Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART IV: Denouement
Chapter Two: Sundry Consequences
As Ron careened through the front doors of the Ravenclaw Foundation, like a man on a mission, the cameras began to flash again, and he heard the desperate, strained voices of several reporters shout out,
"Mr. Weasley!"
"Mr. Weasley, what were you looking for?"
"Where's Harry Potter?"
He muscled his way past them, giving no sign that he even knew they were there, until he heard a clear, calm voice say, "Ronald." He skidded to an ungainly halt, and turned to see the dirty blond hair of the girl he was dating, just at the edge of the crowd, evidently covering the story for her father.
"Luna," he said, grabbing her arm, and steering her away from the crowd of media. Her eyes searched his face intently, losing their generally vague look.
"Ronald, what's wrong?" Ron shook his head in response.
"I don't have time to explain. I've got to get to St. Mungo's. I've reason to believe that the Death Eaters are after the Longbottoms. I could use any wand I can get." She lifted her chin to look him in the eyes, and her own eyes grew bright. She dropped her notebook and quill, without even realizing that she had done so.
"The Order…" Luna proceeded tentatively.
"Harry thinks the Order could be taken by surprise," Ron replied grimly.
"Where is Harry?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange has Hermione." Luna nodded, as Ron's answer required no further explanation. She knew where Harry was going.
They Apparated to St. Mungo's.
When they arrived at the wizarding hospital, they found people hunched together in anxious groups in the lobby, whispering at each other. Ron found it rather reminiscent of the scene he'd just left.
"Excuse me," he asked, trying to adopt the confident tone that Harry had used at the Ravenclaw Foundation. "What's going on?"
The receptionist leaned over her desk, resting her weight on her elbows. Her dark eyes were shadowed with fear, but managed to look excited at the same time. "The Death Eaters came through here. They just blasted their way through the lobby like a - like a- " she shook her head, at a loss to describe exactly what the Death Eaters' rampage had been like. "I hid under the desk. They hurt a couple of people over there," she pointed to a corner, where some Healers were kneeling over the fallen.
"Where did they go? Do you know what they were after?" Ron asked urgently.
The receptionist shook her head, looking somewhat sorrowful that she would not be asked to tell any more of this thrilling story to this tall young man. Something like awareness dawned in her snapping eyes. "Are you - are you Ron Weasley?" Her face lit up like candle flame.
Behind him, Ron could feel, rather than see, Luna rolling her eyes.
"He's on a mission for Harry Potter," Luna said, leaning around Ron's shoulder and smiling, leaving subtle emphasis on the name. The receptionist's eyes threatened to bug out of her head. "We're quite busy." She steered Ron through the double doors at the back of the lobby, one hung loosely off of its hinges, and it was a fairly safe bet that the attack had proceeded in this direction. The receptionist watched them go, with wide, amazed eyes, and then looked around for someone to whom she could relate that story.
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They took the stairs to the floor where the Longbottoms' were, moving in defensive posture as they had learned in the D.A. Ron could not keep a small smile from straying across his face, as he recalled how much he enjoyed working with Luna. Her blue eyes would become focused and serious, and the change in her expression made her look like a completely different person.
"Ronald," Luna asked, as they reached the floor, and peered cautiously through the small square window in the door leading out of the stairwell. "Shouldn't one of us - well, have gone to the Ministry?"
"If the Death Eaters are here, then the Ministry already knows. They were supposed to have a guard posted on the Longbottoms' room. So was the Order, but I'm not sure it would be enough against an all-out attack."
"I didn't mean about the hospital. I meant about Harry."
"I thought the Ministry were just a bunch of power-hungry megalomaniacs whose chief objective involved exploiting the plight of the common wizard," Ron rattled off in one breath, as he squinted through the window. "I think I see one. He's using the doorway of that hospital room for cover. Oh - and there's another one there - whoa!" He instinctively ducked, and pulled Luna down beside him. Out in the corridor, they could hear muffled shouting.
"I would be willing to overlook how they routinely cover up the truth, if it would help Harry," Luna said seriously, and Ron smiled at her.
"You really are something else, you know that?" he said, with admiration evident in his voice. "You ought to go then. Maybe you can get someone to listen to you. Harry went to Little Hangleton…the graveyard near the Riddle family home."
"I can't leave now!" Luna protested. "We don't know how many are out there." There were more flashes of wandfire, and more shouting. Ron cracked the door, hoping to hear more clearly what was being said. "Ron!" Luna hissed in warning, grabbing at his sleeve, as he pressed his ear to the small opening. The shouts drifted through more clearly, but were blurred by fury and terror in the person's voice.
Ron carefully closed the door. "Wish we had some of Fred and George's ears," he said glumly. "If I just knew that those two were the only ones out there, we could make a run for it, and take `em out."
"Hang on!" Luna said, peering through the window again. "Isn't that - ?" Ron stood up to look before she could finish her sentence, and she pointed to a head, poking out from a corner, nearer to them, that they had not previously seen.
"Bloody hell, that's Shacklebolt," Ron said in amazement. "If they're out here, then…" he trailed off, watching as Shacklebolt signaled to one of the people further down the hall. "Then who's in the Longbottoms' room?"
"The Death Eaters already have them?"
"But what are they doing? Why don't they just kill them and have done with it?" Ron sounded mystified. He appeared to think furiously for a moment, and then turned to Luna with an abrupt motion. "Go on back. Get to the Ministry and tell them about Harry and Hermione. Little Hangleton. I'll try to let Shacklebolt know I'm here. Maybe I can help."
"Be careful, Ronald," Luna said softly, kissing him quickly on the mouth. "It's supposed to be a bad month for people that were born in March…especially if they have older sisters." A smile quirked at the corner of Ron's lips.
