AN: Realized I'd forgotten a disclaimer. The characters in this and the previous chapters are not mine. Neither infringement nor profit is among my objectives.
Resistance
Chapter Twelve: Aftershock
Hermione felt her body instinctively tense as Voldemort raised his wand, but with no more sound than a rush of air, she was gone. One heartbeat later, she was in the War Room next to a nearly panicked Harry, having Apparated to the signature of his medallion.
"Hermione!" Harry exhaled, as if all the breath had left his lungs with the word. Heedless of the eyes of the other Order members, he crushed her into his arms, evidently deciding that since he could not breathe, then she should not either.
"Har-ry," she croaked in response, feeling her eyes slide shut in gratitude, but pushing against him until he reluctantly let her go. Her eyes floated anxiously over to the Weasleys, darted back to Harry, and then over to the Wireless set up in the corner. Fred seemed to catch on to what she was trying to wordlessly convey, and shook his head in the negative, very subtly. Another weight lifted from her shoulders. Thank Merlin. For whatever reason, Harry had not listened to the broadcast of the rally. Remus, on the other hand, wore a pale, drawn look of horror and vaguely nauseated disbelief, as if - all evidence to the contrary - he could not believe that anyone claiming the chromosomes of humanity could have committed such acts. Hermione surmised that he must have heard what went on. Her eyes flicked to the Wireless again; she wondered at which point it had been deemed too much to handle and had been shut off. She tried to remove her mind from the endless pictures of the Muggles dying one by one, without even understanding why these people hated them, and the corpses of Harry's parents… dancing…
"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry asked, cautiously and somewhat fearfully. She jumped and smiled half-heartedly at him, not even having realized until he spoke that she had closed her eyes again. She lowered her hands carefully to her sides, palms parallel to the floor, taking a deep breath and appearing to visibly calm herself. "Fred," she turned to him and Ron, with her most matter of fact voice. "I gave Fleur my Portkey. She was using it when I left, so I'm hoping she got away. I sent them to the Quidditch pitch behind the Burrow again - hopefully, it's still fairly isolated, especially after - " she shook her head abruptly, and did not complete the thought. "You need to bring them back here, quickly. I'm sure both of them need medical attention." Fred nodded solemnly and set his Portkey, while Ron said quickly,
"You might need help. I'll go with you." Fred sang his song of choice, while Ron grabbed the sleeve of his black cloak. They both vanished. Mr. Weasley drifted upstairs, mumbling something vaguely about the intention to help Penelope and McGonagall prepare for new arrivals in the infirmary. Hermione watched him go with sympathy and compassion reflecting luminously from her dark eyes.
When she turned back to Harry, he was staring at her, flabbergasted.
"You got them out?" Hermione regarded him quietly for a moment, and her eyes pooled with shimmery tears.
"I got you out, didn't I?" She said, her teasing falling flat as the emotion quivered in her voice. "Besides, it was mostly Tonks' doing anyway, and - " She looked up at Remus, who was still standing, leaning on the cane he'd been using, every muscle and line of his body completely tense.
"Where is she?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes boring into Hermione's. She looked down at her empty wrist, out of immortal habit, before remembering that her watch didn't work and Fleur had it anyway.
"Professor Lupin, she was right behind me, I swear. She had her medallion. I can't think what happened that - " She stopped abruptly. There were very few reasons why Tonks would not have arrived yet, and fewer still were good. The werewolf exhaled a shuddering breath and turned his back on them, limping across the War Room to the window. Harry and Hermione exchanged agonized glances with Luna and Neville, who were seated on the very edge of their chairs, as though they might need to leap up at any moment.
There was a small sound, barely a click, like the snap of fingers, and Tonks, looking decidedly disheveled and worse for the wear, the hem hanging raggedly from her robes and dragging the ground, appeared by Remus' side. In one glance, she took in everyone's tense faces and misinterpreted the reason for them.
"Percy and Fleur aren't here?" she asked, her eyes huge and sorrowful.
"Fred and Ron went to get them," Hermione told her quickly. "We think everyone made it."
