Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART II: The Interim
Chapter Two: Conferences and Conversations
"Can I come in?" came a small voice from Harry's doorway. He turned his head toward the door, without moving anything else, and smiled when he saw who it was.
"As if you even have to ask," he said, his smile widening even further until he winced. His face was still a mass of greenish bruises. Her brows wrinkled in concern.
"I could go, if you still need to rest…" she sounded uncertain.
"Don't you dare go! Between the MLE giving me the third degree and the healers lecturing me on everything I should and shouldn't be doing…I need to see a friendly face. Where's Ron?"
Hermione inclined her head toward the door. "He's waiting in the corridor. We've been trying to get in for hours, but it seems others took top priority. At least we got in before any reporters. And the Minister. That has to say something about our importance."
"Scrimgeour just wants a photo op," Harry said darkly, intimating that the Minister could rot where he was waiting.
"How are you feeling?" she asked gently, as if she wasn't sure that she had the right. Harry lifted one shoulder in a self-conscious shrug.
"Okay, I guess." He answered. There was a long pause. "They've got me on…you know, potions and stuff so I won't feel - my legs are - are pretty messed up, I reckon."
Hermione sidled a little closer, and propped herself against the bed, leaning one hip on the mattress. "When he - when he … hurt you, I thought - I thought…" She couldn't articulate the horrifying feeling that had rushed through her at the sight of his agony, her worry that perhaps she had caused this, that she should have stayed up there where she promised she would, instead of stunning Draco and retrieving the sword from McGonagall's office… the incredible fear that shivered through her and left her trembling that he would die, that she would watch him die, able to do nothing to save him, and then would be left alone.
He knew what she meant, without her having to say anything, and he slid his hand along the sheet to lay atop hers, in a gesture of comfort. She looked down at their hands, so she wouldn't have to look at his face. His were still scarred, pink lines crisscrossing them from where he had torn them on the rough stone floor of the Chamber, pulling himself toward her, even though half his body had been broken.
"Harry…" she murmured, using her other hand to caress his poor injured one.
"They look a lot worse than they feel actually," he said, trying to speak lightly. He tapped one fingertip that still looked raw. "Protective charm. It'll stay in place until my fingernail grows back. Like an invisible bandage that won't fall off. Isn't that brilliant?" He had a tone of amazement in his voice, and Hermione was pleasantly reminded of the Muggle upbringing that they had in common. She smiled a little, and he smiled back. "That's better," he said.
There was another silence, as they sat with a million thoughts and memories racing through their heads. There were things unsaid because they didn't need to be said, and things unsaid because they were afraid to say them.
"It was my fault…" Hermione began suddenly, wanting to blurt an apology for coming down into the Chamber.
"If you hadn't brought me the sword…" Harry interrupted, trailing off and shaking his head. "I was completely outclassed, Hermione. Some Chosen One I turned out to be. If you can't use Unforgivables on a Dark Wizard who's definitely going to try to use them on you…"
"I'm glad you can't use them!" Hermione said, almost defiantly. Harry smiled at her tone.
"Anyway, when I told the healers what I did…they said there was no way I should have been able to push myself up like that on two Reductored legs. If you hadn't been behind me, if - if you hadn't helped me hold on…" He looked at her a little shyly, and pulled his hand back from where it had still been resting atop hers. "But then you're always behind me, aren't you? Always there, just when I need you."
The look he gave her made her stomach flip and her cheeks flush.
"Harry, about what you said - what you were going to say, in the Shrieking Shack - " Hermione ventured, but Harry had leaned over toward the table beside his bed and retrieved a glass of water, taking a sip.
"Oy, Ron!" he called out loudly, appearing not to have heard her at all. "Are you ever going to come in?"
Hermione saw Harry's eyes flicker towards her, for just a second, and she knew then that he had heard her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to ruffle his hair playfully or slap his face. Ron poked his head in the door then, and guilt assailed her. Perhaps Harry was right. They both had personal issues of their own to work out; then, perhaps, they could talk about what was nearly said that night. Still, she couldn't keep the longing from welling up inside her.
"How're you feeling, mate?" Ron asked jovially.
"All right, I guess," Harry shrugged. "I'd be a lot worse if I could feel those, I suppose," he said, indicating his legs still encased in their force field restraint.
"Well, you look like hell," Ron replied in a candid way.