"But I don't have any -" he began, but Luna cut him off, with a wise look in her eyes.
"That's what they want you to believe," she said sagely.
"I'll be careful," he promised, amusement glinting in his eyes. Slowly, he opened the door leading into the corridor, as the soft patter of Luna's footfalls died away on the stairs.
Ron crept slowly from the corridor, and when he was still a good distance away hissed, "Kingsley!" He did not want to be hexed point-blank.
The Auror turned, wand at the ready, but visibly relaxed when he saw Ron. "We could use you! Is Harry here too?"
A dark look crossed Ron's face, and he shook his head. "Bellatrix Lestrange took Hermione. Harry went after her." Shacklebolt swore under his breath, and returned his attention to Frank and Alice Longbottom's hospital room door.
"Who's in there?" Ron asked, gesturing toward the room in question. "Death Eaters?" Kingsley shook his head, and might have smiled, if he hadn't looked so frustrated.
"No, it's the son."
"Neville?" Ron asked, in bewildered confusion. "But what's he - ?"
"He was with his parents, when the Death Eaters attacked. I can only assume that he managed to take them all out." Ron arched both brows, impressed. "But he's barricaded himself and his parents in there - even got a shield around the door. The Death Eaters must have been polyjuiced, or dressed up as Healers or something, because now the boy thinks that we're all in on it. Someone's going to get hurt, and we've got to make him believe that we are who we say we are. He's done some pretty impressive magic so far."
Ron snorted and coughed out, "Neville?" Kingsley gave him a dirty look.
"Come on, if you knew Neville like I've known him…you would realize that it is bloody incredible - and a little hilarious - that he defeated Death Eaters all by himself, and is holding off a whole squad of Aurors!"
"It's not a squad…there's just me and the other two," Shacklebolt said, a trifle sulkily, it sounded like to Ron. "We could call for more, but we don't want anyone to get hurt."
"I'll talk to him," Ron said, resolutely. "But you and your team should get back to the Ministry, and get others to help Harry. Everyone's lives depend upon it." Kingsley's eyes narrowed at him.
"What are you talking about?" he asked suspiciously. Quickly and in as few words as possible, Ron explained about the final horcrux, residing within Harry himself. Kingsley's face grew drawn and shadowed. He signaled to the other Aurors, and they crept silently down the hall toward him, but somehow managed to draw another barrage from Neville. One Auror looked pale and shaken, and was muttering vile things under his breath about Neville.
"I sent Luna Lovegood to the Ministry to get help," Ron said, "But I don't know if she'll be able to get anyone to listen to her."
"We'll get to Little Hangleton, as soon as possible," Kingsley said, clapping Ron on the shoulder once. He and the other Aurors slipped through the door without a sound.
Ron slid into a crouch, and moved closer to the room. How close can I get before he sees - ? he was wondering, when a warning spell shot out, narrowly missing the top of his head. He froze. That close.
"Neville!" he called out, feeling somewhat foolish, his voice sounding hoarse in the silent, dim corridor. "Neville, it's Ron Weasley. The Death Eaters are gone. You either got them all, or the others have left. You've been holding off a bunch of Aurors."
"I don't believe you!" came Neville's voice, high and terrified. "It's a trick…just like the one who said he was Mum's healer. That's a mistake he won't make again." Neville obviously meant for his voice to sound triumphant and challenging, but he didn't quite achieve it.
"It really is me, Neville. Listen, Harry's in trouble. I need to go help him, but you're going to have to come out first."
"I'm not coming out. What happened to your other friends?"
"The Aurors have gone back to the Ministry," Ron said, nearly shouting to be heard, trying to enunciate clearly. "They're going to help Harry fight Bellatrix Lestrange."
There was a long silence.
"N - Neville?" Ron called out again.
"You've polyjuiced yourself to look like Ron. Well, it's not fooling me! You won't come near my parents again, or you'll regret it!!"
"Bloody hell, Neville!" Ron sighed in annoyance. "I roomed with you for seven years. You lost your toad on the Hogwarts Express. You took my sister Ginny to the Yule Ball, fourth year. You fought with us at the Department of Mysteries."
There was another long silence. Then Neville called out hesitantly,
"What are you most afraid of?"
Ron rolled his eyes, even though no one was around to see it. "I'm deathly afraid of spiders, okay, Neville? They make me scream like a bloody girl. Satisfied?"
The door cracked open, and Neville poked his round face out. Ron waved airily at him from his position crouched on the floor, and Neville darted his eyes up and down the hallway anxiously.
"There's no one out here but me," Ron said, standing and walking towards Neville.
"Wait!" Neville called out, raising one hand up in warning, as Ron walked into something invisible that zapped him.
"Bloody hell, what was that?" Ron jumped back, wringing his hands.
"Sorry," Neville said shamefacedly. "I put a shield up round the door, so no one could get in…at least, not without my knowing about it." He muttered something under his breath and swirled his wand around in an intricate gesture. The now-translucent blue field popped once, and vanished.
"How many Death Eaters did you take out?" Ron asked, the admiration evident in his voice.
"Three," Neville said, squirming a little under the praise. Ron peered in the room, at the three stunned, tied-up bodies lining one wall of the room.
"They only sent three?" Ron puzzled, wondering about this versus the full-out assault on the Ravenclaw Foundation. Neville cocked an eyebrow at Ron, with an oddly dangerous look on his face.
"Only three got this far."
"Oh." Ron mulled this over for awhile, trying to make this fit with his own mental assessment of Neville. "How are your parents?" Ron queried, after a moment.
"They're okay. Dad got winged by a curse, while I was still trying to get my wand, but he's all right."
