised for crushing her hand as he held it so tight, a detail he corrected before they stepped through the archway.
The floor and walls disappeared leaving the void. This was what they experienced the last time; it was the same each time. He reached out in front of him, hoping for any sensation, any tactile response, and like the last time there was nothing except her touch in his hand and the tightness of the rope.
There was still nothing except her hand in his; she kept wiggling her fingers to reassure him she was still there.
Time passed.
Still nothing.
The wiggling stopped, his hand had grown numb as hers must have as well and they had at some point let go, but he had no memory of releasing his grip. He could still fell the pull on the rope, and every few minutes he felt a jerk from the other end, she was still signalling him.
He closed his eyes to think and willed his growing fears away, she was still there, he was certain of that. His anxiety never grew like the last time, the rope worked. He could feel the flapping of cloth, the veil fluttered in his face. He opened his eyes to find himself just on the other side of the gateway, as if he stepped through a door. She was standing by his side, rubbing the numbness from her fingers.
"Sorry, Mione."
"It's ok, Harry, it's reassuring, if nothing else."
"My hand went numb again."
"I know. Just like last time."
"Do you think we're home this time or is this world going to be worse then the others?"
"I wish I knew, although just knowing Voldemort had got what he deserved the last times is comforting."
They stood facing each other and let out a deep sigh at the reality they may have to face him again. As if this was a trial to prove to the powers in the universe that they were worthy. With fingers interlaced, they walked out from the pit of the amphitheatre to the chamber's door.
"Now, we have no idea what's on the other side, are you ready?" Harry asked.
"Honestly, no. I'm a bit nauseous, possibly just the fight and the veil," she did feel queasy and moved to sit on a bench that had exploded only a short while before.
"I don't think it will hurt to have a rest for a few minutes." He still held her hand and moved with her to the bench. "And besides, maybe we should consult the prophecy sheet, to see if it's changed."
She nodded; as he sat, he faced away for her to rummage in the pack he wore. The sheet was now easily found, and she held it. The words began to form.
"Harry, here. For me it said 'spirit lost… trapped… two will come… hate… peace… destroying.' Take it and tell me what it says for you."
He took the sheet and began to read. "It says, 'As the Dark Star rises… spirit lost… chains of passion… hate and turmoil… each destroying the other…' It's a bit more then what you saw, but there are some common words. Here, hold the sheet too.'
She gripped an edge with him and the words now came together.
As the Dark Star rises
the spirit lost will be trapped by chains of passion,
two will come, similar but different
and turn hate and turmoil at last into love and peace
by one destroying the other
They sat and read the message, and her brow furrowed, "'Dark Star', Sirius is a star, do you think it could implicate him?" she asked.
He read the next line, "'spirit lost' , you've been called that and we've met your spirit, and there's the lost with thing too. But trapped?"
"'two will come, similar but different' that must mean us, we're two, and different, you're a man and I'm a woman. Same race, different genders," she added.
"These last two lines don't sound promising, 'hate and turmoil` sounds as if there's plenty wrong here too."
They refused to consider the last line, simply looked at each other.
"Harry, what if we just ignored this world and tried going through the portal again?" she asked. Neither had thought of that possibility before. "Maybe if we just keep trying, we can find our own reality again."
"Mione. That's a brilliant idea. As much as I don't want to say it, but I can't keep fighting like this. We both got hurt last time, how long can our luck hold?" She tucked the sheet back into the pack. Then he stood and pulled her to her feet. He noticed the blood rush from her face as it paled when she stood, and held her while she regained her composure.
"Are you certain you're ok? You look pale," he asked.
"Just a tad ill, that duel took a bit and these 'trips'aren't much fun either. Let's just try."
The walked back to the portal and she retied the cord around his waist and hers. "Ready? One, two, three…" and they stepped back in.
The cloth covering the portal flapped in their faces, they knew it would be a strange sensation in the void. They stood immediately on the other side, the disorientation never happened, the void was missed.
"Did anything happen?" she asked.
"I don't know. Let's see that sheet again."
He turned away so she could remove the sheet, and she held it. He faced her, held the parchment with her and read the words as they formed.
As the Dark Star rises
the spirit lost will be trapped by chains of passion,
two will come, similar but different
and turn hate and turmoil at last into love and peace
by one destroying the other
"It's the same, nothing happened. It must mean no matter what, we have to stay," she said. The disappointment in her voice told him her hopes of getting 'home' had diminished.
"Then let's get this over with." He grabbed her hand and together they returned to the doors.
They both held their breaths, as he pushed the door open. The corridor appeared to be empty, and free of any debris. No sign of a past struggle. The doors to the Hall of Prophecies unchained. Voices from several other rooms on the floor indicated they we not alone.