"Merlin's Beard, Nymphadora!" Remus burst out angrily, though the relief in his eyes gave him away. "What were you doing? Picking flowers?" Tonks seemed to realize the true origin of his emotion; she spoke in an astringent tone, but gazed at him with limpid eyes.
"Remus Lupin! Don't tell me that you would rather I'd left them there! They were your friends!" Hermione's eyes widened in alarm, and Harry hurled a confused look at her. "I just - Summoned them, and then put them in my pack. I had to shrink them. It's terribly undignified, but - but - " she looked up into the eyes of the man she loved, and her voice failed her. "They deserved better than what happened to them."
Remus' face convulsed a little, and he shook his head slightly, trying to tamp down his emotion enough to speak. Hermione had clapped one hand over her mouth, in an effort to quell the sobs that threatened to burst from her.
"It was a foolish risk, Nymphadora," he finally said. "You could have been killed, and Voldemort … can't hurt them anymore."
"I said they deserved better, and I meant it, but I didn't do it for them," Tonks choked, looking up at him, then darted her eyes over to Harry.
"I know, and I love you all the more for it," Remus whispered, gathering her into his arms, in the same sort of bone-crushing hug that Harry had visited upon Hermione.
"Hermione," Harry said, in a carefully controlled near-whisper, "who the hell are they talking about?" She looked hopefully at Luna and Neville, who looked as bewildered as Harry did. He followed her glance.
"The three of us were out back… just talking." Harry informed her. "We didn't - I didn't want to hear - hear that you had been - hear what might happen over a wireless. Especially when - when I can't even - " he stopped and shook his head in agonized frustration. "So tell me now." His green gaze bored into her, daring her to speak anything other than the truth. "What happened at that rally that you don't want me to know about?" His eyes were angry-scared, and darted quickly from her to Remus and Tonks.
"Harry - " Hermione started, but stopped quickly when her voice cracked and wobbled, refusing to cooperate. She jerked her chin away from him and down, closing her eyes in complete frustration. He needs you. You have to pull yourself together, she berated herself.
"Hermione, I've lost my magic," he said evenly, his voice barely vibrating with just contained emotion. "That makes me - handicapped, I guess… but it doesn't make me a child. Tell me what the hell happened - who does Tonks have?"
Hermione linked her arm through his, and looked at him in much the same way that she had watched Mr. Weasley leave.
"Let's go outside," she said softly.
They went out the back door to sit on the patio. The sky was still threatening rain, though it had not actually made good on its promise yet. The wind was whipping at them vigorously, and Hermione could make out feathery tops on many of the waves. She cast a quick spell over her shoulder to bind her hair out of her eyes.
He turned to her abruptly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, as the wind tossed his unruly hair into an ebony morass.
"Who did he kill?" He said this without a questioning tone, but one of resigned command, knowing that it was true before she even opened her mouth.
"Some Muggles," Hermione said, a little reluctantly. "They - they had - " she swallowed with difficulty. "They had a… contest." She choked on the last word. Harry paled, and looked like he was restraining himself from either swearing violently or from vomiting. A spasm seemed to run its course over his frame, and then he raised his eyes to hers again, obviously indicating for her to continue. "He killed some - some wizards that he'd labeled as criminals. Percy and Fleur were with that lot. And - " she faltered again.
"Who does Tonks have? She brought them here for burial, didn't she? Who are they?"
"They - they were already dead, Harry. After he destroyed Godric's Hollow, he - " She stopped speaking when she saw his Adam's apple bob convulsively in his throat. He knows. In fact, Hermione wondered if he hadn't had an inkling from the moment Tonks opened her mouth. His face suddenly looked so drawn and white and old that Hermione stepped to his side instinctively, afraid that he was going to collapse.
"What did he do to my parents?" he asked in a dead and leaden voice. Hermione shook her head at him, unable to speak as the tears that had been threatening finally overspilled their boundaries.
"You don't need to know, Harry," she finally choked out. His eyes blazed then, with the same heartrending combination of smoldering anger, uselessness, and fear, and he grabbed her upper arms with both hands.