"Well, Harry will be bloody well impressed," Ron said jovially, though a shadow fell across his face, as he thought of his two best friends. Neville shrugged a little.
"It's all thanks to him anyway," he said, meaning the D.A. meetings. Their eyes met, and they seemed communicate briefly with each other. "I need to get a healer in here to look at Dad. Then let's lock these bastards up in an empty room, and get to Little Hangleton," Neville declared, and Ron slapped him on the back.
"I always knew I liked you, Neville," he said, and bent down to grab the bound ankles of the first Death Eater, intent on dragging him none too gently down the hall to an empty room. He let the man's head hit the edge of the doorframe on the way out. "Oops," he called out, insincerely.
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In the lobby of St. Mungo's, Ron and Neville nearly literally ran into Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, levitating an unconscious Draco Malfoy between them. Tonks was leading along a dazed-looking Narcissa Malfoy by the hand, like a little child.
"What the hell happened to him?" Ron said, unable to keep the distaste completely out of his voice.
"He took repeated rounds of the Cruciatus Curse for not telling Bellatrix Lestrange what she wanted to hear," Remus said quietly, the slightest hint of reproof in his voice. Ron flushed. Neville was staring at Malfoy's pale, drawn face in mixture of fascination and revulsion.
"Did - did she - ?" was all he said. Tonks nodded in a tired way.
"Maybe - maybe what the Ravenclaw Foundation gave Mum and Dad - ?" he offered hesitantly. Tonks smiled at him.
"That's a good idea, Neville." Remus was speaking to a mediwitch behind the desk, and she could be seen making arrangements for Draco to be placed in a room.
"Remus," Ron called, urgency cracking his voice. "Harry's at Little Hangleton. He went after Hermione. Shacklebolt's got a team of Aurors on their way…I think." He was unable to risk shooting a glance at Neville, who squirmed under his gaze, blushing painfully. "We should go."
Remus looked at Narcissa, feeling torn and somewhat responsible. The mediwitch saw his look, and waved him away. "She'll be taken care of," she said firmly, and led Narcissa through the doors through which Draco had just passed. Mrs. Malfoy did not appear to notice that a change of caretakers had taken place at all.
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Ron and Neville, Apparating straight to Little Hangleton from St. Mungo's with Remus and Tonks, arrived there at almost the exact same time as the Aurors, with an insistent Luna in tow. Ron's eyes flitted over the gravestones, almost instantly picking out the frozen forms of Harry and Hermione, just in time to see Harry fall.
Horror welled up within him, and he stood motionless, as the Aurors sprang into action, trying desperately to round up the Death Eaters, whose rout quickly morphed into a retreat. Hermione stood, staring at Harry with wide, shocked eyes, as if she could not believe what she was seeing.
And then he heard it, a thin, piercing shriek borne along the breeze. Red smoke curled up from Harry's crumpled body.
"Sweet Merlin, Harry, no…." he whispered softly, and then started back to alertness, as a spell rushed past his ear. He dropped to the ground, and then looked up to locate Hermione again. She was kneeling beside Harry, running her fingers through his hair, oblivious to the fighting going on around her. "She's going to get herself killed," Ron muttered to himself, and began to pick his way across the cemetery to her, using the tombstones for cover.
But the battle seemed to resolve rather quickly, as the Death Eaters - the vast majority of them former Slytherins - quickly changed their loyalty to that of looking out for number one. Even as Ron made it to Hermione's side, the curses and shouts were dwindling, as the Aurors successfully stopped most of the Death Eaters from making it outside the anti-Apparation wards that Bellatrix had set up.
"Hermione?" Ron said softly, kneeling beside her and placing his hands on her shoulders. He thought that perhaps she wasn't aware of his presence at all, as she continued to stroke Harry's hair back from his forehead. The bloody lightning bolt, rent anew on his forehead, was a rusty brown, the blood dried in rivulets across his face.
"I did it, Ron," she said, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her at all.
"It's okay." Ron soothed, not really knowing what she was talking about. "Come on, love," he said tenderly. "Let's go. We'll take him back - and - and - " His voice suddenly strained and broke. "He died a hero, Hermione. And Voldemort is gone. It's what he would've wanted."
"I did it," her voice was faint. "I gave him the potion." Pieces of the puzzle began to click into place for Ron. She had made him a poison - knowing Hermione, one that was painless and quick - for just this instance. He had taken it, and had won, but she had, in turn, caused his death.
"Hermione, you saved everyone…do you hear me? Everyone." Hermione did not look like she had heard. He started to pull under her arms, trying to lift her to her feet. Behind him, he heard the cracks of Aurors side-alonging their quarry back to the Ministry. She resisted him, pulling away, clinging on to Harry's hand. "The Healers are going to need to look at you. You're all over blood."
"No!" It was a muted cry. "'You can bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.'" She said suddenly, in a sing-song voice. "Wait."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ron said, his voice coming out more harshly than he meant for it to.
"Wait," she reached up behind her to lay a staying hand on his arm.
"Wait for what?" Ron said, growing angry simply because the anguish threatened to rise up and choke him. "Hermione, he's dead!"
She didn't respond to his outburst, but turned back, fixing her unyielding attention on Harry. Ron felt a rush of pity for her. Harry's dead, and she's in shock or denial or something, he thought.
Some of the Aurors who had finished what they were doing, and had come to see what was going on. Remus' face paled and crumpled as he saw Harry's body, and he turned away from everyone, swearing violently under his breath and kicking at the edge of a tombstone. Tonks went to him, laying one hand on his arm, and speaking to him quietly. Ron looked over his shoulder at the ring of faces, and noticed one missing, in particular.
"Where's Neville?" he asked. Nobody answered, their attention seeming to be permanently affixed to the corpse of the Boy Who Lived. Luna was the only one who responded to Ron's query.