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione reprimanded, apparently preparing to lambaste him. Ron winced, and addressed Harry, chucking his thumb at Hermione.
"You see why they're making her go home today?" She narrowed her eyes at him.
"I'll have you know they love me here," she hissed.
"I can see why!" Harry laughed, going along with the joke, but for some reason, it landed awkwardly and everyone fell silent.
"Oh…erm, I was going to tell you," Ron said finally, clearing his throat. "Ginny's here."
"She is?" Harry's face was noncommittal. "I was wondering where she was." This was the truth, as he'd figured she'd have been with Ron, but Harry felt rather than saw Hermione wilt a little next to him.
"She was pretty upset that night. Having to go down into the Chamber again and all. She was one of the people who found you." Harry's face darkened with real concern.
"She was in the Chamber? That must have been horrific for her." A hand cupped his cheek. Hermione? The flash of memory startled him. Ginny had been down there.
"Anyway, the reporters are out in the lobby making a huge ruckus about talking to you. Are you up to doing a press conference?" Ron asked. Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"You're going to have to face them sometime, Harry," Hermione murmured, and Harry got the distinct and uncomfortable impression that she meant more than just the reporters. They looked at each other for a moment.
"All right," he said reluctantly. "But you're going to be there, right?" Hermione nodded. Ron said,
"Of course, mate," as he headed for the door. "I'll just send Ginny in, and go let Dad know what you
said. They'll be getting a conference room ready for you."
"The MLE wants to talk to us again- together. Did they tell you?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, looking glum.
"I wish I could not think about it for awhile," he said in a haunted voice. Hermione realized that he was playing this off a lot more positively than he actually felt. She watched him with sympathetic eyes, but Harry's gaze remained steadfastly on the battered hands in his lap.
"I guess I'd better go get ready…see if I can help Ron," she said absently.
Hermione started to rise, but Harry stopped her, reaching for her hand, before he checked himself and put his hand back in his lap. "You can stay," It was almost a question, in a hopeful, quiet voice.
Hermione's eyes followed Ron out of the door. "I need to talk to Ron. There are things that need to be discussed," she said vaguely.
"Hermione!" Harry protested, knowing what she meant. "Don't do this…Ron really cares about you."
"I know he does," Hermione replied, looking a little sad. "And how do you feel about it, Harry?" He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, saying nothing. He wouldn't look at her. "That's what I thought," she said in a low voice. "I'll see you later, Harry."
"Hermione, wait!" he called, but she swished out the door, holding it open for Ginny to enter.
"Hermione in a snit again?" Ginny asked, in a not unkind tone, as she came fully into the room.
"She - I - she - " Harry said, gesturing toward the door and then dropping his hand back to the bed in frustration. He flung his head back onto the inclined mattress. Ginny came forward and sat on the edge of the bed, much as Hermione had.
"How are you feeling…really?" she asked. Harry shrugged again.
"Why do people keep asking me that?"
"Because they care about you."
"Because they want to satisfy their curiosity," Harry retorted on the heels of Ginny's statement, and she drew back as if stung. Harry winced and shook his head. "I - I'm sorry, Gin. I didn't mean that." He lifted his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The new frames felt heavy and made the backs of his ears ache. "I have to do this - this media thing in a little while." Ginny nodded that she knew that. "'Harry, Harry! Did Voldemort use Crucio on you? Did you stick the sword all the way through him? Was there a lot of blood? Are you ever going to walk again? Do you have nightmares? How are you feeling?'" Harry spoke rapidly, waving one hand around like Hermione during Transfiguration class. Sarcasm fairly dripped from his last question.
Ginny eyed him for a moment. "I know you want to forget it," she said simply, and he looked at her with dawning comprehension. Of course she understood how he felt. She and Hermione were the only people that could understand, the only people that had faced down Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. "Have you talked to Hermione yet?" she asked, and he wondered briefly if she was reading his mind.
He sighed and shook his head. "She's dealing with all this too. I don't want to put all my … issues on her as well. You're a little - a little - "
"More removed from the situation?" Ginny said wryly, and then her smile grew sad. "Or more removed from you?" She looked like she wished she hadn't said that, and she bit her lips together and looked away from him.