"Tell me what he did to them!" He bit off every syllable, speaking with an understated ferocity that nearly made Hermione tremble, not in fear of Harry, but in mute agony over what he continued to go through.
"No," she spoke the short word clearly and firmly, surprising both of them. He continued to stare at her, holding her arms, evidently trying to intimidate her into telling him. She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Is it going to change how you feel about him? Is it going to make you hate him less - more? - than you already do? He's a monster, Harry. We already knew that - even before today. He's performed so many atrocities and killed so many people that he doesn't even qualify as human anymore; he shredded his own soul for the sake of eternal life. And all those people following him are just dancing along behind the piper blithely to their deaths - either they know what he is and don't care, or they really are ignorant, or they're cowardly and weak. They deserve our contempt and our desire for justice. But telling you what happened only hurts you - you. Not him, not the Death Eaters, and not your parents. Just you. And I won't do it, Harry. I won't."
He released his grip on her then, and turned away from her, facing the sea, the wind snapping his hair like a dark banner. His hands returned to the depths of his pockets, and his spine and shoulders were rigid. It wasn't until they vibrated ever so slightly that Hermione realized that he was crying. Any noise he was making was swallowed by the rush of waves and wind.
She hesitated at first, not wanting to intrude on what could be a private moment of pain, but then she stepped to his side and leaned against him, wrapping one arm around his waist.
"I saw so many things today," she said, almost whispering, as if she were speaking only to herself. "So many things that - that nearly made me sick, made me feel angry and terrified and disgusted, made me wonder how people - humans - could do that to other humans. And I had to stand there in the crowd, bloody well surrounded by people who would have cheerfully ripped us limb from limb if they'd known who we were. We had to just - watch, and do nothing. Harry, it was awful - beyond awful, and I can't ever unsee that. But then, I don't really want to…because we shouldn't ever forget what he's done. If we forget, then he only grows more powerful and more deadly. If we forget, then everyone he's killed so far has died in vain, for nothing. So I'll live with those memories if I have to, but you've got enough nightmares of your own already. Am I wrong for wanting to spare you some of that?" She'd meant her last question to be rhetorical, but Harry uttered a breathless, shaky,
"No." His arms had been hanging limply at his sides, but after he spoke, they moved to encircle her waist. She relaxed a little.
"Tonks risked her life to bring them back. We can bury them here, Harry. No one will ever bother their rest again." Harry's chest heaved outward spasmodically, and he moved away from her, out of the embrace. "He couldn't hurt them, Harry. Not really. Not anymore." He stood so still, looked so fragile, as if one cross word would shatter him into a million tiny shards.
"No," he agreed. "Not them. Just me. You. All of us. That's who they want now. I should…go thank her - Tonks. I didn't understand…before," he said vaguely, as if his lips were moving without his brain's knowledge or consent. Without further acknowledgment or invitation to join him, he strode back to the house, hands back in pockets, head and shoulders bent in a posture of defeat.
Hermione stood on the patio, the wind teasing at a few tendrils of her hair that had escaped the binding charm. Her face was stamped with an expression of muted sorrow, her hands clasped before her so tightly that the knuckles were white. How much more of this can he take? What will be the one thing that finally breaks Harry?
And on the heels of those thoughts came, Are we both completely crazy for thinking we can find even a particle of joy in this madness?
~~**~~
She wandered back into the house, feeling disquieted and ill-at-ease. Harry was nowhere to be seen, and Remus and Tonks were huddled close together in the windowsill of the War Room. So much for thanking her, Hermione thought sadly. She closed her eyes, pressed her fingers to her temples, and tried desperately to blot out the image of the little old man with the walking stick, placing himself between death and the teenaged girls. Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. Death had come for them anyway.
She sighed tremulously and squeezed her eyes more tightly, in a vain effort to force back the tears. She didn't even have time to mourn those they'd loved and lost, much less for some Muggles with whom she wasn't even remotely acquainted. She shook her head in a series of repeated quick, short gestures, as if trying to shake off the pall of gloom that hung over her almost tangibly.
There was a loud crack, and Hermione jumped, stumbled over a small mat in the doorway leading to the kitchen, and swore under her breath.