"Should we try the lift or the stairs?" he asked Hermione.
"We stand a better chance of avoiding anyone with the stairs, until we know what happened." He put his arm around her waist as they quietly walked to the stairs and began the climb up to the upper levels.
"Good plan, off to the Aurors' offices then?"
"You still have your badge, or have you lost it?"
"I almost forgot," he said as he stopped in the middle of the first staircase. He rummaged through a side pocket, until he produced his identification badge.
They walked together up the stairs; both wondered what changes they would encounter. They climbed the first flight of stairs, and paused at the doors that opened to the Atrium. Last time the Atrium had been a graveyard for those fallen. Harry carefully peered through the opening of the door, and saw a busy hall with the normal activity of the Ministry passing through the Atrium.
"It appears normal, do you want to have a go at the Atrium or push on up the stairs?" he whispered to Hermione.
"I'd rather not take the risk. Let's find a friendly face and see what changes we'll have to deal with," she answered. "And I'd like a hot shower and some sleep, we've not had a decent night's rest in a few days. If this is anything like the last couple, I'd be afraid to face Voldemort as tired as we are." The rumble from her stomach emphasised the point.
"Then let's keep going and try the Burrow first." He stood from the crouch and together they continued the climb.
They had reached the fourth level when they heard a familiar voice bellow through the corridors.
"Harry! That was Hagrid. If he's here, and this is the fourth level, do you think he's here working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"
He thought about it for a moment, "Yes, it is possible. Maybe if we could get his attention, we could find out from him."
She didn't have time to answer; the door burst open, momentarily separating them. A very young wizard stepped forward, his wand drawn and pointed directly at Hermione's head.
"Stop, Granger," he commanded. She got a clear look at him, his Auror robes and youth left no doubt of his junior rank.
"Pardon?" she managed to ask as she held her hands out, showing they were empty.
"The Lord will be displeased you've escaped. Don't move or it will go badly for you," he commanded as stepped through the doors.
Harry stood behind the young and obviously inexperienced Auror, ready to strike. Hermione stood frozen to the spot, and waited for the next move. The young wizard glanced at the shadow behind her, and she watched as his eyes grew larger. The realisation that she was not alone had sunk in.
The Auror stepped back and span around to try and avoid the spell he knew was coming, and pointed his wand at Harry. Harry stood there, his arm stretched out with a single finger pointing at the man's heart. The image now in front of him, sent a tendril of fear through him, he dropped his wand and fell to his knees.
"Sire, my deepest apologies. Had I known you were here, I never would…" his voice trailed as he humbled himself.
Slightly stunned himself, Harry picked up the discarded wand, and looked at the wizard again. He then remembered his badge had been clearly visible. He grabbed the young wizard by the shoulders, and felt him tremble.
"Here," he said as he pulled the young man to his feet and handed the wand back to the Auror.
"Sire? There was no report that the prisoner was to be brought here, do you require assistance?" he asked with his head bowed.
Hermione stood watching the brief interaction, and watched Harry's handling of the situation. She smirked at Harry's discomfort, even with all his experience, and the leadership he had displayed; he never felt it was fully deserved.
"I can deal with things. Thanks."
"Thank you, sire, please forgive me," he kept saying as he quickly left for his original destination, obviously afraid.
"That was strange, we both must exist here, 'sire'," she mimicked.
"Obviously. And worse than that, you're some kind of prisoner, 'Granger', and quite possibly we haven't married," he said after replaying the brief conversation in his mind.
"I did catch that too, maybe we should just Apparate out?"
"To the Burrow?"
"No, the oak," she replied. "Until we know more details of what happened."
He closed his eyes to concentrate, imagined being at the oak in the field by the Burrow and instantly found himself standing in the familiar field, alone. He spun in the spot, expecting to find her nearby, except he was alone.
"Harry!" he heard a muffled call. He fumbled in his cloak pocket for the mirror, while she kept calling. He pulled it to his face and replied.
"What happened? I'm here at the oak. Where are you?" he asked.
"Still at the Ministry, it appears I can't Apparate out."
"Ok, love, I'll be right back."
"No, wait, take a quick look, remember last time nothing was there marking the graves?"
"Right, hang on and I'll poke about."
He paused and looked to the tree and the clearing beneath it. "Mione?" he called back, "The patch appears just as it does at home, well kept." He walked closer and then spotted a group of grave markers with the names 'Weasley' etched on them. "It appeared correct except the monument for Sirius isn't here. Just a moment, there are several grave markers. Molly and Arthur are here and, OH MY GOD," he read another pair of markers, and turned pale.
"What? Tell me what's there?"
"Stay put, I'll be back straightaway," he called back.