"Ginny…" Harry said in protest, his brow wrinkling, as he tried to understand. He reached out with one hand to grab her upper arm, trying to turn her to face him. She refused to look at him, but when she spoke again, the sound of repressed tears was in her voice.
"I wasn't going to bring this up. I figured it was the last thing you needed to hear today - on your first day back - the first day of the rest of your life." She said the last part sardonically.
"Mention what? What are you talking about?"
"You were calling for her," Ginny's voice sounded leaden.
"What?" Harry asked, even as color flooded his face. He knew that he must look as guilty as sin.
"Hermione. When I found you in the Chamber, when we carried you back up to the hospital wing, you were frantic, delirious, calling for her, pleading to know where she was. I touched your face - do you remember?" Harry's hand had gone up to his own cheek, as if reliving the memory. "You smiled. It was the most beautiful, breathtaking, radiant smile I've ever seen on your face. And then you said her name." She smiled a watery smile, and her chin wobbled as she finally looked back at him.
"I was so thrilled when we found you, and you were alive!" She continued. "I thought maybe this would be our chance… you know, no Voldemort looming over your head, making you do noble and stupid things." Another half-smile took some of the sting out of her words. "I had my entire fairy tale castle built for about ten seconds."
"Ginny, I'm sorry." Harry did not know what else to say. "I didn't even - I'd hardly realized how - how I felt about…about… until just recently. I - maybe it was the whole facing death thing, I don't know. I know, before, in the common room, I said - "
She laid her fingers over his lips for him to hush. "I know what you said. You said we'd talk later. And so we have. I also know what I said. I said I wouldn't ask for any more than what you could give." She laughed a little bitterly at herself. "Now I know what you can give…at least to me. And no woman wants to be second choice, Harry."
"It doesn't matter anyway," Harry pointed out. "She's with Ron…and you know that is forbidden territory. He's my best mate."
"It matters to me," Ginny said succinctly. "And Ron's not as stupid as he may seem sometimes," she added cryptically. Her eyes flickered to the small, square window in the door, which Harry could not see from his angle at the head of the bed. "He's back. I guess it's almost time for the conference."
Harry rolled his eyes and made a grumbling noise under his breath. Ginny rose to leave, smiling a little self-consciously. She was nearly to the door, when Harry called out suddenly,
"Ginny, don't be a stranger." He meant it. Ginny searched his face briefly, and must have seen evidence of his sincerity.
"I won't," she promised, and tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, she waved, a little jut of her hand out from her side, and exited quickly.
"You ready…mate?" Ron said, his voice trailing off as he watched Ginny leave, actually sticking his head back out of the door to watch her progress down the hall. "What's wrong with her?"
Harry furrowed his brows, trying to ignore the flame of guilt that flared up in his chest. "I think - I think Ginny and I just broke up."
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There was another delay before they actually proceeded to the conference room, as they tried to find some kind of conveyance for Harry. Ron was still sending Harry long, searching looks, and Harry could tell that Ron was dying to ask what had gone on with him and Ginny. Harry pretending to be oblivious to the looks, and eventually Ron turned his mind to the task at hand.
"What do they usually use here?" he asked. Ron scratched the back of his head.
"I think they usually just use Immobulus or a full-body bind, and levitate the people around. You have to be really good at levitation charms if you're going to be a mediwitch or a healer."
"You are not immobilizing me and levitating me anywhere," Harry said darkly.
"You'd think there'd be a Muggle wheelchair around here somewhere," Hermione said from the corner table, where she was writing furiously, having appeared back in the room with Ron.
"What're you doing?" Harry asked, craning his neck to peer around Ron at her, curiously.
"Writing a statement. I figured you could give a statement, and then people could ask questions."
"I can write my own statement," Harry said grumpily, like a defiant child. Hermione just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and then continued writing.
"Hey, this bed rolls," came Ron's muffled voice, but he had disappeared. Harry peered over the side of his bed, to see Ron on his hands and knees, partially underneath it.
"I'm not rolling to a press conference in a bloody bed!" Harry said. "It'll be poor ickle Harrykins enough as it is, without adding to it."
"Well, what would you suggest we do?" Ron asked in a magnanimous voice.
"I want to walk down there on my own two bloody legs!" Harry shouted suddenly. Ron froze. Hermione's quill stopped scratching on the parchment. They looked stricken, and Harry felt instantly ashamed of his outburst.
