Warning: See chapter title. This is about a Death Eater rally, and there are mature themes, though not explicitly detailed.
AN: Realized I'd forgotten a disclaimer. The characters in this and the previous ten chapters are not mine. Neither infringement nor profit is among my objectives.
Resistance
Chapter Eleven: Rally
Light fingers skimmed over his skin, and she watched him from her position, propped up on pillows in his bed, reading a manual about Cooperative Spell-Casting by wandlight. He was folded up under the covers, facing away from her, breathing irregular enough to make her think that he was not yet asleep.
Another stroke, up the length of his arm, the pads of her fingers barely touching him. She chewed on her lower lip and watched him pensively, as he turned over toward her, regarding her owlishly. The blue-white light glowing from her wand cast his face into planes and shadows.
"Can't sleep?" she asked lightly, not quite able to meet his eyes. She was grateful that he didn't bring up the patently obvious fact that she had been the one to disturb him.
"Not well," he admitted. "I keep thinking about what's going to happen in the morning. That rally - I - I don't want you to go."
"I need to do this," she murmured quietly, pulling her arm away from him and folding her hands neatly on her knees.
"No, you don't," he countered, just as softly.
"Mr. Weasley needs me. He - "
"He has Ron and Fred!" Harry interrupted, and Hermione felt the heat of anger begin to rise within her.
"Tonks says I'm the best spellcaster we have. He needs me. We don't know what we're getting into out there. We've got the ward detectors, the medallions, and the - the other Things - " she offered doubtfully, and Harry shifted uncomfortably in the bed at the vague mention. She knew that he didn't really approve of her even dabbling in such Art. "And the portkeys - " she added hastily, to divert his attention from her previous words. "I've made some modifications that may help it be untraceable - but there could still be detectors detecting our gear, and we just don't - and I've - I've just got to - he's been like a father to me over the last year. You should know that as well as anybody."
"Tonks is the damned Auror. And a Metamorphmagus too. Let her go."
"She is going," Hermione said, her patience wearing thin.
"Then let me go with you," he said, staring at her so pleadingly that she averted her eyes and swore under her breath.
"You can't go, Harry! And you know why you can't."
"Dammit, Hermione!" Harry's voice was unadulterated frustration. "You do realize that you are most likely number two on Voldemort's hit list? None of the others - he - you've embarrassed him, humiliated him on his own turf, in front of people who worship him. Do you think - do you really think - he'd be content with only killing you?"
She scooted down under the covers, so her head was closer to his, and smiled a rather watery smile at him.
"He's going to have to catch me first." Her words were so confidently spoken that they must have shot to Harry's heart, for she saw his jaw clench and his eyes fill.
"If anything happens to you…" was all he could choke out. She merely nodded at him, I know. She would make no promises, no empty assurances that she would be just fine, thank-you-very-much. They both knew the precariousness of the tightrope on which they walked, below which lay the Shadow of Death. Hermione saw the disagreement in his eyes, but it was soon submerged under resignation. He knew he could not talk her out of this, and she wasn't sure what upset him more, that she was risking her life, or that she was going somewhere that he could not follow.
"So, you couldn't sleep either?" he asked, trying to sound normal after reining in some of his emotion, indicating her lit wand and the open book.
"No, I - I was just doing a little research… and waiting…" He propped up on his elbow and looked at her curiously.
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for you," she said, trying not to look nervous, as her heart sped to frightened-rabbit levels in her chest. She flicked her wand with a murmured word, and the glowing numbers 12:04 hovered before them in translucent blue.
She closed the book and set it gently on the bedside table, murmuring another hasty spell, before laying aside her wand as well. By then, the blue numbers had faded away, and Harry had that look of partial comprehension, where one does not want to actually voice one's hopes and be proven incorrect. She hoped that she cleared away any further doubt from his conscious mind when she slid closer to him in the bed and said throatily,
"Happy Birthday, Harry."
He stared at her for a long moment, as if he were trying to memorize her face, trying to stamp this exact moment indelibly into his memory. Then, with the lightning-quick reflexes that made him arguably the best Seeker Hogwarts had seen in a hundred years, he pulled her forward so that her warm, lithe form was flush against him. Their lips met, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence and slowly building passion.
Hermione was much more anxious about the following day than she would allow herself to admit to Harry, and she found herself clinging desperately to every sensation, to his warm, supple body entwined with hers. This was Harry…this was here…this was now… and for a moment, at least, she wanted to forget everything else, wanted to forget the countless people who had been sacrificed on the altar of Voldemort's power, wanted to forget Ron and his sad, broken, angry face, his struggle to cope with the torment that life had thrust upon him, wanted to forget Ginny and her wide, unseeing eyes, her frantic hands clutching at Harry as if he were her lifeline. She wanted to forget about the morrow, about being surrounding by hostile Death Eaters, about having to watch more fighters for the Light die, and probably being unable to save them.
Harry was here and now and….Oh, God… Rational thought was beating a hasty retreat. His hands roamed southward, as their lips continued their battle for supremacy. His fingers skimmed skin, as they reached the place where her tank top and sleep pants did not quite meet. He twined his questing fingers into the hem of her shirt, urging it upward ever so slightly.
He paused in his delicious plundering of her lips, and looked at her with some anxiety, eyes slightly glazed and breaths coming in short pants.
"Are you sure - really sure?" he asked, his gaze pleading with her to say yes. She nodded, lips pressed tightly together.
"I'm sure," she said breathily.
"Was that spell - ?"
"Yes, Harry," she interjected with ill-concealed exasperation. He grinned at her unrepentantly, and she blushed.
When their lips met again, there was nothing tentative about it. It was blinding, soul-searing, mind-blowing, and Hermione was stunned to feel desire thrum through her like electric current. He was so warm, his skin seeming to radiate heat beneath his t-shirt and flannel pants, and she suddenly and desperately wanted more skin-to-skin contact so that she could feel more of that alluring warmth. Her fingers crept under his t-shirt, to come into contact with the smooth skin of his abdomen; she felt the muscles twitch reflexively under her hands.
She felt the ridged line of a recently healed wound, and knew instinctively that it had to have come from his stay with Voldemort. She hesitated, as the reality flooded back once again. His mouth had begun to lavish attention down the side of her neck and along the length of her collarbone, and one hand had begun to pull aside the strap of her tank top, but he stopped when she did.
