Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART IV: Denouement
Chapter One: Towards Zero
"We found out about the Readunatio Animae," Harry said without preamble, later that morning, as he and Hermione strode into the Longbottoms' hospital room. "Small glass container with a stopper, used in ancient rituals, right?" Frank and Alice exchanged glances with each other and nodded. "It was stolen from the Athens Wizarding Museum a couple of days ago."
"Do you think it was Lestrange?" Frank asked in a voice that was actually commendably calm.
"I have no reason to think it would be anyone else," Harry said, as he and Mr. Longbottom seemed to communicate briefly without speaking.
"What about the knife?" Hermione asked, straining to be calm. They sat in two chairs near the bedside, and her fingers threaded tightly through his. "If we got one - a certain kind, with runes on it, maybe…" Mr. Longbottom shook his head.
"Horcruxes have to be extracted by the same knife that installed them," he said. "And I still don't know what that would do to Harry…a human being used as a horcrux," he shook his head, as if he still had trouble believing the very idea.
"The same knife…" Hermione's voice trailed off in disbelief. "How on earth would we be able to come up with the same knife that Voldemort used seventeen years ago?" She looked at him sorrowfully. "Harry…"
"Mr. Longbottom," Harry asked, giving Hermione a compassionate glance. "If the Death Eaters intend to come after me and retrieve the horcrux, what would they do?"
"They would channel a reversal spell through the silver knife…and it would have to be the same one… and then remove the soul fragment into the amphora - the Readunatio Animae."
"What happens next?" Harry asked, curiously, but Mr. Longbottom shook his head. His right hand shivered on the bedsheet.
"I don't know, Harry. I'm not even sure if anything like that has ever been done before. Readunatio means `reunion', but in this instance, the amphora is actually a repository. I think it stores - and maybe magically strengthens - the soul fragment, until a body is found to be reanimated and inhabited." Harry nodded in resignation. "I wish there was something more that I - "
"You've done more than could be expected, Mr. Longbottom, and I thank you for it," Harry said graciously, as he traced his thumb over Hermione's invisible wedding and engagement rings. They had both agreed not to say anything to anyone…until after the horcrux issue had been settled, if there was an `after'.
Another wave of rage swept through him, and he had the sudden desire to fling Hermione's hand from him, as if he'd touched something filthy. It's the horcrux, it's the horcrux, he repeated to himself, clamping his hand more tightly around Hermione's. As he fought with it, he felt a sharp, shooting pain reverberate through his scar. He nearly toppled out of the chair, and the ungainly movement he used to stop his fall sent a wrenching pain through his knee.
"Harry, are you all right?" came Hermione's concerned voice.
"I'm fine," Harry said in a wheezy kind of gasp. "It's just him again." He was rubbing his scar lightly with his fingertips, as it subsided into a prickle. As he stood, Hermione noticed that he was favoring his right knee even more than usual.
"Your knee," was all she said.
"I twisted it or something. It'll be okay," he replied, as his voice and breathing returned to normal.
"Might I see your scar, Harry?" Alice asked tentatively. Harry started; they had almost forgotten that the Longbottoms were there. He hobbled over to her bedside, and she tenderly brushed his bangs out of the way, to get a better look at that which marred his forehead. Harry closed his eyes at her touch, and thought how lucky Neville was to get them back.
"What are you thinking, Alice?" Frank asked, and Harry opened his eyes to see Neville's mum staring into middle distance, thoughtfully.
"If Voldemort was preparing to form a horcrux with your death, but then killed Lily first…" she trailed off, clearly trying to formulate her thoughts into words. "You fought off the killing curse, and it left that scar?" Harry shrugged a little.
"That's what everyone thinks," he said noncommittally.
"And it - your scar - it reacted to the presence of Voldemort?"
"Yes, I could always tell when he was near. Sometimes I could feel it when he was very angry or very happy. Had nightmares where I was seeing things through his eyes. Dumbledore always thought that my scar was a link between us." Alice Longbottom nodded slowly.
"I think your scar is the horcrux," she said. "It would explain why you could always tell when he was near, because it was one soul fragment calling out to another." Harry nodded. The theory made sense.
"Yes," Frank nodded in a musing tone. "The horcrux is actually contained within your scar... not just bouncing around inside your head, or some such. That may be why you do not feel his presence all the time."
"If we had that knife…" Harry began, thinking of being able to physically remove his scar.
"But we don't," Hermione said hastily, forestalling whatever he'd been about to say. Like anything he was thinking is worse than his dying, Hermione! she mocked herself. Harry subsided, addressing the Longbottoms, saying only,
"Thank you again for all your help."
He and Hermione rose together, and bade the Longbottoms goodbye. When they were out in the corridor again, Hermione said, "What are you going to do?"
"What else is there to do, but what we discussed yesterday, Hermione?" Harry said tenderly.
"When are you leaving?" Hermione asked, as calmly as if Harry were headed on a business trip, but Harry could see the struggle for control highlighted in her dark eyes.
"This afternoon, I guess," Harry shrugged. "I'd like to say goodbye to Ron…I - " he stopped awkwardly. Everything sounded so odd, so surreal. Goodbye? To Ron? To Hermione? Forever? He couldn't process it. He kept thinking that someone would swoop in to save the day, but - who saves the savior? he thought sardonically.
"I was going to stop by work." Hermione said softly, and Harry didn't even bother pointing out that it was a weekend. "I left some notes there that I'd like to look at. But I'll - I won't stay long. Will you wait for me?"