Hermione put her quill down, with a soft plink on the table, and stood up, dusting her hands together briskly as she reached for her wand. Ron and Harry watched in amazement as she turned to the chair she'd been sitting in, a rather hard affair, upholstered in a singularly ugly fabric. She transfigured its four legs into wheels, and lengthened the seat out so that it looked almost like a chaise. She stood behind it with her hands out momentarily, and then added two handles at just that height on the back of the chair.
"There," she said, as if she'd just done something mundane, like bringing in the post. Harry and Ron exchanged astonished glances. "It's better than a wheelchair, even, since you can't bend your legs." Harry gaped at it; it looked like he would be able to sit in it, much like a hospital bed, with his legs fully extended.
"And if you're pushed up to a table, it'll look like a regular chair," Ron added.
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said gratefully.
"Don't mention it," she said, rolling up the parchment she'd been writing on, and handing it to him. Her tone was still businesslike, impersonal. She went to the small wardrobe, and pulled something out, tossing it at him over her shoulder. "Put this on."
It was a shirt, long-sleeved, button-down, light green. "Hermione - ?" he began, holding the shirt up.
"I thought it would look nice on you," she said, still in the wardrobe, even though there was nothing else in there. "Button it over your hospital gown, if you don't want to be poor ickle Harry. Nobody's going to see your legs, so it won't matter." She shut the wardrobe door with a snap, and tossed something else at him. The hairbrush landed in his lap. "And comb your hair," she barked.
But her eyes…her eyes were warm and brown, and they glowed at him with a light that he had never seen before, but that he hoped to see again and often. Something swelled up within him. Hermione, I love you so much, he thought fervently.
She held the shirt up for him to slip his arms into, and fussed over him as he fastened it over the generic white hospital gown; she was busily smoothing the shoulders, straightening the collar, and tugging at the sleeves. Ron had a "better you than me" look of pity on his face.
"If she wipes your face with her spit, mate, I'm out of here," he said with a grin. Harry tried to suppress a smile, as Hermione whirled to glare holes in Ron's head.
"Are we ready?" Harry asked, after he gave the brush a cursory swipe or two through his unruly hair.
"Where's your wand?" Hermione asked automatically. Harry shrugged a little uncomfortably.
"I guess Healer Munson has it, or maybe Lupin…doesn't matter anyway, seeing as how I can't use it." His magical reserves were so low that he had been forbidden from doing so much as a Lumos spell, even if he'd been able to.
Hermione looked at him with compassionate eyes. "I was going to see if your wand would make this thing move. Is the leg restraint portable?" She asked, as Harry wondered if this meant that she had forgiven him. Even as she spoke, Healer Munson entered. It was obvious that he did not approve of his patient gallivanting around the hospital while he was supposed to be convalescing.
"Are you still determined to do this?" the healer asked gruffly. Harry smiled in a disarming way.
"I've got to do it eventually," he said. Healer Munson tapped a couple of the wards with his wand, and one stopped glowing. The shimmery field remained in place around his legs, but was no longer attached to the bed.
"Your legs are still completely immobilized, but the restraint field itself can be moved, while still deflecting the pain. I'm going to …" he trailed off as he looked at the distorted chair sitting in the middle of the room.
"Hermione transfigured me a chair!" Harry pointed out obviously, pride radiating from his voice. Hermione darted her eyes toward him and then down, her cheeks flushing a little.
"You're going to … ride in that?" Healer Munson asked, his eyebrows at his hairline.
"He doesn't like being levitated long distances," Ron put in helpfully.
"All right," the healer said dubiously. "I'll attach the restraint field to this chair. It'll be just like it was in your bed." Harry nodded, and the healer levitated him smoothly from the bed to the chair. He tapped the restraint field with his wand again, murmuring an incantation, and two ward markers appeared at the foot of the chair, glowing softly.
Hermione got behind the chair and gave an experimental push. When it rolled smoothly, she couldn't keep a smile from flitting over her face.
"Let's go," she said triumphantly, as Ron held open the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They reached the conference room through the director's private office, so Harry would not have to pass by the hordes of reporters to enter the room. The long conference table had been turned sideways across the front of the room, and was draped with a heavy red cloth that fell in generous folds to the floor. Chairs lined one side of the table, facing another block of chairs in the center of the room where the reporters would be seated. Harry eyed the red tablecloth gratefully; his legs would be completely concealed, and he would look like any other person sitting at a table.
