"Are you certain? Can you bring her here? Is she lucid? How much does she understand?" Hermione hit Harry with a flurry of questions, some he could answer, and some he simply didn't know.
"She's malnourished to the point of starvation. She's devoid of any body fat, and there's massive atrophy of her muscle tissue." He had to stop again. "Hang on."
"What new torture is this? Act like you finally care? Just let me die," she hissed. The remains of the apple was flung at Harry, however, the blow to his chest from the projectile was ineffective.
"Please, I will get you the help you need and should have; I'm relaying your condition to a very skilled Healer." He sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder in comfort and sat in silence for a moment.
"Stag, you still there?" the mirror called out.
"Yeah, she's calmed a bit. She's also got numerous open lesions showing signs of infection."
"Any chance to get her away?" she asked.
"I'm uncertain; she seems to think she's unable to leave. And I had to give her one of your blouses to wear, she's been kept in a worse state then the Dursleys did to me. I can't believe anyone's that cold-hearted," he said into the mirror. Hermione tried to push away from him but wasn't strong enough.
"Cold-hearted? You're one to talk, you bloody fuckin' bastard! " she shrieked in the masculine voice again.
"Easy, I'm not who you think," he said calmly to her. "Spirit? There's something else, she seems to have developed multiple personalities, and I think she's assumed Ron and Ginny and others."
"I understand. I'm coming now."
"NO. Stay there, I won't risk you coming here," he ordered.
"Harry Potter, you have no right to order me about, I'm your wife, not your servant. And she needs help now, from the sound of it," the voice in the mirror said sternly.
"Stay there. Let me try to get her out first."
"No, Harry, I'll be there directly."
"Harry?" the woman sitting in his arms now spoke. "Your wife?"
He nodded, "Yes, it's difficult to explain, but try and think, use that wonderful mind of yours, there's bound to be a way for you to leave."
She shook her head; reason seemed to have returned from the seeds of the civil conversation she had witnessed. "You kept telling me I'll never leave here alive."
Harry nodded, "Please understand I am not that person. I know there's a kind heart still in there, and I intend to help you. Now, pretend I'm not the Harry Potter that imprisoned you here. Have you tried to escape?"
She explained she tried to leave though the window, and managed to break it, but she couldn't pass a finger past the barrier. Other objects could, she had thrown numerous articles through the window, simply to prove to herself it was her.
"And the door?" he asked.
"Same, it's never locked. I just can't pass through it."
Harry stood, and picked her up, he walked to the door and together they attempted to leave. They were stopped at the threshold.
"Please, put me down," she insisted. He complied and she stepped back. He took a tentative step forward and out the door.
"See, I can't leave, but you knew that," she said, her voice strong and defiant. Fear of retribution no longer existed. Death was preferred to this life.
Before he could respond, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The cloaked and hooded figure behind him pushed past and through the door.
"Please sit," a woman's voice commanded. "As my husband promised, I am here to help."
"W-who are you?" Hermione asked the mystery woman.
She kept her hood pulled over her face, and remained totally hidden from view. The Healer held a hand out to Hermione and led her to the chair at her desk, and motioned for her to sit. She complied with the non-verbal instructions and remained quiet . One hand still held her tender side.
"This won't hurt, relax," the voice behind the hood commanded.
"Spirit, this wasn't smart," Harry finally said.
"It's my choice, I can't allow her to be abused this way, no one deserves it. Now, you are Miss Granger?"
"Y-yes?"
"Call me 'Spirit', that is all you need to know. Your injuries are severe, but correctable only if you want my help."
She looked away, and shook her head. "No, I've killed my closest friends, this is what I deserve."
"No. it wasn't your fault." Spirit knelt in front of Hermione and held her hands, "You did what you had to do to survive. I know it was not intentional."
Harry stepped forward; he hadn't related the details he had been told last night. "Spirit, you know?"
An unseen smile came across her face, "Of course I know. She had nothing to do with the mass deaths. Hermione, you tried to stop him, to calm him but you were too late. It's not your fault."
"H-h-how do you know?"
"We share many things, just accept that," Spirit replied.
Harry put a hand on his wife's shoulder, "did they tell you?"
"No, Harry, I heard you talking to Fred and George last night, Hargid's voice does travel, you know."
"Hello, I'm not dead, yet. You can stop using third person references." Hermione shot back.
"Of course not. Hermione, did Harry do this to you?" Spirit asked.
"I deserved it. For Ron and Ginny. For the others he said I killed." She still refused to look up and continued her sub-ordinate role. "Just let me die, or kill me now," she whispered.
"I can't and won't take your life. Please relax." Spirit began to rub her hands together and a familiar glow radiated from her hands. She placed her right hand to the injured ribs and the other rubbed her back. The welts disappeared and the bruise on her side faded.
"Now, you need nourishment. I didn't have the forethought to bring any food, Harry, she needs to eat; can we try to get her out again?"
"It's hopeless," Hermione said, "You're wasting your time on me."