"I won't be able to wait long." Regret was nearly tangible in his voice, and she suddenly threw her arms around him, nearly throttling him in a tight embrace. The words she was muttering were lost in his shoulder. "I know, love, I know," he soothed, as if he'd understood her, or as if he knew what she was saying, even without the words.
"I'll see you later then," she tried to say casually, not quite succeeding. Harry nodded gravely.
"Hermione!" he called out quickly, as she turned to go. She pivoted back toward him, a questioning look on her face. "Do you really - do you think you'll get- ?" he gestured awkwardly toward her abdomen. She looked down, then up at him, with comprehension in her eyes, and smiled sadly.
"There's no way to know yet."
"I'm going to pretend you are," Harry said, seeming suddenly far away. "Might make it easier - "
"Stop it, Harry Potter!" Hermione said, her voice trembling. "You're not making it easier on me."
Harry was instantly at her side, pulling her into his arms, and apologizing into her hair. I'm so sorry, you don't deserve this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. She pulled away from him and looked at him, really looked at him. He seemed tired…and old somehow. He never really had regained the healthy look that he'd had prior to the Battle with Voldemort, and he was still too thin.
"I wouldn't trade this," she said, in a low, heartfelt whisper, "for a lifetime of happiness with anyone else." She saw a muscle jump in his jaw, as he clenched his teeth together to bite back the emotion.
"Be careful, okay? Can you be back in an hour, two at the most?" he asked her, looking into her eyes intently.
"The Ravenclaw Foundation has a lot of security. I'll be okay. I'll Apparate straight there, and straight home." Her voice wavered, and she smiled crookedly at the last word, repeated it wistfully. "Home."
Hand in hand, they walked down to the lobby, where they could Apparate to their respective locations.
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Harry appeared in his flat with a small pop, and looked around curiously. "Hermione?" he called out. He had just returned from an impromptu visit at Ron's field - where the Cannons had welcomed him with open arms, much to Ron's chagrin - and his best mate was supposed to be right behind him, Apparating back as soon as he stowed his Quidditch gear.
There was no sound from the flat, but something didn't feel right. Harry felt the presence of someone else nearby. Almost silently, he withdrew his wand.
"Harry," came a voice, and Harry jumped violently, whirling around with his wand at the ready. He felt his heart rate slow, when he saw the face of his father's old friend, Remus Lupin, entering the room from the kitchen.
"Remus, you scared me to death. Nearly got yourself hexed." Harry said, feeling annoyed with himself for succumbing to panic. Remus did not smile back. "You've caught me a bad time, I'm afraid," Harry continued, nearly rambling. "As soon as Ron and Hermione get here, I'm - well, I'm going. There's nothing else for it. The Death Eaters are trying to get the horcrux, and we all know that can't happen. I -" he stumbled to a stop, as he realized that Remus had not yet responded to anything he'd said. The older man's face had a grayish cast to it. "Remus, what the hell's the matter?"
"I've just come from the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables have finished looking at the papers that Hermione gave me." Harry read Remus' grim face.
"They didn't find anything either?" Harry guessed, basing his deduction on the demeanor of his old professor.
"No, actually they did find something," Remus said. "Traces of a locator charm. It apparently was activated quite recently. The main brunt of the charm rests with the portfolio, I'd wager, but traces of it showed up on these papers." Harry looked at Remus with panic in his dilated eyes.
"A locator charm? But who would activate it? And how would they know to activate it?" He thought aloud. "Bellatrix! Bellatrix Lestrange."
"How would she know to activate the locator charm?" Remus asked.
"She - she went to look for information on horcruxes…the same place we did. Or - or that rat bastard Malfoy has sold us out." Harry felt the anger began to well up within him like the rise of a white-hot flame.
"Draco Malfoy could be in very grave danger…if, indeed, he is still alive," Remus said mildly. Harry was staring wildly around the room, as if he didn't know which direction to move in first.
"Harry?" Remus said sharply, recalling Harry's focus to him. "Where would the locator charm lead them?" Harry's eyes went automatically to the table where the portfolio had rested last night, but the table was empty…as he'd known it would be. He looked up at Remus, his eyes wide with fear and panic, and his face deathly pale. "Harry," Remus said again clearly, afraid that Harry was going to be overcome. "Who has the portfolio?"
"Hermione." Nausea rose up inside of him, and he had to fight back the urge to vomit right there in the living room. Hermione. What wouldn't they do to her? Harry Potter's sidekick, best friend, lover - he silently blessed the mutual decision to reveal their marriage to no one save Ron - and a Muggle born to boot. The Death Eaters will have a field day…he thought, and had to grab at the back of the sofa for support.
There was a light crack behind them, and Harry spun, hoping against hope that it was Hermione. His face fell when he saw Ron.
"Don't look so thrilled to see me," Ron cracked, trying to smile, but his face was pale.
"Ron, what's wrong?" Harry asked, unsure if he could handle any more bad news.
"The blokes on the team heard it on the wireless in the locker room," Ron began. "The Ravenclaw Foundation - it's been attacked." Harry's knuckles whitened around the handle of his cane, as he struggled to stay upright.
"She - she went - the Death Eaters - had a locator charm…Hermione!" he said incoherently. He exchanged glances with Ron, who nodded at him seriously.
"Remus," Harry said quickly. "Check on Malfoy…he - he did help us…"
Remus nodded grimly. Without another word, Harry and Ron both Apparated away.
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The Ravenclaw Foundation was in an uproar. The Aurors had set up a barricade, behind which throngs of curious people waited and watched. Along another arm of the barricade, reporters flashed cameras and shouted questions at the harried officers, who, for the most part, ignored them.