"What took you so long?" Hermione said sharply, to cover up her fright. Ron was carrying Fleur, but almost immediately let his wand take over, as soon as they'd materialized. Fred had Percy in a sort of fireman's carry, and the left shoulder of the younger Weasley's shirt was covered in blood.
"Fleur had dragged … Percy away from the house… into the trees. Then she… passed out. We had a time… just finding them," Fred supplied, obviously out of breath, as he levitated his brother up the stairs behind Ron. "Plus, we Bounced once, just in case they tried to trace the portkey again." He added, referring to the technique where one makes a quick interim stop elsewhere while Apparating.
Percy was dying. Though Hermione couldn't profess to have overmuch experience with death, most of it having been acquired recently, and generally at a distance - the Order members and Aurors dropping on the battleground stole into her memory - one look at Percy told her the undeniable truth. His face was paper white and clammy, his eyes seemed to be sunken into his head, and his breathing was uneven and noisy, as if it were requiring all of his effort just to pump air in and out of his lungs. She followed the boys up the stairs to the infirmary, thinking sadly of the thinning, faded red hair of Mr. Weasley, lines of worry and loss seemingly permanently etched into his rapidly aging face. Her thoughts echoed those she'd had regarding Harry just moments before. How much? How much more?
When Penelope saw Percy, she sucked in an audible breath, watching him avidly with wide, concerned eyes. Whatever their relationship status had been as of late, it was obvious that Penelope still cared a great deal for him, Hermione thought.
"What happened?" Penelope said, with an attempt at a professional tone that she nearly pulled off.
"Got hit with a curse," Fred said. "Dove for it, to cover Fleur. Carioso." He looked grim, and Penelope paled. Hermione wondered what the extent of the curse was. She knew her Latin as well as anybody, and the incantation was a derivation of the Latin word for "decay".
"And - and Fleur?" the young mediwitch stammered, her eyes pulling unwillingly away from Percy and going to the pale Frenchwoman.
"Her leg's broken," Ron supplied, surprising Hermione, even though she'd been sitting next to him during their courses on field medicine and first-aid spells. "We would have tried to heal it, but it looks as if it's been broken for awhile. Wanted you to have a look at it. I don't know how she was even able to stand." He paused, and his eyes dropped to the tops of his battered trainers. "They've both been tortured," he mumbled, almost as an afterthought.
Penelope's lovely eyes went to McGonagall, who'd been rearranging something in the Potions cupboard, and they exchanged a knowing glance.
"Professor, could you -?" she asked, gesturing toward Fleur, whose injuries were definitely less severe than Percy's.
"Certainly, Miss Clearwater." McGonagall's tone was even more subdued than was usual as of late.
Penelope lifted her chin, and appeared to be steeling herself for what was to come. She stepped over to Percy's bedside, and unfastened the ragged remains of his shirt. Mr. Weasley, hovering anxiously near the foot of the bed, trying to stay out of the way, turned so white that Hermione thought he was going to pass out, and she desperately tried to keep her stomach calm.
Percy's abdomen was varying shades of purple, gray, and black, and was beginning to distend. Pus oozed from a couple of places where the skin had split open. The smell was not pleasant. Carioso, Hermione thought in horror. She began to understand, and threw a helpless glance at Tonks, who was standing nearest, hovering as uncomfortably in the doorway as Hermione herself. Why didn't we hear about this one with Moody?
"It's not an Unforgivable because it has other practical - even beneficial - uses," Tonks whispered to her, apparently reading Hermione's mind.
"Is - is he - is it - ?" Hermione couldn't finish her question, even as certain as she was of the answer, but Tonks nodded.
"His flesh is rotting - while he's still alive. There's nothing Penelope can do but ease his pain." Penelope was still working, swabbing the putrid skin, and pouring some kind of liquid over it that caused Percy to twitch and mutter deliriously under his breath. Silent tears were pouring down her face. Hermione watched, transfixed, helpless, stricken, as Ron - in a strikingly beautiful gesture of emotional selflessness and maturity - was the one to first approach Penelope, and ask her in a gentle voice if he could help her. She directed him to the supply cabinet, and he moved across the room, and began efficiently withdrawing materials.