"I'll go look," she offered, and turned back toward the main portion of the graveyard.
"Somebody, go with her," Shacklebolt ordered tersely, and some nameless Auror broke away from the knot of people. There was silence.
"What is she doing?" someone whispered uncomfortably.
"Hermione," Ron said, putting one hand on her shoulder and trying again. "Hermione, come on, sweetie. Let's go." She jerked her shoulder out of his grasp, and turned to look at him, fury snapping from her dark eyes.
"I would never hurt him!" She said, her voice wobbling and barely understandable.
"Hermione, we know. It was the only thing to be done. We know that, and Harry knew that."
"You're not listening to me, Ronald!" Her voice rang out loudly in the hushed graveyard, and Ron looked abruptly at her eyes, shocked at what he saw there. They were not vague and dazed, as they had been a moment ago, but clear and sharp, though nearly naked with pain. The Hermione he knew was back, having evidently withdrawn from her shock. He met her eyes gravely, and addressed her again as an equal, rather than a child.
"Then tell me," he said evenly. She turned back, staring avidly at Harry, while she spoke.
"I've been working on this potion for weeks. Remember what Snape said…on our very first day of potions class? Putting a stopper in death? I wanted to be able to pull out the stopper, release death, but then call it back when it had served its purpose." She looked back up at Ron then; her eyes were shiny with tears, but blazing with hope. "I think I did it." Ron's eyes flickered uncertainly from her to Harry.
"So…he's not dead?"
"No, he's - he's dead," she faltered, her brow knit with sorrow and worry. "Simulation of death might have fooled Lestrange and the Death Eaters, but it wouldn't - "
" - have gotten rid of the horcrux," Ron finished for her. His eyes went back to Harry. He lay so still and pale, the blood dried on his face stood out in marked contrast. He did not move. "So, what do we do now?" he asked, after a moment.
"I don't know how long it will take…it's supposed to be just a few moments, until he - until he - " She glanced over her shoulder at him again, and Ron could see how frightened she was, the terrible self-doubt that gnawed at her, demons shrieking that she had made a mistake, that he was dead, that it was forever, and that it was her fault.
"Somebody!" came a high cry from across the graveyard, echoed by another male voice. "Somebody! We need help." Ron came to his feet, looking across the graveyard.
"Luna!" he said in a hoarse whisper. Several Aurors broke away to answer the call. Ron stood there, a man divided, unsure whether he should go to his girlfriend, or stay with his best mate. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lupin, sitting on the ground, his head in his hands. Tonks was kneeling next to him, still speaking softly.
He had taken two steps away from the tableau, when he heard Hermione give a hoarse, wordless cry, and whirled back around. He watched in shock and amazement, as, with a rattling gasp, Harry's chest began to rise and fall.
"Merlin's Beard!" Someone exclaimed behind him. "Harry's alive."
Ron was barely beginning to process this, when Luna arrived back at his side.
"Are you all right?" he asked her in concern. Luna nodded, looking shaken. "Is Neville okay?" She nodded again.
"She hit him with something. They've taken him to St. Mungo's."
"She - who? - Bellatrix?" Ron stammered, almost incoherently. Luna gestured in the affirmative. "She get away?" he asked.
"No," Luna said breathlessly. "He killed her."
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"Hallo, Malfoy," came a voice from the door of his hospital room. Draco removed his attention from the window across from his bed, and turned toward the voice. "So, you finally had a principle, eh? Was it hard?"
Malfoy glowered at the intruder. "What do you want, Weaselette?" he muttered.
"I wanted to come see you," Ginny said honestly. "I heard what you did."
"And to think that I swore all those beautiful, naked girls to secrecy!" Malfoy said, closing his eyes. There was a strangled noise, and Malfoy's eyes flew open. "Are you, a noble Weasley," he rolled his eyes, "actually laughing at my joke? Was that really your idea of a laugh?"
Ginny's face was solemn, though her eyes looked suspiciously bright. "Was that really your idea of a joke?" she countered, mimicking him.
"I'm an invalid, you know," he said, glaring at her. "That means you have to be nice to me."
"I hope that I will never live in a world where conditions are such that I have to be nice to you, Malfoy," Ginny responded in a withering tone. "Besides, you had that potion, and you're going to be fine. At least, you didn't have to wait seventeen years for it - although that might not have been such a bad thing." She smiled at him. "You got hurt helping Harry Potter, and then Hermione Granger saved your life." Her grin grew broader, and she wrinkled her nose at him. "That's got to stick in your craw, doesn't it?"
"As long as I stay alive, I don't care who saves me," Malfoy shot back, imperiously.
"If you really believed that, you'd have sung like a canary when your Auntie started cursing you," Ginny taunted. "Hermione Granger. Saved. Your. Life," she enunciated. "You flinched."
"I did not," Draco looked particularly affronted.
"You did too," Ginny said. "Hermione Gra - yup, you flinched again. It looks like you've got a tic or something."
"Sod off, Weasley," Malfoy said, thoroughly annoyed. "Besides, didn't I hear that she was Hermione Potter now? God, that makes my gorge rise!" He rolled his eyes again.
"Yeah, they secretly got married the morning before - everything happened," Ginny grew sad and wistful. Draco's eyes flickered briefly with sympathy.
"He's not awake then? Still?" He quickly regained his trademark arrogance, and added, "Idiot can't even die properly." Ginny seemed to guess that he didn't really mean it, and the fact annoyed him.
"No," Ginny shook her head, all pretense of joshing gone. She rose slowly from the foot of the bed, where she'd been sitting. "I guess I should go. Ron's waiting for me down in the cafeteria."
"Yes, and I can only imagine how he'd react finding you in here, being as he's so non-judgmental and all," Malfoy said sarcastically.