"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath, when he appeared and saw the maelstrom. He clutched at Ron's sleeve, pulling him around the far side of the barrier.
"Here now!" An Auror protested. "You can't come in here, sonny." Harry tilted his head back to look up at the taller man, so that his scar was clearly visible.
"One of my friends was inside. I need to see if she's all right, please." Harry's voice suggested that this was anything but a polite request.
"Mr. Potter," the Auror's tone became deferential, but Harry cringed as his name traveled clearly across the small space to the hordes of people waiting beyond the tape. He heard the whispers and the excited murmurs escalate, and the flashes of the cameras began anew. "Of course, right this way." He gestured toward the bank of glass doors, allowing them to pass.
The front lobby of the Ravenclaw Foundation was a disaster. Giant blackened holes marred the walls, where hexes had hit. The huge oil portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw had been scarred by a misfired curse, and hung on the wall by only one corner, its sticking charm obviously damaged. Papers from the reception desk littered the floor, strewn about haphazardly, fluttering in the draft every time the front doors opened. Clusters of people stood about, talking nervously to each other, or giving testimony to Aurors.
Harry stood motionless in the lobby, his insides roiling, his mind shrieking at him to do something! Already his presence had not gone unnoticed, as the murmurs from outside began to ripple through this place as well.
You know they're not going to kill her…not until they have you, an insidious voice whispered inside of him. But who knows what sport they'll have with her in the meantime. If you had gone through with it already, this would not have happened.
Guilt assailed him, even as he argued back, You don't know that. They could have come after her anyway, after my friends…as revenge. It was a weak argument, and Harry knew it. My fault, it's all my fault. He thought of her in bed with him that morning - only this morning! - twined around him…smiling…
"Harry?" Ron asked, nudging him lightly in the arm. Harry seemed to suddenly snap out of it, looking at Ron with a startled gaze.
"The longer we take, the longer they're tormenting her," he said woodenly, as if Ron had been the one dallying. He had evidently come to some sort of decision, and strode across the wide, marbled lobby, where an officious looking woman was speaking with three Aurors.
"Excuse me," Harry said. "Can you tell me which departments were attacked?" Ron was surprised at how pleasant and normal Harry sounded.
"Young man, I am quite busy at the moment," the officious looking woman said in a haughty voice, at the same time as one of the Aurors said,
"How'd you two get in here?"
"Perhaps you didn't catch my name," Harry said with false politeness. "I'm Harry Potter. My friend Hermione Granger - perhaps you've heard of her as well; she helped me battle Voldemort - she works here. I have reason to believe that Death Eaters are looking for me, and I need to know which departments were attacked!"
The woman and the Aurors all flinched, as Harry's voice rang out across the lobby on the last phrase. Ron would have grinned if the situation hadn't been so serious.
"Only one department was attacked, the Potions Development Department - that is Miss Granger's department, I believe." The woman said sullenly.
"Where is it?" He asked urgently. She hesitated, an automatic reminder that the Ravenclaw Foundation's research was classified obviously trembling on her lips. "Where is it?" Harry repeated, his hand straying down toward his wand.
"Third floor, left hand corridor," she said suddenly, as if the words had burst out of her against her will. Ron looked at Harry curiously.
"Wandless magic again?" he asked, as they made their way toward the bank of lifts at the rear of the lobby.
"I don't like doing that," he said shortly. "Feels like - like I'm assaulting somebody."
"It's for Hermione. You could have bloody well assaulted that nasty woman, and I'd have backed you up." Harry glanced up at Ron, and smiled a little, but seemed to concentrate solely on walking for the time being. His breath was coming in harsh, labored gasps. "What the hell happened to you?" Ron asked, as they entered the lift and began their trek to the third floor.
"I twisted my knee this morning…at St. Mungo's. I think it's swelling, because it's really started to hurt."
"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Ron asked. "If the Death Eaters…"
"They're long gone. And they have Hermione." Husband, she had called him this morning, my husband. She seemed to relish the way it sounded to her ears, the way it felt on her lips and tongue. And the whole time they were together that morning, a sadness had lurked behind her eyes, that nothing they did could fully drive away. "This was a mistake," he muttered.
Ron paused in the midst of exiting the lift. "Do you want to go back down?" he asked.
"No, I need to see what they saw. I need to see where she was when they came," Harry said. "I wasn't talking about this trip, I was talking about me and Hermione. If we hadn't been together, none of this would have happened. I would have already - already…"
"She would have still been here, looking for some way to save you," Ron argued, as they entered the department.
It was filled with wide cubicles, each of which was outfitted with the makings of a potions lab that Snape would have turned green over. There were scorch marks on the walls here too, and here and there, a chair was overturned, probably in the course of the person's flight to safety. Harry moved through the aisles, limping as quickly as his own body would let him, his eyes roving over the names attached to each cubicle wall.
"Here it is!" Ron called out, waving him over to a partition with a placard sitting atop it: H. Granger. Her cubicle was nearly pristine; only two of her closest friends could have pinpointed ways in which it was awry. Two of the drawers in her desk were slightly ajar, and a couple of the vials of potion ingredients were knocked out of their straight lines. Some of her notes had fallen to the floor, where they had scattered, one page being under the chair in the cubicle across the way. Ron retrieved these, scanning them quickly.
"These aren't about the horcruxes. Just some work she was doing - on some potion." Ron said, placing them back on her desk.
Harry sat in her chair, moving his hands over her equipment, thinking of how briskly and efficiently she would have moved and mixed and jotted notes. Her desk was arranged for optimum productivity…classic Hermione.