Harry carefully picked her up and carried her to the door again, and cautiously took a step. They found themselves on the other side. The first time in nearly ten years she had seen that side of the door.
"Spirit, let's leave," Harry called.
She walked to the door and once she came to the threshold, she was stopped. Her hood fell and exposed her face. Hermione watched and saw herself behind the hood. The image had been enough, compounded with her stress, she fell unconscious.
"Harry, I can't leave, take her to safety, I'll work something out."
"No, I won't leave you."
"Go on. I'm fine, after all I know how to handle you," she grinned.
"That other one isn't the same."
"Get her to safety, I'm perfectly fine. Go, I still have the mirror; call me when you return to the Burrow."
He finally nodded and vanished with a loud pop.
Hermione watched her husband vanish with her counterpart from this world. She had to remain behind simply to allow her other self to leave for safety. She also was safe, for the moment, but wondered if the other Harry would return to cause her harm.
She stood at the door and turned around, surveying the condition of the room she now inhabited. The filthy conditions were appalling and to have cleaned it normally would have taken days to do correctly, except she had one advantage, she still held her wand.
She pulled her wand from the pocket in her cloak, and waved it over the filth in the corner. The piles vanished.
"That's a start," she said, she pointed her wand to the mattress, and muttered the transfiguration charm, and the stained mattress converted into a bed complete with clean bedding.
She turned to the desk and the simple, but filthy chair, and pointed her wand at the seat. She paused momentarily and looked at the seat for a moment and stepped closer, holding back the cleansing spell. She looked at the fresh stains, and closed her eyes to try and imagine how blood traces like these could be evident, and shook her head in disgust.
"How can anyone be forced to live like this?" she asked herself.
The cleansing spell hit the desk and chair. Every remaining object she pointed her wand at in the room received the same treatment until the room was as clean and tidy as any room in Godric's Hollow.
"Much better," she said. She pulled the chair from the desk and sat, and shook her head again. Another transfiguration spell produced an ink bottle, quills and sheets of parchment. Carefully, she replaced her wand in its pocket, and reached for the mirror, placing it on the desk.
Her mind began to turn and she started her calculations, first starting by mapping out a calendar. Her efforts continued for nearly an hour as she reviewed her notations. She shook her head at the results and repeated on a clean sheet. The results were identical as her first draft.
"This can't be correct," she muttered and repeated her task with a renewed vigour.
Anxiously she checked her calculations again, comparing them to the first two drafts and picked up the mirror. As she glanced into it, she saw a pair of dark eyes staring back, they seemed cold and empty.
Startled, she dropped the mirror on the floor where it shattered.
"Bugger, that's bad," she told herself. She shook her head and picked up the largest fragment, but it was too small to be usable. She looked around the room for a suitable replacement.
"There's bound to be one here," she mumbled, then spotted the object in question. She pulled the cloth from the wall mirror and wedged the fragment from her mirror into the larger one.
"Hope this works." She pulled her wand and waved a reverse figure '8' over the mirror, the mirror fragment melted into the larger mirror.
"Harry? You there?" she called into the mirror.
There was no response.
"Stag? You there?" she called again.
"Sorry, love, just finished cleaning her up," he finally replied.
"How's the patient?"
"Had to bathe her, seems like it had been years since she's seen soap. She's sleeping now, she passed out when she saw you, but I think she believes she imagined it. She's quite weak; I'm going to have Fred prepare some food for her."
"So you told them she's the one they knew?"
"No, I said you had a spill, and needed rest. After your sleep-in this morning they think there's something wrong with you."
"Harry, this is important," she said hesitantly, "I don't think we're alone."
"Of course we're alone; no one else can hear us."
"I thought I saw something, but dropped the mirror. I had to charm the room mirror instead."
"What did you see?" he asked, a note of concern hinted in his voice.
"I thought there was someone watching, but it looked like, oh never mind. It must be my mind playing tricks."
"I don't like you stuck there. I'm coming back as soon as I can," he said.
"Darling, please don't worry. I'm fine." She smiled to his reflection and glanced to the desk. "Actually, there's something I think you need to know."
"What? Is anything wrong?"
She smiled and looked at his reflection, "No, actually I think you might be surprised, but I need to show you this in person." She smiled again, and he noted she was defiantly hiding something.
"I'll be there as soon as she's feeling stronger or if I can get one of the boys here to watch her."
"Hurry, darling, I'm…"
She never finished her thought as the mirror shattered. She spun around to see Harry standing in the doorway, a very angry look in his eyes. She looked in his hands, and saw the distinctive bluish-green blood leaking from a small form. On the floor at her feet, lying on shards of the broken mirror was Kreacher's severed head.
She shrieked at the sudden sight.
"That's his punishment for letting you have a wand and wander around my house."
"You had no right to kill him when he was not to blame, Harry."