"Oh, he's at least as open-minded as you are!" Ginny retorted, a spark returning to her eye.
"Why are you even barging in here making my life a misery?" He looked conflicted. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"
"I got special permission from McGonagall to come see Harry…and - and I thought I might as well harass you, while I'm here." Ginny said in a cheeky voice.
"McGonagall gives you damned Gryffindors anything you want," Draco muttered, only half-joking. "And people thought Snape was partial!"
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Hermione thought dizzily that it was like a repeat of events of just over one year ago. Reporters were permanently camped out in the lobby of the hospital. She felt as if she were living in the hospital, even though she had been treated and released over a month ago.
Harry had still not awakened.
She spent nights in a chair by his bedside, leaving only to go to work each day. She had been given a leave of absence from her job, but had turned it down, insisting that she didn't need it.
It was nearly nine o'clock that night before she finally left her office, Apparating back to Harry's flat - where she had moved all her things - for a change of clothes, before intending to go back to St. Mungo's.
Ron was waiting for her in the living room, which had seen better days, as Ron never claimed to be any kind of homemaker, and Hermione was only there on the fly. His face darkened with a scowl. Hermione let her eyes slide closed wearily.
"I'm really not in the mood to listen to this right now, Ron," she said softly, raising one hand, almost in a gesture of surrender.
"How do you know what I intend to say?" Ron asked, his voice just as quiet, but somehow managing to sound confrontational.
"It's the same thing you've said every night for almost a month."
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Hermione!"
"Honestly, Ron!" She said, with a shade of her old annoyance. "I'm not doing anything `to myself.'" She made sarcastic air quotes with her fingers on the last two words.
"Look at you! You're working twelve or more hours a day. You're not eating. You're barely sleeping - and when you do, it's at that hospital." He said, implying that she could not possibly get a restful sleep there.
"I'm fine!" She replied in a biting tone.
"Do you think he would want you to live this way?" She flinched as if he'd slapped her.
"What about him?" she retorted. "Do you think he would want to live the way he is? In a coma? He doesn't have a choice, so - "
"So, why should you?" Ron finished for her gently. "Hermione, this is not your fault."
"Yes it is," she said dully. "I - I miscalculated on the potion - put in the wrong ingredient, or too much of one, or something. Somewhere I messed up, or he would - or he would be awake. He was supposed to wake up!"
"Is that why you're working seven days a week? Hermione Granger is single-handedly going to figure out what has everyone else buggered? You shouldn't be punishing yourself; it's not your fault. Healer Munson told me today," Ron said, "while you were at work. They've isolated what's causing the problem. It wasn't the potion. It was from the knife."
"The knife?" Hermione queried, her eyes alight with a kind of feverish, frantic gleam. Ron could only guess that she was mentally writing up more notes to go over at her desk at the crack of dawn the following morning.
"The blade was charmed. Munson said he's never seen anything like it. He guesses it had something to do with the - some kind of stasis that they were going to put him in …when they removed his soul, and let Voldemort's take control of his body."
Hermione had gone very white, and she groped for the back of the wing chair in front of her, using it to help her stand up.
"Can they - can they - ?" She stammered.
"They're looking into it," Ron shrugged, looking a little despondent. "It's all new territory for them, though." She seemed to wilt a little, as he watched.
"I'm going to the hospital," she mumbled in a vague voice, moving toward Harry's bedroom to get fresh clothes.
"Go in the morning. Sleep here tonight," he said, pleadingly. She whirled back toward him, tears effectively drowning the fury that would have been crackling in her eyes.
"We spent our - our - well, what little honeymoon we got - in that bed, Ronald," she said angrily, her voice trembling. "I will not sleep in that bed without him!"
Ron flinched, and his face fell, as sympathy flooded his features. "Hermione…" he murmured softly, moving towards her, as she looked wearily at him from where she stood in the hallway, weaving visibly on her feet, looking like a fragile, tortured shell of her former self. "You look like hell," he said gently. "When he wakes up, he's going to be right pissed at you for half-killing yourself, and then he's going to hex me into next year for letting you do it." A ghost of a smile flickered across her face like shadow from a candle flame.
"I just - I just haven't felt very well lately," she said, pressing a shaky hand to her brow.
"Are you pregnant?" Ron asked, his ears turning red at the impertinence of the inquiry, although he mostly succeeded in keeping his face neutral. The question fell abruptly and jarringly into the silence. Hermione's gaze shot up to his so reprovingly that Ron nearly apologized, but she turned and went into Harry's room, without answering. Ron followed, right on her heels. "You are, aren't you?"
"Leave me alone, Ron, please," she said, sitting down unceremoniously on the edge of the bed.
"I'm not going to leave you alone. How long have you known? Have you seen anybody - a healer - about it?"
"I've known for about a week. And no, I haven't seen anybody. I don't - I don't want to talk about it. I need to work." She was shaking her head, while she rambled. Harry was right. I can't do this on my own, I was a fool to think that I could. I don't want to go see a healer; that will mean it's real. It can't be real; I can't face it. I need Harry.
"You need to take care of yourself," Ron said. His brow was creased over blue eyes that were awash in concern. "Hermione, you need to see a healer about this. I'll - I'll go with you, if you want me to." He knew by the sudden flare of fury in her eyes that that had been the wrong thing to say.
"I don't want you to go with me," Hermione said, in such a heartbreaking way that Ron's eyes filmed over. "I want - I want - H - H - " Her voice wobbled and broke. Ron sat beside her on the edge of the bed, whispering soothing nothings into her ear.