"She must not have been here for very long," he observed, "before they came. It must have taken them some time to localize the charm." His eye fell on a nicely framed photograph of him, Hermione, and Ron, smiling and waving in the corner of her desk, and he appeared lost in thought.
"Ron!" he hollered so suddenly that he startled his best friend. "Where - those notes that you had…where are they?"
"Right there," Ron said, indicating a stack of papers to one side of the desk. "But they're not - "
"A potion she was working on… a potion!" He looked intently at Ron, who was not following his train of thought. "Do you think it's a coincidence that the Longbottoms woke up just a few months after Hermione started working here? Remus said that the Ravenclaw Foundation developed the potion that - that cured them." He scanned down the pages of notes. "This ingredient is used to counter memory charms, and this can help revive someone who's unconscious - this… and this… She must have been on the team that developed it…" His speech dwindled away to nothing, as he continued reading. At the bottom was a hasty scrawl that caused him to freeze, sitting up straight and nearly crumpling the notes in his suddenly clenched fist. Test subjects AL and FL, StM.
"Bloody hell, Harry…" Ron said, reading over his shoulder, and seeing what Harry was indicating. "If Bellatrix saw that…"
"Ron, go!" Harry said suddenly. "Find Neville. You've got to get down to St. Mungo's. You know - you know she'll send someone there, to finish them off. You know she will." Ron nodded, knowing that Bellatrix would not allow them to live long enough to tell anyone else what they knew, as well as to exact revenge for their not telling her what she wanted to know all those years ago.
"But - but Harry…what about you?"
"I'm going after Hermione," he said in a grim voice.
"But you - you can't! That's what they want you to do. You'll be walking right into their hands."
"What would you have me do, Ron?" Harry's speech was harsh with fatigue and worry. "If I don't show up, they'll - they'll kill her."
"Send someone else," Ron said urgently. "Let me go and get her." Harry appeared to mull this over for a moment, knowing the danger inherent in what he proposed to do, by going himself. If he failed…But I won't fail, he thought with determination.
"Ron," Harry said slowly. "She's my wife!" All his fear, frustration, love, and despair came out in his voice, in that one word. He met his best mate's eyes slowly. Ron nodded slowly.
"I understand," he replied in a hoarse voice. "I wouldn't want anyone else to go after her either. But, please…let me go with you."
"There's no one else to send to St. Mungo's," Harry said, shaking his head. "You've got to go…the Longbottoms - Neville - they deserve better than this."
"But the Order…" Ron tried feebly.
"If the Death Eaters go through St. Mungo's the way they came through here, the Order won't be able to do anything. Go! It may already…" be too late. He did not finish his sentence.
Ron turned back toward him a final time. "You're - you're absolutely sure about this?"
"I'm going to get Hermione," Harry stated again.
"Harry, if you fail -"
"I know." Harry said. Their eyes met again, a long soul-searching look, where each silently thanked the other for the years of friendship and support
"How will you find her?" Ron asked.
"I know where they are," Harry said, certainty in his voice. "Death Eaters are many things, but imaginative is not one of them."
"Cedric?" Ron said only. Harry nodded once.
"Cedric. Now, go!"
Harry did not hear the arrival of the lift, and assumed that Ron had sprinted down the three flights of stairs, to be more quickly past the anti-Apparation wards. He sat at Hermione's desk a moment longer, before placing both hands flat on the desk to rise. He stopped mid-motion, and looked more closely at the picture of the three of them.
Hermione was now blowing kisses in his direction, and Ron and Harry were pointing over their shoulders, in an urgent way. It looked for all the world like they were…trying to tell him something.
"She's bloody well charmed the photo!" Harry murmured to himself, admiration evident in his voice. He moved the photo out of its corner, and looked behind it. There was a tiny parcel there, almost out of sight, even with the photograph removed. A label was on it….For H. when he needs it. Love W. The handwriting was sloppy and hasty. The initials confused him for a moment, but then he realized H…W…husband…wife. He placed both hands over his mouth and nose for a moment, closing his eyes; he would not cry here at her desk.
He unwrapped the brown paper, and found a small vial of a sickly green potion. His hand trembled as his fingers clumsily closed around the small container. She'd known! Bloody hell, she'd known! Somehow she became aware of the fight going on, and knew that the Death Eaters were coming, and for whom they were coming. Knowing that she would not be able to Apparate away, she had managed to keep her head, pour up this potion, hide it, write the note, and charm the picture…all while knowing that they were coming …for her.
Touché, Hermione, he thought, a grim smile playing over his features, but I'm not drinking this…not yet. Would to God that we all won't regret this later.
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Hermione willed away the wave of dizziness that swept over her, as blood from a laceration trickled from her scalp down near the corner of her eye. Her features were pale and grimy, but had lost none of their determination over the hour that she'd been in captivity.
"He's not coming!" she said confidently. "He knows what you're planning, and he won't come."
Bellatrix Lestrange's perfect red lips twisted upward in the approximation of a smile. Her inky hair was twisted up in an elegant knot, and she managed to look effortlessly beautiful, as if she were on her way to a cocktail party, rather than some kind of hideous ceremony. "Oh, he'll come, Miss Granger. There's no doubt in my mind that he'll come for you."
"He won't risk it," she said crisply, even while her heart was yearning for him to come rescue her. She did not want to die yet, although she supposed that it might be preferable to living without Harry.
Bellatrix twirled Hermione's wand around in her fingers, idly. Other masked Death Eaters milled around, occasionally acknowledging her existence with a rude or off-color comment. She tried to subtly move against the magical restraints that bound her to the gravestone, but each time she came into contact wit them, they sent shooting pains up her arms and legs.