Hermione pushed him up to a clear spot at the center of the table, and she and Ron pulled out chairs on either side of him. Lupin and McGonagall entered the room then, with Nymphadora Tonks.
"Remus!" Harry blurted. "I didn't know you were going to be in here."
"McGonagall is here to represent the school," Lupin said, putting one hand on the back of Harry's chair and leaning down towards him. "And Tonks is representing the Aurors. If there is any question that you're not sure if you should answer, look to her, and she'll let you know."
"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said with a wink, taking a chair on the other side of Ron.
"And why're you here?" Harry asked.
"Someone's got to look out for you, Harry," Lupin answered. "You may be of age, but there's a lot about the wizarding world you still don't know. I'm not about to let a lot of bloodthirsty reporters exploit you."
Harry regarded the older man gratefully. Remus had taken on the mantle that had been left behind with Sirius' death, without even having to be asked. "Thanks," he said in a low voice.
Arthur Weasley appeared in the doorway then, with a questioning look on his face.
"We're ready," Lupin nodded at him, taking the seat beyond McGonagall. Healer Munson also entered, sitting down just before the reporters arrived, to act in Harry's best interests, medically speaking.
"I reserve the right to shut this down at any time, should I believe that you have done too much," the healer said gravely. Harry nodded at him meekly; it might be nice to have an out, if the questions got to be too intrusive.
The reporters and cameramen filed into the room, in near total silence, and tried not to gawk too obviously at Harry. There was some bustling as equipment was set up and situated, and reporters retrieved quills and parchment in readiness for notes.
The two sides of the room gazed at each other in expectant silence. Harry felt Hermione's hand nudge him under the table, and when he looked at her, she nodded at the piece of paper that she had prepared for him.
He smoothed the parchment flat on the table, and cleared his throat.
"Before his death, Al - " he began, but was cut off by a polite request from a reporter in the throng.
"Harry, would you mind using `Sonorus' on your voice, so everyone can hear you?" Harry's hand went automatically to his hip, before he remembered that, not only did he have no pockets, but no wand in them either. Not that he could have performed the spell even if he'd had a wand. He jerked his gaze up to Hermione, slight panic showing on his features.
She calmly pulled out her wand and pointed it at Harry's throat. "Sonorus!" she said softly, and a murmur rose up from the audience of reporters.
Harry figured it was even money that one of the articles written today would be headlined "Boy Who Lived Reduced To Squib". He started again.
"Before his death, Albus Dumbledore confided in me the suspicions he had long held that Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, had availed himself of the dark art of making horcruxes. He believed that Voldemort had split his own soul into seven pieces in an effort at immortality." He paused in his reading, and looked questioningly down the table at Tonks, who nodded at him reassuringly. It felt odd to be speaking so publicly about the horcruxes, after the months and months of secrecy. "This summer, my friends and I had undertaken a quest to search out and destroy the horcruxes. We succeeded, and when we returned to Hogwarts last week, all but one had been destroyed. Hogsmeade was attacked the night after we arrived, and I learned that Voldemort had come for me.
"I met him in the Chamber of Secrets, and after a duel, I was able to destroy both him and the red amulet horcrux he was wearing, using the sword that belonged to Godric Gryffindor." Harry had read the entire statement in a flat, monotone voice, pausing only to be grateful that Hermione had used the word `destroy' instead of `kill'. It made him feel better, for some reason. He wondered why she had edited out her part in it.
Lupin spoke up in the ensuing silence, as the reporters digested this, quills flying. "The panel will now take any questions you may have," he said. Hands began waving frantically, much like the gesture Harry had been aping to Ginny earlier. Lupin pointed to one at random, a young blond witch with horn-rimmed glasses and an air of Hermione at her very most serious.
"Giselle Fairweather, Daily Prophet," she said, by way of introduction. Harry wondered if she had taken Rita Skeeter's place. "Mr. Potter," she began professionally. "What of the rumors that there was a prophecy concerning you and He Who Must Not-" She stopped at the automatic moniker for Voldemort, and shrugged at herself. "And Voldemort?" She finished, managing to get the name out in a fairly natural-sounding way.
Harry darted a look over to Tonks. He was no longer sure what still needed to be kept secret, and what could be disclosed. She nodded at him surreptitiously.