"I know," he whispered. "I want him to wake up too. They're working on it. You know they'll spare no expense or manpower to get him back. He's going to be okay. He's going to wake up," Ron tried to infuse his voice with certainty. "And when he does," he put pointed emphasis on that word, "he's going to want a healthy wife and a healthy baby."
"Oh - oh - oh God," she whispered, as the last phrase filled her paradoxically with both hope and despair. She leaned against Ron and cried, heart-rending sobs for all the times over the last month that she had not let herself cry. Her body was wracked as she let all the grief and terror and anger and guilt escape, with all the force - and grace - of an artillery barrage.
Ron let her cry, handling the situation with uncharacteristic deftness, sensing that victory was near. When her sobs began to abate, he handed her a tissue, and she wiped at her streaming, swollen eyes.
"Now," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I'll make an appointment for you to see a healer tomorrow. And I'll make up the sofa. You can sleep in my bed." Hermione sniffled loudly.
"Honestly, Ron!" She managed to say contemptuously, even though her voice was thickened and hoarse. "You can't really expect me to let you fold yourself up on that thing. You take your bed. I'll sleep on the sofa."
Ron tried his best to smother the smile that wanted to spread across his face. "Whatever you want, Hermione."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"What do you mean you don't know what else to do?" Hermione stood in front of Healer Munson, rigid and icy, betraying no sign of the turmoil from the night before.
"The stasis charm is somehow still activated in his circulatory system. We've given him Blood-Cleansing Serum, but it has had no effect. There's really nothing else in wizarding medicine to try. Either the stasis charm will wear off on its own," he shrugged a little ashamedly, "or it won't."
Hermione's eyes flashed fire. She could feel the dull throb of a headache beginning at her temples, and her stomach had been queasy since she had gotten up that morning. Still, she drew herself up to her full height, and met Healer Munson with a quailing glare. "Then your Blood-Cleansing formulae are not good enough, are they?"
"Mrs. Potter," Healer Munson tried again. "Our potions are state of the art. I assure you, St. Mungo's has access to every new medical development."
"How sad for the wizarding community!" Hermione spat. Healer Munson flinched, and she felt a momentary stab of pity for him. This was really not his fault; he had worked so diligently on Harry's health the last time. But just as quickly, the pity was gone, replaced by fear and irritation. She did not need this today. She was due for her appointment in only a few moments, and Neville's hearing was later that afternoon. "He is Harry Potter. Need I remind you of how poorly it would reflect on your establishment if you fail to revive him?"
She whirled from his office, marching out arrogantly, as Ron trailed along, bemused, in her wake. As soon as she had rounded the corner, she let herself lean against the wall, clasping shaking hands together, intertwining her fingers.
"Damn, Hermione!" Ron's eyebrows were nearly in his hair. She smiled wanly at him.
"I think I'm going to throw up." Her face had grown very pale, and there were purple circles under eyes. Ron eyed her warily, as if she were some kind of device that might suddenly explode.
"Please don't," he said hastily, and she would have rolled her eyes at him, but instead decided to dash into Harry's room and avail herself of his loo.
A moment later, she was splashing cold water on her face, leaning against the sink on wobbly limbs, having just thoroughly emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Suddenly, she straightened, as the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She poked her head out of the door, expecting to see Ron sitting in the room, waiting for her, making some snide comment about her inflicting her nausea on him.
There was nobody there, but Harry. I could have sworn I heard somebody moving in here, she thought, and her eyes drifted hopefully to her husband. Wards chimed and flickered around him; the restraint field that Hermione had finally gotten used to not seeing around his knee was back in place, shimmering serenely.
There was no sign of life.
Damn, Hermione thought, drifting over to Harry's bedside. She touched his hand lightly, running the pads of her fingers over skin that seemed nearly translucent.
"I've got to go, Harry…I'm - I'm going to see about our baby now. Nobody knows, but Ron - isn't that weird? Do you know, Harry - somewhere in there, do you realize? I wish you'd wake up. I wish I could watch the light in your eyes, when I tell you that you're going to be a father…" she stopped suddenly, as if afraid that continuing would wreak further havoc on her control. "I'll be back later. I love you," she whispered softly, and flitted noiselessly from the room.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There was a flicker of recognition in the healer's eyes as he entered the examination room. He glanced down at his chart, and looked at it again, as if he thought it to be wrong.
"Hermione… Granger?" he said tentatively.
"Actually, it's - it's Potter now," she admitted faintly, and he raised his eyebrows. She had briefly toyed with the idea of using a pseudonym, and then had figured that there was really no point. People in the office would recognize her on sight, and it would be all over the papers tomorrow that Harry's poor little bride had a bun in the oven.
"I saw that in the Prophet," the healer said. "But lately that paper's such rubbish that I don't know what to believe when I read it." His eyes twinkled at her, and she smiled at him gratefully. He held out his hand to her.
"I'm Healer Andrew Wakefield." She nodded in greeting, as he already knew her name. "What brings you here today?" he asked, flipping open the chart.
"I'm pregnant," she said, astounded at how odd those words sounded coming out of her mouth. Healer Wakefield pulled out a quill, and jotted a few notes.
"Do you know the approximate date of conception?"
"August 11th," she blurted, and then colored a little. Healer Wakefield made no reaction.
"Let's have a look then," he said, helping her lie back on the table. He muttered an incantation, and ran his wand over her for a few moments, scrutinizing the colors and flashes that it gave. A small readout was spilling from the side of the bed, on what looked like grocery tape.
"Is everything okay?" Hermione asked, after a moment of anxious silence.
"The baby looks perfectly healthy. The size seems to line up with the date you gave me - putting you about six weeks along. Do you want to know the gender?" Hermione shook her head in the negative, sadness swimming in her eyes. She did not want to find that out without Harry. "You do look a little thin," Healer Wakefield said in an appraising tone. "How has your appetite been? Been nauseated?"