"He should be here soon, I think," Bellatrix suggested lazily, as if expecting a late arrival to a party. Hermione lifted her chin, and shook her head haughtily, smiling as imperiously as Narcissa Malfoy could. Bellatrix moved closer and backhanded her, the metal setting of her large ring, leaving a shallow slash across Hermione's cheek. Her ears rang from the force of the blow. "I would think," the Death Eater said bitingly, "that you would not be so eager for him to fail to arrive, considering what will happen to you, if he does not come."
"I don't care about me," Hermione said softly. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.
"Of course you don't," she said sarcastically. "You people are all so damned noble. Which is, of course, what I'm counting on….and which is, of course, why he'll come."
"He won't!" Hermione insisted, as the magical restraints shocked her again. "He knows that if - " She clamped her mouth closed, unsure as to how much Bellatrix actually knew, and how much she was just guessing at.
Bellatrix laughed softly. It was not pleasant. "Whatever secrets you think you're hiding from me…well, if they're of no consequence, you may keep them, by my choice. If they're important…" here she leaned down close to Hermione, gripping the girl's lower jaw in one elegant, thin hand, and forced her head back, hitting it painfully on the stone she leaned against. "Then I'll rip them from your pretty little mind."
"Like you did the Longbottoms?" Hermione asked coolly, trying not to wince from the pain of the blow. She was sure her head was bleeding profusely. "Tortured them into insanity, didn't you? And you still got nothing for it!" Bellatrix hit her again, and this time, she tasted metal in her mouth. She spat blood at the other woman's feet, contempt stamped clearly on her face.
"I know all about the Longbottoms and their `miraculous' recovery," Lestrange said in a quiet, dangerous voice. "As well as who orchestrated it." She raked Hermione with a sardonic glance, arching one eyebrow. "Do not worry; someone has been dispatched to take care of it."
Hermione began to struggle violently against the restraints, heedless of the pain or the livid weals that began to rise on her wrists and ankles. Bellatrix laughed again, throwing back her head. Furious tears stung Hermione's eyes, and she blinked them back desperately, not wanting them to see her cry.
Neville! Frank! Alice! she thought desperately. This poor family who's been through so much for the Light, to have happiness torn from them just because - just because Bellatrix Lestrange thinks they should die! It isn't right! Harry!
And suddenly, as if in answer to her internal plea, a Death Eater fell with a muffled cry, just at the edge of her vision. Other masked figures looked sharply in that direction, and most drew their wands. Hermione felt a lump well up in her throat; she was helpless, wandless, able to do nothing….and what he was risking to save her life….
A flash of light. Another Death Eater crumpled soundlessly to the ground. Bellatrix moved over towards them, hissing instructions. Hermione could not make them out, but saw Bellatrix flinging her arms out, directing them to move to the sides and outflank the attacker.
Harry, oh God, oh God, Harry! Hermione thought. How could even he stand against so many Death Eaters? Maybe there are other people with him…Ron, Remus, Neville…She craned her neck, trying to see what was going on, trying to get a glimpse of the beloved person that the Death Eaters were searching so desperately for.
Suddenly, a figure in black loomed in front of her. Bellatrix Lestrange stood over her with a malicious smile on her lovely face. "Can't have you shouting out any kind of warning." Hermione stared at her, aghast. She hadn't even thought of shouting anything at all. He doesn't need to be here. It's too dangerous. She was loath to do anything that might attract Harry to that which awaited him.
And then, with no further warning, Bellatrix grabbed Hermione's lower jaw again, and drove her head back into the gravestone to which she was tied. A breathy sort of gasp escaped her lips as the grit from the tombstone ground painfully into her still oozing wound. She bit back a wave of nausea, and desperately tried to keep her eyes open. Then, in a throbbing, echoing voice that sounded quite far away, she heard Bellatrix say,
"Stupefy."
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Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks arrived with minimal sound at the front gate of Malfoy Manor. Anti-Apparation wards kept them from arriving any closer to their goal, but oddly enough, the fancily wrought front gate, complete with a swirling letter "M", hung ajar, creaking softly and eerily in the light breeze. The pristine grounds that led up to the beautifully kept mansion on the hill looked typical of any family of the upper echelon, but unlit windows gaped out of the manor like empty eye sockets. The hair on the back of Remus's neck prickled uncomfortably.
"Maybe they've skipped out?" Tonks suggested.
"No," Remus shook his head, suddenly quite sure. "Someone is in there. Are the reinforcements around back - just in case?" He whispered to his wife. Tonks cocked her head to one side and appeared to be listening to something. After a moment, she nodded, and they slipped through the gate, treading quietly over the lawn to the wide front door.
The ornate knocker thudded loudly on the door, and seemed to echo all over the too-quiet countryside. Lupin and Tonks exchanged glances, and inched hands closer to their wands.
Narcissa Malfoy herself answered the door, and they could see over her shoulder that the foyer was bathed in almost total darkness. It looked like she had not a single lamp lit in the house. Her face was tired and sorrowful, her beauty now etched into her face like the fine lines in delicate fabric that has been crumpled and tossed aside.
"What do you want, wolf?" she asked abruptly, though not really rudely. It was as if they were new arrivals in a long line of unwelcome visitors that she had already wearied of receiving.
"Your sister's already been here, hasn't she?" Remus said. It was not really a question. "What was she looking for?"
"Surely you must know that already, or you wouldn't be here," Narcissa said, with a trace of her old hauteur.