"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked gently, obviously trying to keep the disappointed look out of his eyes. He thinks I've changed my mind, Hermione noted.
Her fingers found the scar under his shirt again, and traced it softly, causing Harry to hiss air out through his teeth, though it was a sound of desire rather than pain.
"I don't want to hurt you," she blurted, not really sure of what she actually meant.
"That is not going to hurt me," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. He had been healed for weeks, and she knew it.
"It hurts me…" she finally admitted, not meeting his eyes. "When I think of what he did to you… has done to you…since before you could even remember…"
"And you saved me," he said in a muffled voice, burying his face in her neck and nuzzling her in a way that made her arch her neck toward him without even realizing it. "You've saved me on so many occasions…in every way that a person can possibly be saved." The strap of the tank top slid the rest of the way off of her shoulder. He looked at her searchingly, his green eyes blazing with pent-up desire, and she felt the echo of it rush through her, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Save me again, Hermione…my Hermione…"
And Hermione understood. It was a plea to pretend to forget, just for a little while, just as she'd been trying to do, while recognizing the fact that neither of them could ever really forget. She let her hands surge up under his shirt again, her fingers playing over the planes of his chest for a moment, before she withdrew them and pulled the shirt over his head in one smooth motion. She never broke eye contact with him, even as she slithered out of her tank top, and they soon made short work of the rest of their clothing as well.
Few words were spoken; few words were needed, beyond the guttural moans, grunts, and hisses that conveyed their meanings far more efficiently than mere words could. Hermione's wand remained lit, and its blue-white glow bathed their skins in a silvery sheen.
They made love first with the awkward hesitance that comes with unfamiliarity, and for awhile the only noise was Harry apologizing incoherently into her hair, as she rode out the wave of pain, which finally morphed into a more pulsing and pleasurable sensation. The second time, it was with a sense of frantic urgency. They knew that the deck was stacked against them, they knew the danger Hermione would be in tomorrow, and as the real world threatened to crash back in on them, Hermione slid desperately against him, wanted to remember all of it, the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body moving in synchronized rhythm with hers.
How could she have ever imagined that what she had felt for Ron was love? Hermione thought distractedly, as she flew with Harry over the delightful precipice. It was shallow, self-absorbed water to Harry's heady wine. She wound her arms around his neck, as he collapsed on top of her, trembling, and ran her fingers through his damp hair. Momentary sadness stabbed her as she thought of Ron, only to be replaced by a fierce protectiveness. I won't let anyone take this away from me, from him - not Ron, not Voldemort, not anyone.
She waited a moment, waited for their rapid breathing to slow, before pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.
"I love you, Harry," she whispered, with all the solemnity of a sacred vow. Indeed, the entire night had had that feel, as though they'd exchanged vows in Hogwarts' Great Hall with Dumbledore officiating, rather than just shagged in a back bedroom with a Silencio charm up. But it's more than that, Hermione though vaguely, it's always been more than that.
"I love you too," he replied hoarsely, "My Hermione," he repeated fiercely, and she wondered how much of her inner monologue he had been thinking as well. She smiled at the label, loving the cadence of it as it tumbled gracefully from his tongue. They lay there together, entwined, a moment longer, savoring life distilled down to its very essence.
"You should sleep. You've got to -" Harry began reluctantly, a moment later. Hermione hushed him, pressing two fingertips to his lips, not wanting the taint of tomorrow to ruin this moment of - it seemed incongruous to say sanctity, given their actions - but Hermione hugged the precious memory to herself, not wanting it besmirched with any inkling of death or Darkness.
He regarded her seriously, and she knew he understood, words notwithstanding. She curled into his embrace, reveling momentarily in the slight soreness, and arranged his limbs around her like a blanket. He's so warm! She felt the rumble of his chuckle in his chest under her cheek, and felt the soft press of lips to the top of her head.
They slept.
~~**~~
Most of the occupants of the safehouse milled tensely around the front hall early the next morning. Faces were grim, words were clipped and terse, often muttered, and eyes were distant and bleak. The ones going on the venture were cloaked in black, knapsacks hidden beneath, and all - except Tonks - bore some form of Glamour charm, subtly changing the features of their hair and faces. Hermione's hair was straight and a nondescript sandy brown, pulled back in a serviceable, but not particularly attractive braid. The brilliance of the Weasleys' hair had been dimmed, and Fred had seemed to enjoy himself by adding several stones onto Ron's lanky frame. Tonks had aged herself by over a decade, and streaked her dark hair with gray. Ideally, the contingent from the Order wanted to attract no attention at all; with black cloaks and plain appearances, they hoped to escape most notice altogether.
Remus had come downstairs with the aid of a cane, his left arm still in a sling. Hermione noted that he and Tonks looked as tense and downcast as she and Harry felt. McGonagall hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, looking pensive and uncertain, and Luna watched Ron with slightly sad eyes, twirling her wand through her fingers like a baton. Neville and Penelope were proceeding down the stairs.
Hermione was standing by Harry, who was endeavoring to look like he'd not lost his last friend, and she turned to him quickly when she saw the other Gryffindor approach.
"Harry, can you do something for me?" she asked in a low voice.
"Again?" he tried to joke, and she glared at him, though faint humor managed to glint in her eyes.
"Keep an eye on Neville," she hissed, watching their clumsy housemate take up a position opposite McGonagall, his eyes moving over the assemblage with a kind of detached interest.
"Neville?" Harry blurted in disbelief, more loudly than he meant to. Hermione winced, and he muttered a hasty apology, adding more quietly, "Why?"
"I - I'm not sure why… yet. Just please, please just know - know what he's doing. And don't let him know. Okay?" Her eyes darted over his face anxiously, as she awaited his affirmative response. "And put this in his drink," she added in one breath, pressing a small glass vial into his hand. Harry transferred it into the pocket of his jeans in one smooth motion, before asking,
"What is it, Hermione?" She really did not want to tell him, but she reluctantly whispered,
"It's for Polyjuice detection." Her eyes flashed a golden amber then, as if daring him to tease her for being paranoid. But it was not mockery that she saw in Harry's gaze, but fear.
"You - you think Neville is - is not Neville?" he asked, and she felt a momentary flash of gratification that he believed her almost without question - or at least believed in the reasoning that had brought her to this point. "But - but Remus - he checked everybody." Hermione slid closer to Harry, mindful of the eyes that might be marking their conversation, and with her lips nearly brushing his ear, said almost inaudibly,
"Did he check McGonagall's team after the St. Mungo's raid? Neville was separated from everyone, remember?"