"I - a - a little," she said. "I threw up just a while ago."
"That's to be expected, I'm afraid," he replied. "Although I suspect you may be under more stress than most mothers-to-be," he looked at her carefully, after his delicate phraseology.
"It's been…rather difficult," Hermione admitted.
"I can only imagine what you've been going through," the healer said in a voice of sympathy. "However, you are going to need plenty of healthy food and plenty of rest, in order to keep this baby healthy. It is of paramount importance." His words were stern, but his voice was kind. "Can I trust you to make some changes in your … habits?" Hermione felt properly chastised.
"Yes sir," she answered.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Potter," he said, and she felt a tremulous smile creep over her lips at the address. "I'll have the mediwitch give you some anti-nausea potion, if you need it. And we'll want to see you back in three weeks. You can make a return appointment at the desk."
After making the appointment, Hermione trailed slowly out to the waiting area, where Ron was sprawled uncomfortably in a chair, obviously waiting anxiously. He sprang up when she came out.
"How's everything?" he asked carefully, noting the receptionist's eyes on them.
"It's good," she said, smiling slightly, then following his gaze to the other patients in the room, openly watching them. "I'm going to be in all the papers again tomorrow, Ron." she whispered in a low, sarcastic voice. "Isn't that exciting?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"This is ridiculous!" Hermione burst out rather loudly, as the bustle and movement of people exiting the courtroom slowly increased in volume.
"Who the bloody hell does he think he is?" Ron agreed, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his robes, and glaring daggers at the presiding judge.
"How can they deny releasing Neville on his own recognizance?" Hermione seethed. "It's utterly preposterous that he was even arrested in the first place!"
"'The Wizengamot does not and cannot condone murder,'" Ginny croaked, in a fair imitation of the pompous man. "That's what he said when Snape was sent to Azkaban too."
"It's not the same thing at all," Hermione said, insistently. "Dumbledore was a highly respected wizard and a leader in the community, headmaster… Snape killed him under what were highly suspect circumstances! He could say he and Dumbledore had talked about it all he wanted - the other party involved was dead! Neville killed a known Death Eater in battle!"
"You don't have to convince us, Hermione," Ginny replied. "We're on your side." Hermione flushed, having gotten carried away in her zeal.
"It's the fact that Bellatrix Crucio-ed Neville's mum and dad," Ron remarked. "Comes off as revenge."
"It was nothing of the sort!" Hermione said, threatening to explode again.
"This judge is going to do whatever the hell he wants," Ginny remarked, angrily, as the said judge, Gustave Pembleton, rose elegantly from his chair, and proceeded out of the door that had been at his back. "He had Aurors….both of you… give testimony on Neville's behalf, and he still - " Ginny subsided into furious murmurs, out of which "treated like a common criminal" could be clearly heard.
"It doesn't help that nobody saw what happened either," Luna said placidly. She had also given testimony about the situation as she found it, when she went to look for Neville.
"No," Ron shook his head, "Everyone was too busy with…" he trailed off, and Hermione could practically hear everyone think glumly, Harry.
"You don't really think he's going to end up on trial, do you?" Ginny asked.
"Surely it won't come to that," Hermione answered. "It was clearly self-defense…Neville was wounded! She sent Death Eaters to attack his parents!"
"Did you hear the way that arrogant prat twisted mine and Shacklebolt's testimonies around on us? Making it seem like Neville was some big, bad vigilante - `trained on the sly by Harry Potter'?" Ron let out a bitter half-laugh. "Where do they come up with this rubbish?"
"People are afraid," Hermione said suddenly, as if the idea had just occurred to her.
"Afraid of what?" Ron shot back, in disbelief. "Voldemort's dead. The Death Eaters are scattered - or worse."
"And Harry Potter, Hero of the Light, had been waltzing around for a year, with a piece of Voldemort in his head! What would have happened if Bellatrix had won?" Hermione said furiously, and everyone was painfully silent. "The people who are older - people who can remember what happened last time - they're afraid of another Dark Lord rising to take his place. Judge Pembleton is feeding on that. He's going around preaching tales of vigilante justice, of the Order taking the law into their own hands, and people are actually listening to them."
"So, he's going to make an example of Neville?" Ginny asked.
"He wasn't trying to kill her!" Ron all but hollered. "He didn't use Avada Kedavra. It was a reductor curse that got away from him. Anyone who knows Neville wouldn't find that hard to believe."
"Reckon his parents will be well enough to testify on his behalf, if he does go to trial?" was Ginny's next hesitant question.
"The judge would love that!" Ron said sarcastically. "Might garner Neville a sympathy vote!"
"Is there anything we can do? If my father - " Luna began.
"There's only one person I can think of that anybody would listen to: Harry. The judge is afraid of him - but doesn't have the clout to publicly denounce him. He's still too elevated in popular opinion. It's why the judge didn't attempt to send him to Azkaban."
"I'd have liked to see old Pembleton try!" Ron snorted, kicking at the leg of the chair nearest to him. "Sending the Boy Who Lived to Azkaban for killing everyone's worst nightmare come to life!" His tone said "the very idea!"
"But Harry's -" Ginny said, then stopped abruptly.
"He'd be a sight more intimidating if he were conscious, eh?" Ron said, inelegantly, and then flushed. Hermione sent both Weasleys an understanding look.
"Yes, he would," she sighed.
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When Hermione and Ron exited the lift back at St. Mungo's, they were instantly assailed by incredible clamor and chaos in the corridor. Mediwitches were running hither and yon, directing orderlies, who seemed to be converging in one direction, and gathering supplies. Hermione could clearly hear someone yelling frantically.