"Where is your son?" A tremor ran through Narcissa's face, like ripples over the surface of water, but she quickly grasped at her fleeing composure and her features were still again.
"He's upstairs," she said, in an off-hand tone, but there was a quiet despair in her voice.
"What has she done to him?" Remus' voice was even and low. The same shudder trembled through Narcissa's frame.
"He is a traitor," she said only, ignoring his question.
"He's your son!" Tonks spoke up, passionate disbelief vibrating through her voice.
"I told him to tell her the truth. I begged him to." Narcissa's eyes stared through them, unseeing. "I begged her to stop. He's your nephew…he's family. Bella, please!" She was parroting the words back to them, with wide, staring eyes, almost as if she was seeing her sister in front of her, instead of the two who were actually there.
"Tell me what happened," Remus' voice was a quiet command, and he and Tonks stepped into the house. The darkness - darkness born of despair and grief and pain - seemed to close around them like a cloak…or a shroud.
"Bella came in, with a couple of her - a couple of associates," Narcissa said, in the same toneless voice, as she led them up the wide, curving staircase, one hand trailing elegantly behind her on the handrail. "She was looking for some of Lucius's old papers… I knew what she was planning, and I knew what she needed. But, they weren't there - where Lucius had hidden them." She turned at the top of the stairs, and looked at them, her eyes and mouth suddenly forming a sad caricature of surprise. "She thought I had taken them. She began to make threats, say vile things…about me, her own sister!" Remus felt Tonks make a restless, involuntary movement behind him. Neither Narcissa nor Bellatrix had ever shown such familial consideration to their other sister.
"She cursed me…the Cruciatus curse…she screamed at me to tell her where I'd hidden the papers. I told her I didn't know what happened to them, but there was a locator charm imbedded in them…she could activate it."
She drifted down a long, impeccably decorated corridor, also in darkness. Tonks thought that she seemed to skim along gracefully, barely touching the floor. Her voice wafted behind her, carrying back to them clearly in the dark.
"Draco came running in, when he heard me scream. He - the look on his face, when he saw Bella and me…it was like - it was like he'd been betrayed. Bella was accusing me - when she saw where the locator charm showed them - she thought I'd sold them out, I'd betrayed them. I thought she was going to kill me." Another spasm trembled through her frame, as she paused at a closed door, her fingers resting lightly on the door handle. She had not raised her voice over that robotic monotone, a voice of someone who has shut herself away, rendered herself inaccessible to further emotional overload.
"Draco put himself in between Bella and myself. He told Bella that she had it all wrong - that he had been the one to steal the papers on horcruxes. I told Draco not to lie for me, and he - he looked me in the face, and told me he wasn't lying. He had given the papers to the Ministry for examination." Remus and Tonks exchanged glances, wondering at this further lie on Draco's part, surprised that he had not immediately incriminated Harry or Hermione.
"Bella said that he was lying. That he had given the papers to Harry Potter. Draco said that it wasn't true, but she didn't believe him. She - she used Crucio on him…over and over again…I - I've never seen her so angry. I - I put him in his bedroom…I thought that would be more comfortable for him, don't you think so?" She smiled a little, as she asked anxiously for their opinion. Tonks' face was stamped with sympathy, and she laid one hand gently on her aunt's shoulder.
"Is he awake?" she asked softly.
"He hasn't awakened yet. And he won't be the same, even if he does wake up, will he? It's what Bella did to those - those wretched blood traitors - what were their names?" Narcissa opened the door then, proceeding forward as if she had not really expected or required an answer from them.
One lamp was lit in the room, just next to the bed. It was green-shaded, and the glow it cast was a sickly and eerie one, neither illuminating nor comforting. Draco Malfoy was lying the bed, only the rise and fall of his chest betraying signs of life. His hands were even folded over his breast, as if his mother had laid him out for a viewing. Remus felt his gorge rise at the macabre scene.
"Mrs. Malfoy," he began, with difficulty. "He needs to be at St. Mungo's."
"They can't help us," Narcissa said, in a sing-song tone. "Nobody can help us now." She was flexing and unflexing her fingers, as she swayed from side to side. The green lamp threw her shadow up onto the wall, distorted and grotesque. "They're bringing him back, you know. He's coming back, and everything will be lost."
"Mrs. Malfoy - " Remus said again, urgency straining his voice. "Do you - ?"
"It's all over. My husband is a failure, my son is a traitor…everything we've worked so hard for is gone." She said this with a look of faint wonder on her face, as she stared at a fixed point somewhere over Tonks' shoulder.
The Auror stepped over to her, and looked straight into Narcissa's face, placing one hand on each of her shoulders. "Aunt Cissa…we're going to take Draco to the hospital. They'll be able to help him." She was enunciating the words clearly, as if to communicate to a person who was unfamiliar with the language being spoken. "Do you know where Aunt Bellatrix is?"
Narcissa's eyes remained wide and unfocused. "Where he rose before, he'll rise again."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry pressed his back to a wide tree arching over a collection of graves, and tried to quiet his breathing. He'd felled two, but there were at least six or eight more, and he knew he wouldn't be able to take on all of them. Not only that, but if the skirmish began to go badly, they could decide to cut their losses and kill Hermione. There were shouts, uncomfortably close, and every now and then he heard a random curse fly by. He could only hope that they'd hit some of their own. He fingered the vial of potion in the pocket of his jacket. He would still have that ace to play, at least, if he was caught.