"But the - the Fidelius - it - he couldn't - " Harry was floundering, looking as disappointed and flummoxed as a child who'd just been told that there is, in fact, no Father Christmas after all.
"I don't know, Harry," she admitted. "I thought maybe since he was Stunned when he came in, but - anyway, it's just a theory. Don't let him know."
"All right," he conceded, and she watched a different look steal over his features, a look of business-like determination. I'm going to do something for the Order, something that doesn't involved stirring stew or picking cucumbers, she could practically see him thinking triumphantly.
Hermione gaze shot over to Tonks and Mr. Weasley, who were just rolling up a detailed map of the area immediately surrounding the Ministry. She and Harry exchanged glances, and he brushed a light kiss over the hair just behind her temple, ever mindful of Ron's baleful eye.
"Are you going to tell them? About the - ?" he nodded in the direction of her arm, which was folded up to her shoulder, clutching at the strap of her knapsack, concealed beneath her voluminous cloak.
"I guess," she said uncertainly. "If I'd only had more - I just figured it out yesterday… I'm not even sure it will work." She met his eyes again, almost guiltily. "They're not going to like it."
"I didn't like it either," he admitted evenly. "You need to tell them." She sighed, seemed to take a moment to compose herself, and stepped forward into the center of the front hallway, lightly clearing her throat.
"I've - I've got something else that might help us today," she said awkwardly, her voice starting out at a much higher timbre than it normally sounded.
"Brilliant!" Fred enthused, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "What is it?" Hermione closed her eyes briefly, as if in pain, and abruptly yanked upward the sleeve of her cloak, as well as the shirt beneath it, revealing a hideous depiction of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth on her fair skin, the dark ink making it all the more jarring.
She barely heard Ron's whispered ejaculation,
"Bloody hell."
"Hermione, what did you do?" Tonks asked in disbelief. The adults in the room had almost instinctively recoiled away from her at the sight of that Mark.
"It's - it's not real," Hermione said, somewhat inanely. "But it - it does have a magical signature… I - I copied it from Dumbledore's pensieve memories of Barty Crouch, Jr." Harry had found it in Dumbledore's office after his death; it was chock full of memories that the Headmaster had selected for one reason or another, almost as if he knew his demise was imminent. It had been left to Harry in Dumbledore's will, and had been safeguarded at the Shop until the move to the safehouse was made. Hermione had been agonizing over how to make the Mark more than just a tattoo, telling no one save Harry what she was trying to do, until yesterday, in a burst of inspiration, she had thought that surely one of Dumbledore's memories contained someone wearing the Dark Mark. "It's not permanent, and it isn't connected to the others. It certainly won't stand up to any intense scrutiny, but - "
"But it just might get us through those wards at the rally," Tonks finished for her triumphantly. "Hermione, you really are the brightest witch of your age." Their previous plan had been to enter the Ministry the same way Arthur had escaped, and come into the rally from the other side, hoping that it would not be too heavily guarded. Fred's pack was filled with gizmos from the Wheezes, in case a diversion became necessary.
"It's not a less risky plan," Hermione said in chagrin, shaking her head. "If they don't work, we'll be completely compromised right out of the gate." There's no way we'll escape, is what she did not add.
"It's a better plan," Tonks insisted. "If we come right in the front, we'll be more likely to be accepted, than if they catch us slinking around back Ministry corridors."
"If we get held up at the checkpoint - "
"One person should go first," Fred said, interrupting Hermione. "If the Mark doesn't work, I can use our stuff to distract everyone, while the person in question uses his or her medallion to get away. That way, no one else will be compromised. But we'll have to abort the plan." The last sentence was said regretfully, and most of the Order nodded solemnly, as if that went without saying.
"I'll go first then," Tonks said, with a resolute look on her face. Remus opened his mouth to object, but closed it again without speaking, as Tonks' eyes flashed warningly in his direction. She rolled up her sleeve, and presented her arm to Hermione. "I'm a Metamorphmagus, after all. If I get caught at the gate, I'll have the best chance of slipping into the crowd unnoticed. While a bunch of Weasley fireworks go off, of course." She tilted her head saucily toward Fred.
"Infuscare Macula Simulatus," Hermione intoned carefully, tapping the tip of her wand on the tender flesh of Tonks' forearm. A laser-fine beam of light began to swiftly etch the Mark on the skin beneath. Tonks watched with a kind of wide-eyed and morbid fascination, as the dreaded Mark of Morsmordre appeared on her arm. The Weasleys positioned themselves behind her, to have their arms Marked as well. Ron went last, and Hermione could see his arm tremble almost convulsively when the tip of her wand touched him. She did not meet his eyes.
"For the love of Merlin, all of you be careful," Remus finally said, as his eyes caressed Tonks' face lingeringly. Hermione could feel the weight of Harry's gaze on her, and she turned toward him, her heart in her eyes. He reached out with one hand, and gently stroked the tips of her fingers with the tips of his, barely a touch. As the rest of the Order filed out of the front door, Hermione backed away, her eyes not leaving Harry's, until she had to turn and navigate her way down the front steps.
The last thing she saw, as they crossed the anti-Apparation wards and popped away, was Harry standing on the front steps, leaning disconsolately against a support post, one hand raised slightly in farewell.
~~**~~
The Order members arrived in a dank alley only a block or so away from the dilapidated-looking building that housed the Ministry. Tonks raised her head as if sniffing the air, and said,
"They've put up Muggle-repelling charms. I guess they've decided to do that rather than pile everyone through that callbox," she said. "That makes it easier for us, then. Stay here. I'll buzz you when I'm safely through." Hermione fingered her D.A. coin in her pocket, and nodded. With a decided air of unconcern, Tonks sashayed from the mouth of the alley, and disappeared out of sight.
More people crossed in front of the alley, and the Order moved further back into the dimness, the smell of refuse very nearly overpowering. It was a dreary, sullen day, and the lead-gray sky seemed filled with portents of doom, made worse by the unmoving air and oppressive heat.