"You miserable bitch, how dare you raise your voice to me," he shouted. He took two large strides into the room and raised his closed fist over his head. His blow was aimed perfectly at her jaw, however, her shared training with Harry and her recent experiences triggered a reflex and she blocked his blow. A move most unexpected. His blow glanced from her forearm as her free hand balled into a fist. Her blow found its mark, resulting in his nose oozing blood.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and licked the blood off his hand. He sported an evil grin at the taste of blood.
"So, it seems you've grown a set of balls," he said.
She had stood her ground, defiantly. An act he'd never faced.
She stepped back to open the field of combat, ready for another strike.
He reached to his belt, and whipped it from his trousers. She then realised how the other Hermione came to have the bleeding welts on her back.
"Beat a defenceless woman, too weak to raise an arm? That's so manly," she taunted.
He raised his arm with his belt, ready to lash out. She prepared to duck the first blow, but failed to notice his real intention. His other hand flung the body of the house-elf at her, causing her to duck the bulk. Her distraction was what he needed and his belt dropped as that hand made contact to with her temple.
She watched as bursts of light clouded her vision, and she staggered backward. She fell back, on onto her bottom, but her head struck the table in her fall.
He now held his wand in his hand, and through the hazy vision she felt tight ropes bind her arms and legs. She tried to clear her thoughts and saw his grin. He glanced to the table and picked up her notes, and shook his head.
"So, you fucking whore, you've had other visitors?" He planted his boot deep in her side, the sharp pain shot through her. He was obviously well skilled in this method of inflicting pain, she felt the blow snap ribs and cut deep.
Her mind tried to push the pain out, to have a single clear thought. The moment he grabbed her by her bonds and began to lift her, she felt a sharp object within her finger's reach; she grabbed a shard of the mirror, and dug it into her palm.
When Harry lost her in the mirror, he nearly panicked. His first instinct was to rush to her side, but he realised he couldn't leave the other Hermione alone.
"Fred!" he yelled. "Get up here NOW!"
He raised a hand to her, and passed a charm over her placing her into a forced sleep, it was a spell used to contain prisoners after capture if there was to be difficulty containing them.
"Yeah, Harry, what's the rush?" Fred called as he entered the room. He saw her lying on the bed, covered with just a dressing robe.
"Fred, this is very important. This is Hermione Granger, from this world. The one you knew before. Keep her safe."
"You've got to be having me on; that's your Hermione."
"No, and I don' have time to explain, we managed to rescue her but Hermione's trapped. I must go get her."
"You really think I'm going to protect the murderer of my brother and sister?"
"Yes, she wasn't responsible for those actions , it's complicated, but it was what she had to do, I believe Ron's and Ginny's deaths may have prevented my counterpart from killing everyone there that day. Trust me; I think my wife is in danger."
Fred stared in disbelief as Harry grabbed his pack and turned to leave. "Please, do as I ask," he pleaded with his back turned. He couldn't let Fred see him scared for her life.
Fred grabbed Harry's arm and turned him so they were face to face. The look in Harry's eyes was the only convincing Fred needed. "Go save your wife, I'll stay with this 'thing'."
Harry nodded and ran from the room.
He burst from the front door into the clear field in the front of the home. He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers, disappearing.
He appeared a moment later a little more them a block away from the house he inherited from Sirius Black. He ran with abandon and passed others on the street. Those passers-by immediately recognised him as he ran past.
He ran up the steps to the house, hoping she was there, but knowing if something happened, these precious minutes spent could have cost her life.
He knew which room she was in when they left and, ignoring caution, kicked the door from its hinges. He stood there, the room apparently empty except for a small body on the floor, covered by a quilt from the bed.
"NO!" he screamed and fell to his knees; she was gone and had no idea where she had been taken. She was in the hands of a madman that held no regard for life.
"Why? Why did you have to stay?" he screamed. He pounded his fists into the floor, the sting reminiscent of a similar time he had lost himself in his sorrow. That time was when he knew she was in danger because of him, this time, he was her only hope.
He fought his growing fear and anger, and looked to the covered body. He crawled closer, and pulled the blanket. He looked at the body of the house-elf, his head gone.
He managed to distance himself, long enough to see the shattered mirror speckled with elf blood, and a fragment with a small trace of her blood. He picked up that shard of the mirror, red from her blood and held it gently, as if it were the last trace of her.
He rocked back and forth where he sat, uncertainty crept into his thoughts, she was always at his side when he needed her, and he needed her now. He stared into the fragment and imagined it getting a deeper red. He looked up to see the others on the floor, bleeding. His hand wiped the traces of blood, but they remained and seemed to spread.
He kept staring into the fragment, hoping, straining to hear her voice. He imagined hearing leaves rustling in the background. "Could she have a piece?" he thought.
That one ray of hope was all he needed to pull himself up and try to devise a plan. He still had the other Hermione, but could, or would, she help? He gently wrapped the sharp bit of mirror in a rag, and placed it in his pocket next tot the other one he carried. He turned to the door, and ran out; he swung his pack from his shoulder and pulled his Firebolt out, enlarging it as he ran.
Out in the front yard of number twelve, he mounted his broom, and began to fly off, and never saw the large animal watching him from the bushes.