She felt eyes on her then, as surely as if someone had called her name, and her head pivoted back toward the infirmary door, as if compelled. Harry was standing there, just behind Tonks, looking somehow even more lost and forlorn in the relative dimness of the corridor. He was watching her, not the grim tableau beyond, naked pain on his face. Is this what you want? Knowing that someday he could be me, and she could be you? She merely looked back at Penelope, watching her with a combination of sympathy and admiration, as the young mediwitch continued about her task, with face wet and eyes red, but her spine was straight and her shoulders square. Looking at her in that moment, Hermione knew - knew as if she felt it herself - that Penelope had no regrets in loving and having loved Percy. She inclined her head back toward Harry, looking almost regal, her glance clear and communicative. She hoped that she'd answered his unasked question.
"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall called from beside Fleur's bed. "I need you to cast a Repelling charm on the bone, while I hold it in place. That will probably be the most efficient way to do it, while causing the least pain. Nice and easy, now." She gently levitated Fleur's leg, and Hermione nearly recoiled at the horrible bulge, where the bone had nearly broken the skin. She took a deep breath, and cast the spell, a faint hum and the movement of the bone the only indication that it was working. When the distortion had been reduced, McGonagall set it in place with an audible snap, fusing it with a wave of her wand and a trickle of bone-setting serum across the patient's lips. Fleur let out a muffled cry, and her eyelids fluttered, but did not open. "Now, Miss Granger, if you'd be so kind as to fetch me some of the Pain Relieving potion." Hermione followed the professor's instructions, quickly locating and handing off the required bottle.
Over at Percy's bed, Penelope was affixing a large sterile square of bandage over Percy's wounds, more from a desire to be doing something, or to cover up the ghastly rotting flesh, than for any medical good it could do, Hermione thought. Ron was still retrieving things as quickly as Penelope could request them, and Hermione suddenly felt very proud of him. Her eyes drifted over to Harry, and he seemed to be reading her mind, for he flicked his gaze over toward Ron, and then back to her, with a small upturn of his lips, not even enough to be called a smile.
Fleur stirred on her bed, and then moaned again, as McGonagall spooned some of the pain reliever into her mouth. Her eyes flew open in a panic, and she looked wildly around the room, finally resting on Mr. Weasley. She smiled, with her eyes closed, in unadulterated relief.
"Papa Weasley!" she exclaimed. "Oh, thank Merlin. Is Percy all right?"
"Penelope's working on him," Mr. Weasley hedged, mustering a smile for his daughter-in-law.
"He saved my life," Fleur said vaguely. "Where is my husband?" She couldn't miss the sudden tension in Mr. Weasley's shoulders, and her eyes began to fill before he'd even said a word.
"We lost Bill in - in the battle for Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley said softly. The room suddenly seemed too quiet. Professor McGonagall stopped fussing over Fleur's other injuries, and grew very still.
Fleur's face crumpled, and tears began to drip from the corners of her eyes, running down into her dirty, tangled hair. She shook her head silently, denying that what her father-in-law said could be true. Hermione's heart broke for her, trying to imagine what she'd feel like if Harry - but the wound was too sensitive, too close to being real, and she couldn't finish the thought, lest she break down before all of them. Instead she watched Mr. Weasley clamp his lips together, and reach for Fleur's hand, caressing the lacerated, too-thin fingers, with all the gentleness that he would demonstrate for his own flesh and blood. Fleur looked up at him helplessly, and tried to form words.
"I - " was all she could manage. She had been so strong, so defiant and brave in front of Voldemort. Hermione wondered if it was because death had seemed a certainty. It had been expected, inevitable, and so did not invite fear. But now… to live knowing that her husband did not? Hermione's eyes flickered over to Harry again. There are some things harder than dying, she thought.
"I know, I know," Mr. Weasley nearly crooned, even as his own tears welled up at the thought of the eldest son he'd lost.
"You're going to be fine, Mrs. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said softly. "And so is your child." Fleur froze suddenly, her eyes the only parts of her moving, alternating between Mr. Weasley and the Hogwarts teacher.