Hermione pulled the galleon out of her pocket, and held it up in front of her face,
"Come on, Tonks, come on, come on," she muttered to herself, as if encouragement alone would help Tonks through the gate. The coin threatened to slide in her sweat-slick grasp, and she suddenly felt very hot in her black wizarding robes. Fred was crouched opposite her, drumming his fingers very lightly against the side of a dustbin, and Mr. Weasley looked distant and somber. Hermione figured that his eyes were seeing faraway pictures of lively little red-headed sprites gamboling about on the front lawn of the Burrow, while a slender, pretty, ginger haired woman in an apron, with flour on her hands, admonished them from an open window. Ron was next to her, though over an arms' length away, and he looked tense and worried, like he was about to be sick.
"You're not going to fool anyone looking like that," Hermione chided him from the side of her mouth.
"Pardon me if I don't have a lot of experience pulling the wool over people's eyes," Ron said snidely, his implication clear.
"Ronald, this time it could get you killed! And you told Tonks you could work with me - with us! If you can't do that, I'll Banish you back to the safehouse so fast that your head will spin. And don't think I can't." Ron didn't look like he thought she couldn't. "We are going to a celebration. You're going to have to look happy - at least as happy as these people ever get anyway. Can you do that?"
"I can handle it, Hermione," Ron said in a sullen voice.
"Good," she replied sternly, with a tone in her voice meant to convey that they would finish this conversation at another time. The galleon warmed and then vibrated in her hands, and Hermione hastily tucked it back into her pocket.
"She's done it! She's made it through!" Hermione hissed, and the others stood to their feet. Moving wraith-like, they issued from the alley, and merged in with the foot traffic that, even in Muggle London, was nearly entirely cloaked in black. By the time they reached the entrance, Hermione could almost feel the pulse of power from the Confunding charms on the place. No Muggle would get within a kilometer of the place without suddenly remembering the jumper they'd left at home or a dentist's appointment they'd forgotten. Hermione wondered absently why that was…Voldemort always seemed to enjoy Muggle sport, and might welcome of slew of Muggles that he could kill right there on the dais. Perhaps he was saving that for another occasion.
There appeared to be two entrances, one for those with the Mark, and one for those without. The ones without a Mark were being thoroughly screened for magical devices before being allowed to enter - or before being carted away screaming, depending on what was found. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; she had cast Masking spells on her bag, to hide the portkeys and ward detectors from inspection, but she had been unsure as to their effectiveness.
Casting one quick nervous look at the Weasleys, she stepped into the line for those with the Mark. It shuffled forward at a slow, but steady pace, and Hermione again marveled at the sheer number of Death Eaters, at the sea of black around her. How are there so many? She wondered, not for the first time.
A painfully thin wizard, with a beaky nose and crooked yellow teeth was manning the checkpoint. He held up his wand, and Hermione passed her forearm beneath it, as she'd seen the others in front of her do. The wand chirped softly and glowed green. The dark cowl of the guard's hood hid the upper half of his face, but the lips split in the unhygienic approximation of a smile.
"You may pass," he said gruffly, and she stepped forward, without looking back at the others. A moment later, she felt a presence close behind her, and a low voice said,
"We're right behind you. Go on." It was Fred. Hermione relaxed a little, and began to weave her way through the undulating mass of blackness. It was a little disorienting, and she was beginning to wonder how they'd find Tonks in this madness, but even as she did so, an arm reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand. The younger witch quickly stifled a shriek, as she recognized both the gait and the gray-streaked locks tumbling out of the hood of the Auror.
"It worked!" Hermione hissed to her, with a gleeful disbelief, and Tonks nodded.
"We should try to get as close to the front as we can," the Metamorphmagus whispered back, inclining her head toward the others, and motioning that they follow her. They threaded their way in the general direction of the ramshackle telephone booth, and Hermione was startled to see that people seemed to be just dropping through the pavement as they reached it. "I reckon they've enlarged the lobby," Tonks muttered, then rapped out a curse and a well-placed kick as someone nearly trod on her. At Hermione's rather amused look, she added defensively, "It's not like anyone here is going to be especially well-known for their manners."
Hermione cast what she hoped looked like a diffident glance over her shoulder, and was rewarded with the sight of the three Weasleys still following. Ron, in particular, seemed rather large and intimidating, due to the added weight, and he was having less trouble making his way through the crowd than his other family members.
The people directly in front of Hermione and Tonks vanished then, and Hermione braced herself, as she took her final step forward. The molecules of asphalt seemed to flow around her, and she felt as if she were falling quite slowly and gracefully for quite some time. Eventually she lightly landed, and they stepped through to the lobby. It had indeed been enlarged, but the layout looked much as Hermione remembered, though a fell air seemed to permeate the large chamber. The statue that Dumbledore had destroyed had been replaced again, by Voldemort, it seemed, this time. The witch was gazing beatifically up at the wizard, who was actually astride the Centaur, who was crushing - Hermione peered curiously at its hooves, thinking it was going to be crushing the goblin and the house-elf underneath. But the other two Magical Beings were completely absent from the new rendering. Instead what she saw was a human hand, extending from beneath the heavy hooves, and just beyond the hand, a twisted and broken pair of round spectacles. The pedestal of the statue had been artfully carved to give the barest suggestion of a crumpled human body flattened by the Centaur.
Hermione felt her gorge rise, and she fought for control, staring determinedly down at the rippling water, trying to compose herself. She noted absently that there was no coinage of any kind dispersed through the pool. She didn't suppose that Voldemort's regime was much disposed to charity. Another movement, and Ron was beside her. She felt, rather than saw, him recoil away from the statue, muttering foul words under his breath. When she chanced a glance at him, she saw that he was absolutely ashen, and looking at her, almost furtively.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, I - " he said in a low, trembling whisper that sounded like the embryonic form of an apology. She shook her head at him. Not right now, Ronald. Tonks was eying her watchfully, and she turned shakily to the Auror, with a nod that she was okay.
"Merlin save us!" rasped Mr. Weasley hoarsely, coming to stand beside them and taking in the grisly artwork.
"Let's go," Tonks muttered, and they resumed their course toward the dais. There seemed to be a VIP section, which contained chairs, and was obviously magically cordoned off, as people periodically careened off of an unseen barrier nearby. They moved to the right of this area, where people seemed to be able to stand right at the very edge of the dais. Hermione figured there must be some kind of spell barricades up around the dais, Voldemort being as paranoid as he was. They were still a good 10 meters away from the front, but the crush of people simply too dense to move through. They were already drawing dirty looks from people that had been outmaneuvered, and Hermione did not relish being hexed in company like this.