He threw a wandless spell out, bending it with the force of his will, making it turn at right angles around a tree to look like it had originated from somewhere else entirely. The very effort involved in such complex magic winded him, and he slumped against the tree that served as his hiding place, listening in satisfaction as the shouts dwindled to another part of the graveyard. He risked a glance. There, near the Riddle family graves, was Hermione, tied to a tombstone, her legs bent underneath her in what looked like an uncomfortable angle. Bellatrix Lestrange stood nearby, Hermione's wand in hand. On a slab of stone - Harry could only guess that one of them had toppled a headstone, so that it lay face down - not too far away from where she stood, was a crystal decanter, colored a translucent red. It was beautiful, alluring, and part of him wanted desperately to walk to it and close his fingers around the smooth neck of it. A throb of pain burst through his scar, and he had to grit his teeth to stifle his cry.
He watched, with mounting anger and furious helplessness, as Bellatrix forced Hermione's head back against the stone. He heard the gasp of pain and protest that she tried to keep back. His fingers danced toward his wand. Dammit, Hermione, what am I going to do?
And then he saw his chance. Bellatrix Stupefied Hermione, and then, believing her Death Eaters to be cornering the quarry they sought in another portion of the cemetery, turned her attention more fully to the makeshift table, on which the Readunatio Animae rested.
He moved slowly and silently, ducking behind gravestones, making a wide circle so that he was behind the Riddle monument, almost directly in line with Bellatrix and Hermione. Once there, he risked his energy again to bend another spell, drawing the Death Eaters further away.
He took a moment to recover from the feat, and then sprang out from behind the large memorial, sending a low Stupefy that hit Bellatrix right between the shoulder blades. She dropped without a sound.
"Enervate," he cast at Hermione, hurrying to Bellatrix's side to disarm her.
"Harry," she blinked at him slowly, her eyes widening with alarm, as she recalled what was going on. "Harry, what are you doing here? If they - " Her voice cut off suddenly, and Harry heard a simpering, lisping voice say,
"Expelliarmus!" Harry's wand flew out of his hand, and he whirled to see the sad excuse for a man that his father had once called friend. He was holding his wand to Hermione's neck, her head forced backwards by his hold on her hair.
"Pettigrew!" Harry spat, feeling annoyed and terrified that the rodent had gotten the drop on him. He had probably remained in his Animagus form, waiting in case such a situation arose.
"One wrong move, Harry, one wandless hex, and she dies! Oh yes, I know of your little lessons with Moony." Harry blanched, but struggled to retain his composure. He tried not to look to his right…the spot where Cedric had died. Had it all come full circle to lead them back to this place?
"You've lost the right to call him that name."
"We'll see who has power over whom when the Dark Lord returns," Pettigrew sneered.
"I won't let that happen," Harry said solemnly, and Pettigrew laughed, a horrid, wheezy, choking laugh.
"My dear boy," he said, through mirthless chuckles, "you can do nothing to stop it!" Even as Harry tried to Apparate - and failed - Pettigrew sent large coils of heavy rope streaming from his wand, wrapping themselves sinuously around him. He struggled against his bonds, as Pettigrew Enervated Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her treacherous face was gleeful, as she saw who stood before her. The other Death Eaters gathered around, and Harry began to feel true fear. He had misjudged badly; he had put Hermione's life over the lives of everyone else, and it was they who would pay the penalty for his error.
Hermione was struggling against Pettigrew's grimy grasp, tears beginning to stream down her face, mingling with the blood and dirt. "Harry!" She cried, kicking at the restraints until her ankles began to bleed. "Harry!"
"Hello little Harry!" Bellatrix said in the sing-song, babyish tone that she used to bait him. "It's been quite a while since we've seen him, but he does not look so happy to see us! And once again, he is going to be the tool that brings our Lord back to us!"
Harry glared at her, with fire in his eyes and his jaw mutinously set. His hand struggled in the tight bonds, his fingers ticking the edge of his pocket; he could feel the seam, but could not reach inside.
"What is little Harry planning? Has he got some elaborate scheme? No, Bellatrix thinks he's come all alone!" She cocked her head to one side, childishly, her eyes wide. Rage thrummed through Harry like fuel through an engine, and he felt as if it would physically burst through his very flesh. "Foolish baby boy is all alone, and now there's no one to save the Boy. Who. Lived." She bit off the last three words, and smiled radiantly.
Harry strained again for his pocket. He felt the rope burn against his skin, as he twisted his arm. Bellatrix interpreted his struggles, as impotent desire to be free, and mocked him. The other Death Eaters laughed. Hermione watched, powerless, helpless, feeling as if her heart was shattering into thousands of shards, even as it beat within her chest, while Harry struggled for the concentration needed to perform a wandless spell.
Bellatrix raised her wand with incredible speed, and hatred flashed in her dark eyes. "Reducto!" she enunciated with clear and malicious intent, aiming the destructive spell at Harry's right leg, knowing exactly where to hit him. "That's for having the temerity to kill the Dark Lord," she spoke haughtily over Harry's hoarse, breathless scream. Hermione heard her own cry blend with Harry's and echo in her ears. His leg had buckled beneath him, but he grabbed at the edge of a tombstone, refusing to let himself fall in front of Lestrange.
With one swish of her wand, she had him lying on the fallen gravestone, near the Repository of Souls, which she took in her hand, caressing it softly.
"Aw, isn't the little boy brave? We'll let him in on the best part of the plan!" Bellatrix continued, still in that bright, chirpy, child-like voice. "We're not going to kill him!"
Harry actually laughed out loud at this, even though his face was pale and clammy, and his eyes dilated with pain. For a moment, Bellatrix's sweet manner faltered.