"What the hell?" Ron said, mystified. Hermione was standing motionless, one hand flat over her abdomen. Even the short lift ride had been enough to set her stomach to churning. "Somebody's stirred up the anthill," he quipped.
She saw two orderlies dash into a doorway that was just out of their line of sight, and the yelling became clearer, as the door presumably opened. The color drained so quickly from Hermione's face that Ron grabbed her elbow, afraid that she was going to faint.
"Harry!" The air rushed from her lungs in a breathless wheeze, and she shook Ron's hand away from her arm, plunging blindly down the corridor to Harry's room. She careened around the corner, hearing Healer Munson's best placating voice say,
"Harry, she's fine. She's just stepped out. I'm sure she'll be back directly."
"What the hell have you done with her? Where is she?" The words were nearly incoherent, and yet Hermione felt her heart cease beating as she heard them. She reached out a trembling hand to the door handle. One of the wards began shrilling an alarm, and she heard Healer Munson instruct a nurse to sedate him.
"He's delirious," she heard him say. "He could do himself harm."
The fear of missing Harry awake drove her into the room with almost comical abruptness. "Wait!" she cried out suddenly. She was dimly aware of Ron just behind her, of Healer Munson moving away from the bedside, no longer blocking her view of Harry.
Everything else melted out of her consciousness, as he turned toward her, his eyes alight.
"Hermione!" The angry look disappeared from his face, as he gazed tenderly at her.
"Hi…" she offered inanely. It was all she could manage through a throat that was suddenly clogged and closing fast.
"You're okay?" He said. It was a grateful whisper, a breathless thank you to an overruling power. She nodded, and he held out his hand to her.
It seemed to take her years to cross the room.
When his fingers closed around hers, warm and responsive, Hermione's eyes slid shut in overwhelming gratitude.
"Do you remember what happened?" she croaked in concern, wondering why her absence had had him so agitated and terrified. Harry's eyes clouded, and his fingers clamped more tightly around hers.
"Some," he said shortly. "I didn't - I was afraid that she - she - still had you." Hermione shook her head.
"I'm fine," she said.
"I assume that … I owe my life to something…amazingly brilliant that you did?" he asked, smiling a lazy smile at her that did funny things to her heart and her stomach.
"It wasn't so brilliant, Harry. You've been in a coma for over a month." Her countenance was dark with self-recrimination.
"Better that than dead," he said bluntly, and Hermione winced. "Is it - is it gone?" he asked hesitantly. Hermione nodded, and Harry seemed to sag in relief. She reached out to caress the healed wound on his forehead lightly.
"Healer Munson said the old scar tissue was gone. He said if - if a new one hadn't been carved onto your forehead, then your scar would have been gone altogether." Harry ran his fingertips over the smooth scar, but did not comment.
"How do you feel?" she asked gently.
"Like I'm starting all over again," he said quietly, looking ruefully at his restrained leg. Hermione pressed her lips together sympathetically, and squeezed his hand.
"I'll be right here with you," she promised, and he smiled at her tiredly.
"Good," he replied. "I've missed you." He reached up and brushed away a rogue tear that trickled solitarily down her cheek. "We've been married for over a month, and we've only shagged twice…how pathetic is that?" Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm.
"Harry!" she said, in scandalized protest, and only then did she realize that the room was otherwise empty. She had not even been aware of everyone leaving. "Besides, it was only once. The other time that day was actually before we were married." He looked at her longingly, and she thought that she would drown in his gaze.
"So what happened?" he asked, at length, once he was finally able to wrest his eyes from hers.
"The cavalry arrived right after you - you fell," Hermione said shakily. "They rounded up the Death Eaters."
"And Lestrange…is in Azkaban?" Hermione shook her head, and saw his eyes harden.
"No," she said aloud. "Neville killed her in a duel."
"Good," Harry said succinctly. His face was flinty.
"He's in a bit of trouble, actually," Hermione said. "It'd be good if you could testify for him." Harry nodded, and his eyes blinked heavily.
"Just tell me when and where, and I'll be there," he murmured. His eyes closed, and he was quiet for so long that Hermione thought he had gone to sleep, but after a moment, the brilliant green orbs opened again.
"Do you have any news for me?" he asked, with unmistakable insinuation. She reddened, and felt her stomach tighten in excitement and trepidation.
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said, adopting an exaggeratedly casual tone. "I went to see a healer today." His features took on a blazing, vital look.
"Whatever for?" he asked sleepily, in a bland voice that belied the eagerness that had flared into his face a moment ago. She eyed him suspiciously, as he appeared to have nodded off again.
"A stomach upset," she answered, and his eyes flew open, as if that had not been the answer he'd been expecting. "You know already, don't you?" she accused.
"I heard you - I think - when you - did you come tell me? You were crying…" he spoke slowly, as if thinking out loud. Hermione looked self-consciously down at her feet.
"Only because I missed you so much," she admitted softly. "And because I was afraid you were going to miss it."
"Miss what?" he said gently, a hint of a smile on his face. "I want to hear you say it - really hear you say it." Her eyes filled with tears then, and she was afraid that she'd not be able to get any words out at all.
"You're going to be a father," she said in a broken voice, and then half-laughed at herself. "We're going to have a baby," she repeated, almost to herself, and then looked shyly at him through her eyelashes.
He brought her fingers up to his lips, and kissed them gently. "I love you, Hermione. And the baby. I'm so glad…" he trailed off, drifting into sleep, before he could tell her what it was that he was so glad about.
She lifted his hand to her mouth, and returned the gesture. "So'm I, Harry," she said softly.
TBC
Okay, there may be one more chapter, while I finish up the Neville-loose end. I guess it all starts to get anticlimactic now, but I hope you enjoy our two protagonists having some happy times finally.
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
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