As they finally stopped to take in the décor, Hermione was astounded. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting - Voldemort did not really seem to be the balloons-and-bunting type of wizard, but this…. The plush looking indigo and gold furnishings that she remembered were dimmed and distorted by lit sconces of pale green flame. It reminded her, hideously, of Harry's cell in the Riddle House. An imposing podium of sleek ebony wood, on which the Dark Mark was emblazoned in a poisonous shade of green, stood alone in the center of the dais. There was a line of polished black chairs across the rear of the dais, their backs carved in the manner of coiled snakes. And lined around the edges were gleaming rows of grinning white skulls. Hermione swallowed with difficulty and tried not to look at the horrible eyeless faces. There was a floating display of red numbers similar to Hermione's clock from the night before, counting down to zero. It currently read 2:24. Two minutes until the rally begins, she thought, looking down to her right at the Order, who ranged in a rather solemn, silent line. Ron was immediately next to her on her left. She nudged Tonks, pointing to the black podium, and tried to look animated and excited to be there. The Auror caught on quickly, as did Fred, and they both tried to put on more of a show to whomever might be watching.
A moment later, a patrician figure with his hair tied back in a neat white tail arrived at the podium to a thunderous roar of approval from the crowd. Other members of the Death Eater elite took seats in the chairs placed there for that purpose. Hermione cupped her hands to her mouth, managing to shroud all of her already hooded features, and whistled shrilly, while Ron looked at her in shock.
"We're Death Eaters, Ron! Look thrilled to be here before someone notices that you don't!" She hissed authoritatively at him. He looked nervously at her, then down the row to Fred and Tonks, who were pumping their fists exuberantly into the air, and joined somewhat half-heartedly in the chant that was pulsing through the crowd,
"Mal-foy! Mal-foy! Mal-foy!"
For it was Lucius Malfoy, one of Voldemort's most trusted lieutenants since his escape from Azkaban - and more so since his successful conquest of Hogwarts - who graced the stage. His gaze raked the crowd in an oily, patronizing way, and Hermione instantly felt dirty, even in the anonymity of the masses.
"Good morning, fellow freedom fighters, followers of the Dark Lord, and bearers of the Mark!" He said, raising his voice on the word "Mark" in a way that was calculated to draw cheers. Freedom fighters! Hermione thought derisively, but cheered along with everyone else. I'm going to have to take a shower when I get home. She felt Ron shift uncomfortably from foot to foot beside her. "The Dark Lord himself will be speaking to you shortly. He wishes to thank you for your allegiance. With your assistance, his victories have been unprecedented and absolute! He does reward those who serve him loyally and well. Equally does he chasten those who betray him or fail in their appointed task." The cheering died down to a more ominous rumble. "We will also be seeing some of those who have betrayed him - who have spit in his very face by their resistance of his ascension - get what they have come to so justly deserve!"
"A. K! A. K! A. K!" Chanted the crowd, seeming to have very quickly become both restless and thirsty for blood. Lucius smiled at them paternally.
"I'm certain you'd want rather more sport than that," he said, sounding almost jovial, and the crowd went wild again. Mr. Weasley looked very pale, and Ron seemed just this side of throwing up. She threaded her hot and clammy fingers through Ron's, and he looked at her with some measure of gratitude. There are times to maintain one's righteous indignation, but this is not it, she could see him thinking.
"Now, while we await the arrival of the illustrious new Leader of the British Wizarding World, we have engaged some entertainment for your amusement." Hermione felt Ron slowly tense up, and did so as well, clearly wondering what Voldemort and his minions would consider "entertainment". Evidently there had been some kind of drawing held, for Lucius called out some numbers, and people began to pick their way through the throng from several different directions.
"I don't like the look of this," Tonks hissed in Hermione's ear, as a ragtag band of extremely frightened Muggles was herded unceremoniously out on stage. There were a couple of teenaged girls clinging to each other, a matronly looking woman, a very handsome collegian, an elderly man using a walking stick, and a thin young man with multiple piercings who looked very pale and ill.
"Each one of our winners today," Lucius continued cheerfully, although his disdain at playing emcee now seemed to be seeping through," will receive a Muggle to dispose of - their choice - in front of us all. The Dark Lord is watching. Do him proud."
Hermione looked wildly at Tonks, who shook her head, looking stricken. The pierced young man wobbled and threw up on the dais, which drew enormous jeers from the crowd. Someone conjured up a hail of rotting produce, which soared up to the dais, splattering the young man with seeds and overripe pulp.
"Now, now," Lucius chastised. "You didn't win the raffle, now did you?" He sounded like he was scolding a young child for throwing a ball in the house. He Scourgified the mess with a lazy flick of his wand.
A thin and inbred looking man with a particularly beaky nose stepped to the front of the cluster of winning wizards, smiling rather unpleasantly. The teenagers sobbed and clung to each other. He raised his wand.
"Tonks!" Hermione hissed, horror and panic in her voice.
"We do something, and we all die! And then they die anyway," Tonks said sadly, wrapping her fingers tightly around her wand.
"I know," Hermione admitted, her voice a barely audible whimper. The little old man with the walking stick shuffled forward, placing himself in front of the girls, and looked the beaky man in the eye without flinching, standing with a quiet dignity that disconcerted the crowd. It shuffled like a massive, but uneasy beast, and finally a cry rang out,
"Kill the Muggle!" The mass of people seemed to jostle back to the task at hand, taking up the chant, sending it thrumming through the room like the heartbeat of the aforementioned beast. Hermione shouted too, tears that she did not dare shed stinging her eyes.
There was a flash of green light, and the little old man dropped like a stone. The teenagers sobbed more loudly.
"That was the man screening everyone at the entrance," Hermione whispered suddenly to Ron, pulling on his hand with hers to get his attention. "How'd he get down here ahead of us?"
"He's a wizard employee, Hermione," Ron said, in a voice that was a mere shadow of his usual withering tone. "There's probably a back entrance." There was a flash, and Hermione averted her eyes from the tableau of the middle-aged woman hanging upside down, shrieking hysterically, which was followed by a ghastly muffled crunching noise, and silence. The next Muggles were dispatched with alacritous Unforgivable curses. It seemed like everyone was eager to show off their Avada Kedavra skills to the Dark Lord. Hermione was pathetically grateful. At least it was quick.
Two leering wizards played with the teenage girls a bit together - spinning them around in the air and breaking a few of their bones - before killing them with a Diffindo much like the one Hermione witnessed at the Riddle House. Ron weaved visibly on his feet, and Hermione dug her fingers into his hands like talons. Watch yourself, Ron, she warned wordlessly.