"Harry doesn't believe us!" She looked around at her masked circle with an expression of injured surprise. "But we're telling the truth. We aren't going to kill him. We aren't even going to use the Readunatio Animae to store the Dark Lord's soul."
Curiosity flickered in Harry's eyes, and Bellatrix saw it. His fingers were still straining toward their goal; they dipped down beneath the edge of his pocket; he could feel the cold rim of the vial. The pain was swelling over him; blackness stained the edges of his vision.
"We're going to use it to draw out his own soul." Harry looked at her blankly, without comprehension, barely hearing Hermione's muted cry of distress to his right. "Once his soul is gone, our Lord Voldemort will be free to take over his body, and rule again."
Fury and terror trembled through Harry, even as he heard a maniacal laugh ringing in his head. His fingers pressed against the glass; he slid it upward slightly, still unable to actually grasp it. So close…he thought desperately, trying to quell the nausea that rose up. He had to get that vial; he would not allow Voldemort to live in his body, to reign in terror over the wizarding world.
Bellatrix pulled out a long, thin silver knife, with runes graven into the handle. She brought it down with a sudden furious motion, piercing the skin of Harry's forehead, and zigzagging it along the path of his scar. Harry's breath hissed through his teeth, as the charmed blade burned like fire. He felt the sticky warm trickle of blood begin to run across his forehead and down the side of his temple.
His eyes sought Hermione's, as Bellatrix held the blade aloft, where it shone in the dim moonlight, except where it was darkened with blood, and began to chant an encantation. He reached for the vial again, and his clumsy fingers knocked it further down in his pocket, out of reach. The pain in his knee was almost too much to bear.
Hermione saw his hand move toward the pocket, even through her blinding tears, and guessed instantly what he held there. She quickly blessed the arrogance of the Death Eaters, who were so sure of their own supremacy that they would not even properly search their victim.
She met Harry's eyes, with every ounce of confidence and love that she could muster. She then closed her eyes, reaching deep down within herself, to the magical reserves that she had rarely called on until today. She focused on how much she loved Harry, called it up, until it was a blinding white light within her. She felt as if it was radiating from her in a visible aura.
She opened her eyes again, looking at Harry's bonds, and thought as fiercely as she knew how, Diffindo!
The rope that bound his hands brushed roughly against Harry's arm, and loosened. Harry looked at Hermione with surprise, as he tried to move his arm slowly toward his pocket. Bellatrix was still chanting, and the Death Eaters seemed focused on the ritual taking place. He slid his arm further toward his side, careful not to dislodge the remainder of the rope that bound him.
Hermione slumped against the stone, astonished at how tired she felt, and amazed at the fact that Harry had cast these more than once during that Battle nearly a year ago. She watched in satisfaction, as Harry's hand slid into his pocket, and closed around the object within it.
Hermione decided to try again, calling up the reserves, in much the same manner as she had a moment ago, and thinking Finite Incantatem. Her magical restraints fell away, and she began to run toward Harry.
She heard Peter Pettigrew's startled yelp of surprise, and felt his arms close around her, before she had covered even half of the distance. She saw Harry flip the stopper off of the vial with one thumb.
Someone in the circle of Death Eaters said, "He's got something in his hand!"
Bellatrix opened her eyes, in mid-chant, and looked down at Harry with wrath.
Hermione fought against Pettigrew, but his filthy, grasping hands bit into her arms, holding her fast.
Harry jerked his entire weight to one side, pulling against the partially severed rope enough, to roll off of the stone. He hit the ground on one hand and both feet, struggling not to shriek in pain, as his knee took further abuse, and holding the vial aloft as to not spill the contents.
In what seemed like slow motion, he straightened. He looked at Hermione, for one shining, frozen moment that seemed to linger into eternity. He swallowed hard, and she knew what he was going to do. He couldn't do anything else.
That's why she'd left him the potion, after all.
She redoubled her struggles against her captor. "I love you, Harry! I love you!" she cried out, with such force that her throat was raw with the effort and emotion. "Drink it! It's okay! It'll be okay!" Tears were pouring down her face, unchecked, as she kicked at Pettigrew, one arm outstretched, reaching for Harry.
Bellatrix snarled, "Someone shut her up!"
Death Eaters were lunging toward him, scrambling for their wands.
He knocked back the contents of the vial.
It had all happened so suddenly that, by the time a Death Eater hit him with a disarming spell, aimed to fling the vial from his hands, the vial was already empty.
His eyes were already glazing over, as he crumpled soundlessly to the ground, his injured leg folding first.
Hermione's gaze remained fixed on the fallen form of her husband, her eyes wide and watchful, paralyzed perhaps by trauma and shock. She did not notice when the sound of multiple cracks indicated a number of Apparations occurring, when Pettigrew released his hold on her to flee, when the Aurors engaged the Death Eaters who had not managed to escape.
No, she could not retain any sensory information, except for that found on his bloodstained, peaceful face, and the empty vial that was a short distance away from his outstretched hand.
A strange, hopeful light flickered in her eyes when red smoke streamed upward from the reopened wound on Harry's forehead. And over the skirmish of the battle, she heard a thin, keening wail that was soon dashed away by the breeze.
Then, and only then, did she allow herself to collapse to her knees by his side, her fingers trailing lightly through his blood-dampened hair.
"You did it, Harry," she whispered softly.
TBC
Wait, wait, wait! No stones or flames please! (Or whatever other weapon you would choose)
I will say only…note the TBC just above, rather than The End. I wrote like a fiend to get this out, and was as excited while writing it, as I hope you've been while reading it. Happy Thanksgiving!
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like!
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