"There was a prophecy," he said heavily. Several of the reporters exchanged glances. Quills flew like mad.
"Can you tell us what it said?" Miss Fairweather asked, as a couple of reporters protested that she had asked two questions.
"It said that Voldemort would mark me as his equal, and that I would have power that he knows not. It said that neither one of us could live while the other one survived." Another murmur rippled around the room. Some of the more matronly-looking journalists eyed Harry with sympathy. Harry could practically feel them thinking, poor boy.
Lupin indicated another reporter, this one a balding man with a walrus-mustache, clearly charmed to match his original hair color.
"Felix Grant, Glasgow Mage," he said, after some harrumphing and clearing of his throat. "What was the power he knows not? Was Gryffindor's sword enchanted?"
This question gave Harry pause. He had never really thought about it before. "I don't think there was any extraordinary enchantment on the sword," he answered slowly, obviously thinking hard. Hermione had brought him the sword. "Perhaps it was you," he said suddenly, looking up at her, belatedly realizing that his voice was still sonorus-ed.
Cameras flashed, and Harry winced, picturing another headline. "The Boy Who Lived, The Girl Who Helped Him, and Their Star-Crossed Romance."
"Miss Granger, what was your role in the last battle?" A thin and nervous young man gulped, after introducing himself as being from the Dublin Quill and Scroll.
Hermione told how she'd gotten away from Malfoy and hurried to retrieve the sword, then brought it down to Harry. She told about the shrunken sword, and how Harry had enlarged it without a wand. Harry interrupted her to highlight parts of her role that she'd glossed over, including actually stunning Draco Malfoy and unlocking the wards on the display case in the Headmistress's office, as well as strolling into the Chamber right under Voldemort's nose.
A brash middle-aged woman with blue-black hair seized on this tidbit of information, and introduced herself as being from one of the more notable gossip rags. "What did Draco Malfoy do? Has he been arrested?"
Tonks spoke before Harry could open his mouth. "Draco Malfoy is in custody, but Harry cannot comment on any cases that may be pending." Harry smiled apologetically at Brash Lady.
"How severe are your injuries, Mr. Potter? Will you be making a full recovery?" asked another reporter from the rear of the room.
"I - " Harry began, not sure what to say. It was a variation at least, on the "How are you feeling?" question, and kinder than "So, we heard you'll never walk again. Is that true?"
"Most of Harry's injuries were relatively minor and have already been corrected," Healer Munson spoke up gruffly from the far end of the table. "The others we expect to be able to heal, given more time."
"Like his ability to do magic?" someone called.
"Will he walk again?" another asked, giving voice to the rampant rumors that had obviously leaked everywhere. Harry felt himself begin to shift uncomfortably in his modified chair. He felt suddenly ill at ease under their predatory gazes. He felt Hermione's hand slide over toward him under the table, and thread his fingers gently through hers.
"Mr. Potter's medical status is confidential," Healer Munson said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Content yourselves with the fact that he is well enough to speak with you today."
Harry shot a grateful glance down the table at his healer. He wasn't sure that he would have been comfortable with the entire wizarding world knowing that he was in a hospital bed unable to move or do magic. Funny, he hadn't thought that Healer Munson liked him very much. There was a moment of silence, as some of the more ethical reporters felt properly chastised.
"Mr. Weasley," another finally spoke up, addressing Ron. "Is it true that you were the leader of the student fighters in the Battle for Hogsmeade?" Cameras flashed again as Ron detailed his exploits on the night of the battle, ending with their intended last stand on the road to Hogwarts, when the Death Eaters began to fall, victims of their allegiance to their master.
More questions flew. McGonagall spoke about the reopening of Hogwarts to all students, and how she hoped parents would now feel safe in sending their children back there. Tonks spoke in very vague terms about how the hunt for the Death Eaters was still ongoing, but since most had been at the very least incapacitated by the fall of Voldemort, it was going well. Ron was asked about having an entire family fighting for the Order.
Harry was not allowed to speak about either Malfoy or Snape, and he suspected that it had to do with the fact that the MLE still wasn't quite certain what to do with them yet.
Hermione was queried at length by Witch Weekly about how she felt when she entered the Chamber and faced Voldemort, why she thought she was in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw, and what her favorite color of lipstick was. Harry smelled a "Girl Power" cover story in the offing. Hermione looked quite disgusted by the entire thing.