When the last Muggle had been killed, and the bodies had been Banished, Lucius cleaned the stage again, and took a seat next to his wife, after announcing that the Dark Lord's arrival was imminent. He seemed disgruntled, and Hermione wondered if he was disappointed that most of the enthralled winners had chosen to use an A.K. rather than something messier and more sensational.
Just then, there was a flurry of drumbeats, followed by a chorus of mournful sounding trumpets, as two very large Death Eaters brought several dirty and shackled prisoners out onto the dais. For the most part, they were emaciated and filthy, walking with the resigned slump that bespoke of their expectation of impending and painful death. She felt Ron go rigidly tense beside her, as they both caught side of a head of muted ginger hair, diffused by neglect. He was neither as dirty nor as thin as the others, but his face was a purplish, almost unrecognizable mass. Clearly, the Death Eaters in charge of him had not been as reticent to use other curses as the ones killing Muggles on stage earlier.
"Percy," Ron breathed through barely parted lips. Hermione squeezed his hand sympathetically, and darted her eyes in the other direction to look at Mr. Weasley and Fred. They were still as stones, eyes riveted against their will toward the macabre scene playing out on stage.
Behind Percy shuffled a young woman whose torn and grayed clothing did nothing to disguise her regal bearing and willowy form. Matted, lank hair that once looked to have been a shiny blond hung down her back.
"No," Ron said, very softly, chanting it over and over again like a mantra. "No, no, no, no, no…." he watched helplessly as the woman, unmistakably his sister-in-law, was marched across the dais to stand by Percy. She was limping, and Percy seemed to be surreptitiously helping her stand. Their shackles were magical in origin, and so did not clank or rattle. An ominous, expectant silence pressed down upon the entire assembly.
The drums broke out again, and Hermione jumped. There was a deafening clap of thunder and a pillar of fire shot down from the ceiling to the center of the dais. When the smoke cleared, there stood the flat-nosed, red-eyed spectacle of Lord Voldemort. He pointed his fingers at the corners of the stage, and beams of fire spewed from the fingertips to form into two large Trolls, shackled but imposing, forming obvious barriers between the Dark Lord and his followers. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers, and Hermione fought the urge to bury her head in Ron's shoulder. I want Harry, she thought mournfully.
"Greeting to all my loyal followers!" Voldemort said in the shrill voice that haunted Hermione's nightmares. "It is indeed a glorious new day!" He paused to savor the chorus of cheers that bounced off of the walls and ceiling. "We have utterly crushed the opposition, and with the death of Harry Potter, our victory will be total and complete." More cheers. Hermione felt a thin smile curl her lips, clutching fiercely to the glee that filled her to hear him admit that Harry still eluded him. "We have taken control of the Wizarding Government, and have initiated the Muggle Purge!" More huzzahs. "As I'm sure you are aware, the villages of Godric's Hollow and Ottery St. Catchpole were destroyed in their entirety two days ago. When Harry Potter's hometown was annihilated, he did nothing! His power is nothing compared with my own, and well he knows it. He will be brought under my dominion, to join those who have defied me before, to their peril." Here he gestured expansively at the rows of skulls lining the stage. "Here you see the fate of those who opposed me here, at Hogsmeade, and at Hogwarts. So will be the fate of all who oppose me in the end." Hermione felt Ron's hand clench convulsively around hers, and he shuffled, as he drew his hood more closely around his face. She looked at the skulls with a new kind of horror, knowing that they had once belonged to people she both knew and loved.
"Harry Potter!" Voldemort called out, as if searching for him, addressing him directly. "We brought you back a souvenir from your ancestral home, if you care to come and claim it." There was laughter from the crowd, and Voldemort stiffened suddenly, almost sniffing the air, as Tonks had in the alleyway, and his terrifying eyes briefly probed the crowd. Hermione shrank instinctively back into her cowl. The moment appeared to pass, and Voldemort raised both hands, bringing them together over his hand with a loud clap.
Two marble-white tombstones appeared hovering in the air, moving in opposite directions, to meet just in front of the center of the dais. Clearly visible on the smooth faces were etched two names "Lily Evans Potter" and "James Potter". He clapped his hands together again, and the stones smashed against each other, shattering into dust and rubble with a deafening noise. Powder sifted down onto the heads of the crowd.
"Inferius," the Dark Lord intoned, and the crowd sent up an uncomfortable murmur. Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face. Please, no…she thought desperately, as two ungainly figures moved from the shadows to the center of the stage. They were two mostly desiccated skeletons, with shreds of hair and scraps of clothing still clinging to the yellowed bones. Voldemort waved his wand like a baton, and made the skeletons do a jaunty little dance. "It's a pity you aren't here, Harry Potter, to once again meet your parents." Another flick of his wand, and the skeletons bowed, kissing their hands to the crowd, who laughed and cheered at the grisly spectacle.
A low groan issued from Ron that was swallowed up in the jubilant crowd noise. Hermione could just barely hear Tonks cursing on her other side. Hermione felt herself trembling from head to foot. She withdrew her hand from Ron's and made herself clap loudly, but she could not cheer - she could not. She could only hope that somehow Luna had turned off the Wireless before Harry heard any of this; her heart tightened painfully in her chest as she thought of Harry sitting powerlessly in the War Room, angry and mourning, listening impotently as his parents' graves and very bodies were desecrated and mocked.
Thankfully, Voldemort seemed to soon tire of the game. As gratifying as dishonoring the bodies of those who had defied him so many times must have been to him, Hermione thought, it paled in comparison to actually being able to kill the upstart brat who had managed to battle him to a draw over and over again. He let the bodies of the Potters drop unceremoniously to the dais, where they flopped into a jumbled pile of bones, and turned to the dissidents, who had been watching the performance with ill-concealed horror.
"Bring the prisoners forward!" Voldemort shrieked, even though they were scarcely over 2 meters behind him. The large Death Eater guards prodded them with magical pikes, and they shuffled forward, the manacles buzzing and glowing yellow as the prisoners moved painfully against them. He was obviously saving Percy and Fleur for the end, and dispatched several of the prisoners quickly, reading out their names and the charges against them, before hitting them with Avada Kedavra.
"You!" Voldemort said, making a stabbing motion at Fleur with his wand. "What is your name, girl?"
"My name is Fleur Delacour Weasley," Fleur said, in a high clear voice, her fluid French accent as elegant as ever. She lifted her chin and looked toward the crowd defiantly.
"Ah, yes. A member of that traitorous clan… and not by blood, but by marriage, by choice," Voldemort's voice was astounded, as if he could not imagine willingly allying oneself with such a family. The audience rustled and booed, and a few more pieces of rotten fruit were lobbed half-heartedly onto the stage, as it appeared most were afraid of accidentally hitting the Dark Lord.
"I love my husband, and his family," she said resolutely, resulting in more jeers. Her eyes grazed across the crowd contemptuously, and suddenly seemed to light on the row of Order members. She grew very still, for an infinitesimal moment, and moved her eyes elsewhere gradually, betraying nothing.
"Even though they maintain their alliance with Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked, practically spitting the name. He was very close to Fleur now, but she did not look at him, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the roiling crowd instead.
"Even so, yes," she said. Hermione was filled with admiration for her. She and Ginny had both tended to dismiss her out of hand because of her Veela traits, but Hermione was suddenly and forcibly reminded that the Frenchwoman had been a Tri-Wizard champion, and her name certainly would not have been drawn from the Goblet, had she not been capable.
"Do you maintain your alliance with Harry Potter and his treasonous Order?" he hissed, playing his trump card. The crowd went absolutely still, and Hermione felt her heart stop. Fleur looked at him then, with an abrupt swivel of her graceful neck, contempt clear on her beautiful face. Voldemort had never appeared so inhuman and lizard-like as he did then, in comparison with such - even dirty and wounded - loveliness.
"Until the day that I die," she enunciated confidently. Voldemort backhanded her violently, and Fleur fell backwards, her body convulsing in pain, as the restraints punished her for the sudden movement. The crowd shrieked and gibbered in rage. Hermione could almost feel the fury bubbling from Voldemort - he had neglected one of the most important rules followed by solicitors the world over - Never ask a question to which you do not already know the answer. She yelled again with the crowd, not in anger, but in triumph, at Fleur's effrontery and amazing courage.
"You do realize that today is that day?" Voldemort asked with casual malice, recovering his composure. "Your allegiance with Harry Potter is utterly and completely without worth." Fleur had faced forward stoically, after staggering back to her feet with Percy's help, which had earned him a none too gentle prod from one of the guards. But at Voldemort's words, she turned toward him again, and smiled.
"Not if it pisses you off," she said, even the slang sounding stately in her foreign accent. Hermione darted her eyes toward Mr. Weasley, and saw a proud smile playing across his lips, even as his eyes were suspiciously moist. Voldemort turned toward the cursing and angry crowd, with his arms wide, a deceptively pleasant smile on his face, like an indulgent parent. You see what I have to put up with, the outspread arms and smile said.
Then, moving as rapidly as a striking snake, he whirled back on Fleur, drawing his wand so quickly that it was a blur.
"Carioso!" he shouted, his voice blurring and overlapping Percy's cry of,
"NO!" The guards scrambled after him, as he dove in front of Fleur, the yellow glow of his shackles hissing and sparking in protest. Voldemort's curse hit him in the gut, and he fell into Fleur, knocking her down and landing half atop her.
The muted cry from Mr. Weasley was almost lost in the roar of the crowd. Hermione covertly peered down the line again to see Fred visibly holding him up. She reached over to link her arm through Ron's, as he wavered on his feet.
Voldemort raised his wand again, and Fleur lifted her chin to look him fearlessly in the face, holding Percy's slumped form on top of her knees.
But then he stopped, his spine going rigid, as if he'd heard something no one else did. Pivoting slowly, he turned on his heel to face the crowd, whose roaring bloodlust had downshifted into an uneasy ripple.
"You are here, aren't you?" His voice was low and oily, his red eyes roved the people before him. "Harry Potter, I know you're here! I can feel you! Give yourself up, and I may let this French blood traitor live!"
"What the hell?" Ron whispered in a befuddled voice. Hermione was shaking her head.
"He can't be here. There's no way." Mr. Weasley and Fred had moved into more of a knot with the rest of the Order, so they could hear what was going on. Hermione met Fleur's gaze briefly and nodded once, while Tonks looked questioningly at her. "Fleur knows we're here. She must have recognized me."
"So has the Dark Lord just lost his marbles then?" Fred said quietly, derision evident in his voice.
"I don't understand," Hermione hissed. "The only way he could be here is if someone from the house brought him. Nobody would do that." Even as she spoke the words, Neville flashed in her mind, but she shook off the thought. She had no proof of anything, only vague and nebulous suspicions. Tonks looked at her suddenly with a dawning awareness in her eyes.
"You've brought him here," the Auror said in a low whisper, while Hermione and Ron stared at her in utter bewilderment. Voldemort stepped down from the dais, and began to move slowly through the crowd, knocking people in the VIP section aside with powerful waves of wandless magic. Chairs flew into the air, clattering noisily to the ground, as people yelled and tried to dodge them. Hermione tracked him out of the corner of her eye, noting that, mercifully, he seemed to be moving in a wide arc away from them, walking slowly and carefully, patiently - trolling - to use Harry's word.
"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked fiercely, more fear than anger evident in her voice.
"Your magic," Fred muttered, having caught on as well. "You channeled your magic through Harry."
"And Voldemort can sense the traces of Harry in me?" Hermione finished questioningly, blushing a little as the phrasing unwittingly carried her mind to their night together. "Then we've got to go. Now!" The Dark Wizard continued to meander through the room, head held high, searching for whiffs of Harry's magical signature, occasionally blasting people out of his path. The crowd rumbled unsteadily, and people tried to move toward the exits, as the massive beast began to grow nervous and panicky.
Hermione's eyes shifted to the camel-colored strap of Fred's knapsack, just barely showing near the collar of his cloak.
"Fred, can you release the Trolls?" she asked, her gaze flicking toward the lumbering creatures shackled at the corners of the dais.
"Fanged Frisbees ought to do it," Fred said, his eyes narrowing, as he began to mentally calculate the logistics involved.
"Okay, that will be our diversion," Tonks said, taking over, a plan obviously forming in her head. "Ron, give Hermione your medallion." Ron carefully removed it and placed it in Hermione's cupped palm, an intent look coming onto his face. "Go with your father, back to the safehouse. Fred, you have your Portkey?" The other Weasley son also nodded. "Good - it'll pass through wards, but it'll probably set off some alarms. We need all the distractions we can get. Loose those trolls and then get out of here. Don't go straight back, just in case they trace it. Hermione and I are going on a rescue mission." She nodded toward the dais.