The press conference went on for quite a long time. Harry was asked about the visit from Scrimgeour that was pending, and he did a poor job of concealing his dislike for the man. He answered questions about Dumbledore and Sirius, and was beginning to feel as if he'd said the same things over and over again. He was tired, and there was a dull ache in his legs. He didn't think he was supposed to feel anything, and wondered exactly what that meant.
He reached up and rubbed his forehead tiredly, with one hand, and Hermione looked at him in concern. She must have turned and said something to Lupin, because the werewolf stood, after conferring with Healer Munson, and said there would be one more question.
It was given to Giselle Fairweather of the Daily Prophet.
"Do you know for sure that Voldemort is gone?" she asked. Some of the reporters had been putting quills away and rustling around in preparation to leaving, but at this question, everything in the room literally stopped and hung suspended, waiting for his answer.
Hermione squeezed her fingers around his reassuringly.
"I saw him die," Harry said in a steely, yet bewildered voice, as if he could not understand why she would ask such a thing. "I ran a sword through him, and I lost consciousness in a pool of his blood." The reporters murmured to themselves, and Harry wondered if he'd said too much. Hermione's thumb began to trace a loopy pattern on the skin of his hand, underneath the table.
Giselle Fairweather was unperturbed.
"What about the horcruxes?"
"We destroyed them," Harry said evenly. He was starting to miss Rita Skeeter.
"How do you know there were only seven?" she asked smoothly.
"That's enough!" Lupin interjected angrily.
"There were only six horcruxes. The seventh - " Harry looked at Miss Fairweather oddly. The end of her sentence had seemed warped and distorted, like a phonograph playing at too low of a speed. The pain in his legs shot up to his hips and began to throb in time with his pulse. His scar flared suddenly, burning on his forehead like a brand. He blinked. "The seventh piece was in Voldemort himself. While he was at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle specifically asked about the possibility of splitting his soul into - he - " He stopped, his eyes sliding closed as he inhaled a shuddering noisy breath.
"Harry?" he heard Hermione's voice, sounding far away.
The pain in his legs was white-hot.
Cameras flashed, and each flash was like a gunshot in Harry's pounding head. It seemed to be occurring in slow motion. There was so much pain, from his legs, from his head, that he could no longer localize where the problem was coming from.
"Something's wrong!" He heard Hermione cry. There were hands on him; the chair was rolled out from under the table. His leg moved, and something was groaning pitifully and painfully, a scream with no air in it. He realized with detached amazement that the sounds were coming from him.
The locket melted into a misshapen lump in the beaker of acid. Red smoke trickled to the ceiling in an unearthly scream. He heaved the contents of his stomach onto the well-scrubbed kitchen floor.
"The wards around the restraint field have gone down. He needs a sedative. Somebody get me a mediwitch and a potions kit," Healer Munson said, barking orders rapidly. Cameras flashed again; Harry could see the brilliance through his eyelids.
He stabbed the weather-beaten book with a long, sharp fang. Ink spurted up, warm and wet, between his fingers. Ginny was lying on the damp floor, pale as death.
"Get them out of here now!" Lupin roared. The murmuring of the reporters turned to shouts. There was a scuffle; a chair overturned; a camera flashed.
The ring's stone had a crack down the center. Dumbledore's wizened and ruined hand flung upwards as he plunged over the battlements of the Astronomy Tower.
"Harry?" It was Hermione again, her voice pleading. He wanted to answer her, he opened his mouth to reply, but the pain was all-consuming.
The snake sprang towards Ron, fangs wide, as Ron stumbled backwards, fear apparent in his eyes. Harry caught the snake in midair with an "Incendio". It arced downward like a ribbon of fire.
Someone tapped him with a wand, and he felt frozen. The waves of pain abated slightly, and he tried to open his eyes.
Hufflepuff's cup tinkled out to the floor from a hole in the mouth organ. Snakes hissed and writhed around it. The closet door rattled, shaken by a hand dripping with rotting, wet flesh.
Pain exploded once behind his eyes, as he opened them. Hermione's face swam into view. The conference room was empty, save for a crowd of medical personnel around his legs.