"Like hell you are!" Ron burst out suddenly. Voldemort had reached the rear of the room and was making a wide circle; he would be heading in their direction soon. The crowd shifted and stumbled; there were cries of pain as people were trodden underfoot by the urgency of others to quit the rally.
Tonks leveled Ron with a glare, and shape-shifted suddenly. Hermione took an involuntary half-step backwards, as the leering features of Antonin Dolohov replaced the quirky ones of the Auror she knew. The prominent Death Eater had not been present on the dais, which had now emptied as Voldemort's most trusted spilled into the crowd to Avada the persons responsible for ruining their celebration. Tonks pulled the hood more closely around her face.
"Fred, you have any Nosebleed Nougats?" Fred dug in his pack quickly, and pulled out a foil-wrapped candy, handing it to Dolohov/Tonks. "Eat this, Hermione. That way, I don't have to hit you. Take your hair down - it needs to be hanging in your face." Hermione ate the nougat obediently, and Tonks twisted her arms around behind her back in one sudden motion. "You're going to be the prisoner. Keep your wand out of sight!" She nodded grimly to the Weasleys. "Now, Fred!"
Fred bent low, and released a pair of Fanged Frisbees in two different directions so quickly that Hermione never actually saw them in his hands. There was a distant clank and cries of outrage and alarm told Hermione that the twin had made his mark. The Frisbees must have nicked the ankles of the Trolls as well, for Hermione saw them snort and shake their heads in dumb pain, as they began to stumble clumsily around in the crowd, which jerked and shifted abruptly, growing more and more uneasy by the moment. Voldemort had begun to increase his pace, as if he realized that he was nearer, but the erratic movement of the crowd, hampered by the Trolls, impeded his progress. Tonks began propelling Hermione roughly through the crowd toward the stage, as Voldemort completed his circuit of the back of the room, and started forward.
"Lucius," Dolohov's voice drawled, once Tonks and Hermione had reached the rear of the dais.
"Antonin!" Lucius responded, surprised. "I thought you were at Hogwarts! Don't tell me you finally let them make an Effingus?" Tonks tensed for a moment behind Hermione, but then said,
"I decided to take a chance," she hedged.
"Well, I won't do it," Lucius said stalwartly. "One Lucius Malfoy's more than enough anyway, right?" He nudged Tonks conspiratorily.
"To be sure!" Tonks replied.
"Who have you there?" Malfoy asked, nudging Hermione's leg with the tip of his cane, looking with some repugnance at Hermione's blood-smeared, bedraggled person.
"This one had a vial of Exploding Elixir," Tonks said, shoving Hermione roughly. "Says she didn't intend to use it on the Dark Lord. I guess I'll find out for sure after I … interrogate her."
"Good hunting, Antonin," Lucius smirked, stepping aside so that they could make their way out the back entrance. Tonks had nearly reached the door, when she turned, as if she'd just remembered something.
"Do you think I should secure the other prisoners as well? If Potter is here, he might try to rescue them." Malfoy turned to look appraisingly at where Fleur knelt onstage with a crumpled Percy. There was a new uproar from the crowd as one of the Trolls finally went down, taking Merlin knew who with it.
"We could just A.K. them now," Lucius said doubtfully. At that moment, a lower-echelon Death Eater ran up to Malfoy, panting and cowering. "What?" Lucius snarled, his lip curling.
"There was - we just - up in the control room - we registered the activation of an Unauthorized Portkey," said the lackey, sounding very young.
"Aren't they all Unauthorized now?" Lucius chuckled, looking at Tonks as if to share the joke.
"This wasn't by a Death Eater, Sir. No Mark showed up on the grid." The smile fell of Malfoy's face. Hermione relaxed ever so slightly in Tonks' grip. The others had made it out.
"Was it in or out?" he asked intently, gripping the lackey's arm tightly.
"We aren't sure - we don't - it's never read one before. The system is - " The lackey cringed, and Lucius hurled him to the ground, turning graciously back to Tonks.
"My apologies, Antonin. They say that Replication doesn't make you stupider, but sometimes I'm inclined to wonder. Damned Anti-Apparation wards. Take the prisoner down. And - let me have a taste when you're done, will you?"
"If there's anything left of her!" Tonks managed to chortle, while Hermione's stomach churned. As Lucius melted into the hysterical crowd, Tonks strode toward the edge of the dais, half-dragging Hermione.
"You, there!" Tonks hollered to one of the oversized guards. "Why are you still standing here, filthy son of a Mudblood bastard? Get down there, and contain those Trolls, or do you want the Dark Lord crushed?"
"But, Lord Dolohov, the criminals - ?" The guard protested, gesturing toward Fleur and Percy. Tonks' wand flicked back and forth subtly, and the guards' eyes glazed over. Confundus! Hermione thought gleefully.
"I'm to take them back to their cells and secure them. If Potter's here, we don't want him to free them. The Dark Lord will finish them off later."
"Yes, sir," the guard said, nudged his partner, and together, they wandered off the dais.
"Let's go," Tonks ordered tersely, keeping up the charade by flicking her wand threateningly at Fleur. "Get him up! Now! Or he dies here!" Fleur's jaw trembled, and mutiny flashed briefly in her eyes, but she struggled to lift Percy under her slight weight. There was another thunderous roar, as the second Troll fell. Voldemort was so close - closing in like a bloodhound on the scent.
"There's no time," Hermione said levelly. "He's almost here." She looked back at Fleur, and dismantled the ward around the stage with a deft twist of her wand. "Here," she said, removing her watch and setting it with a quick Portus. She tossed it to Fleur by one strap, and said, "Sing `Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star'. Wait until a Weasley gets there."
Fleur nodded and sank back down onto the dais, cradling an unconscious Percy in her arms. As her lips began to move, an inarticulate cry of rage met her ears. Voldemort had seen her - and where she was, she figured he assumed Harry was also. He was livid.
Harry… she thought desperately of him, squeezing her eyes shut, and vanished, even as a beam of green light passed through the place where she had once been.
TBC
Well, I had much more fun writing this chapter. I hope you liked it as well. Long again, but I wanted to get the entire rally in here. You may leave a review on your way out if you like.
lorien
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