The sword pierced the ruby amulet cleanly, disrupting the swirl of fire within its depths with an odd, fluid sound. Blood trickled down the point of the blade protruding from Voldemort's back. Harry fell forward. The blood was warm and sticky on his hands.
"Harry," Hermione was saying in a clear, level voice. Harry could see Lupin hovering concernedly over her shoulder. "Harry, look at me. Focus on me." He tried to obey her, but his vision was blurry and sweat was dripping into his eyes.
"He needs to drink this," a mediwitch said, holding a vial of lavender potion.
"Take the body-bind off of him!" Hermione snapped. Another healer ended the spell, and Harry's eyes rolled up in his head as the pain surged back over him, swamping him, catching him up in its fierce current. His breath was coming in short gasps. The healers were at his feet working feverishly on the wards of the restraint field.
Hermione was angry. Angry and scared. Harry could see it in the snap of her dark eyes and the harshness of her breathing, in the way she was tossing frantic glances toward the mass of healers.
"He's not breathing properly!" She said, supporting his head, as the mediwitch poured the potion down his throat. He coughed and sputtered a little on the acrid taste, and the slight movement caused shards of pain to shoot up both legs. It felt as if his knees were being splintered apart anew. "What the hell is taking so long?" She burst out suddenly, and Harry was vaguely startled, even through the haze of agony.
Then Lupin was back in his field of vision, holding Hermione by the shoulders. "Come on, Hermione, let's go. Let's let them work on Harry."
Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy; the potion had been a sedative. But he fought it.
"Hermione!" he mumbled, reaching toward her. His arm felt like it had a lead weight attached.
"No, let me go!" She said fiercely. "He wants me to stay. He needs me." Lupin was pulling her toward the door, but she was fighting him, trying to get out of his grasp.
He was reaching for her, and she was reaching for him, but there was still a meter or more of space between their hands.
"Don't leave," he called out, and his voice sounded thick and clumsy to his own ears. There was something shiny and wet on Hermione's face.
"Damn you, Lupin," he thought he heard her say. "Let me go!"
And then there was a noise like a smooth whirring sound, and the restraint shimmered into place around his legs. The pain ebbed away, and Harry felt himself relax. His muscles trembled weakly where they had been held tensely, fighting against the restraint of the body-bind. His eyes slid shut in blessed relief.
Lupin let Hermione go, and she rushed back to Harry's side, threading her fingers through his, and stroking his damp hair away from his clammy forehead. She drew back her fingers a little, startled. His scar was burning hot, almost as if he had a fever.
The healers dispersed from around his legs, looking more than a little relieved. Healer Munson came up to Harry's head, and began to scan him with his wand.
"What happened?" Hermione asked the healer, as she clung to Harry's hand.
"The wards came down," Healer Munson said. "I am at a loss as to explain why they did…but if we hadn't gotten them back up, the pain alone could have killed him." Hermione blanched and swallowed at his dire words.
"Could magic have done this?" she asked.
"Do you mean, could somebody have done this on purpose, to hurt Harry?" he asked, and continued at her nod. "I don't see how. This kind of magic is highly specialized, attuned to Harry specifically. That's why it took so long to revamp the wards. If anybody was going to take the wards down, it would have to be…Harry himself."
"But - but that's not possible," Hermione protested, shaking her head quickly. "His magical reserves…"
"Are still at zero. He shouldn't have been able to do anything," Healer Munson finished for her, perusing the readout from his wand.
"Then how…?"
"Miss Granger," Healer Munson said patiently, and Hermione felt ashamed of her outbursts and insistent questions. "It might have simply been an accident, a magical failure…one of those things that just happens."
"Yes sir," Hermione said, stroking Harry's hand absent-mindedly between both of hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - " She looked apologetically toward the restraint field that they'd been working so frantically on.
Healer Munson's mouth twitched a little. "It is quite understandable." His next words were spoken in a businesslike fashion. "He needs to be back in his room, and he needs to rest." A mediwitch came to push the chair, exclaiming a little over the entire contraption.
"Please," Hermione said, as humbly as she knew how. "Please, can I stay with him?"
Healer Munson cocked one eyebrow at her, and then shot a wry glance at Remus Lupin.
"I wouldn't dream of separating you two," he said dryly.
TBC
Thanks again for all the reviews. I hope everyone is enjoying my story. I had fun writing the last part of this chapter!
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