"You're mistaken," Fleur said coolly, a brittle note to her voice. "I miscarried two days ago." The pain in her voice was reined in tightly, as if it would tear her apart if loosed. "The Death Eaters were - doing what they always do. That was when my leg was broken and when I started bleeding." She struggled to maintain her tenuous grasp on her composure. "And - and I knew. I did not mind dying so much then." Her jaw trembled, and her eyes lowered to her hands twisted in her lap, as if they were inherently fascinating.
Professor McGonagall flicked her wand lightly, and a small stream of paper began spewing from the side of it. She consulted it briefly, and showed it to Fleur.
"No more than about seven or eight weeks, I'd imagine," McGonagall said. "Miss Clearwater should give you a more thorough examination to make sure the baby has sustained no trauma, but my wand is clearly reading an existing pregnancy, not a recent miscarriage." Fleur looked at the paper again, and then back at McGonagall with a kind of rapt, fearful expression, as if she were afraid to believe that it was true. Her eyes were shiny with tears, and her hand trailed down to her abdomen.
"I was so - so afraid when I realized I was pregnant." Fleur said, seeing something with her mind's eyes that no one else could see. "I was locked in a cell, I didn't know what they were going to do with me, I didn't know where Bill -" she hiccupped, and stopped abruptly. "I didn't want it. I did not see how the timing could be any worse. And then when - when - all the blood - and I was - I realized how much I had wanted it." Hermione wondered if she was seeing her and Bill's last night together…wondered if it had been that night that this miracle baby had been conceived. Her eyes drifted toward Harry, and the longing pouring from his gaze startled her. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. But her idle introspection was interrupted by an incoherent cry from Percy.
His back was arched off of the bed, and frantic hands scrabbled at the bandages that Penelope had only just finished applying. Veins bulged in his neck, and his limbs were trembling. Penelope's face was white and strained, as she whispered something soothing in his ear. She tried to intercept his flailing hands with her own, obviously trying to keep him from further injuring himself.
"Professor McGonagall!" Penelope exclaimed. "He's going to have to be sedated. He's going to cause himself further injury, if he isn't kept still. With the amount of pain he's - he's going to be in, it's probably better that he be unconscious…anyway." McGonagall moved to the potions cupboard to retrieve the necessary mixtures.
"N - no," Percy rasped out suddenly, surprising everyone in the room. His voice seemed to groan up from the very depths of his soul, and he was trying to talk with as minimal movement as possible. "Penelope…"
"Hello, Percy," she said, in as even a voice as she could muster. Her eyes were wide and shiny. Mr. Weasley squeezed and released Fleur's hand, and stood, moving carefully around McGonagall to where he was in Percy's line of sight.
"Son," Mr. Weasley managed, his voice nearly disappearing as his throat closed up. Percy's eyes rolled up in his head, as he strove to look up at his father.
"D - dad," he grunted. "I should have told y' - was alive…"
"Don't worry about that now, Percy. We're just glad you're here. We all love you. We always have." Another wave of pain racked Percy, and he trembled beneath Penelope's light touch.
"Not - like you…" he managed to say. "Not… Gryffin'or…enough."
"Yes, you are, Percy," Mr. Weasley said gently. "You've saved Fleur, you know. Saved her baby - hers and Bill's." Fleur nodded emotionally, even though it would have been difficult for Percy to have seen the movement.
"Did I?" A rictus of a smile fluttered on Percy's face briefly. Hermione noticed blood seeping through his shirt again, this time above the area where Penelope had placed the bandages. The curse's effect was worsening. "'m glad," he breathed. "Where's Mum?"
"You'll see her soon," Mr. Weasley said hoarsely. Hermione suddenly felt hot wetness sear her cheeks, although she could not recall when she'd begun crying. She stared down at her shoes, and the dirty trainers blurred and wavered in her gaze. She became aware of a firm grip above her elbow, and looked to see an indistinct rendition of Harry's green eyes before her.
"Come on…" Harry said in a low, grim voice. "They need to be alone." There were a few muttered words to the other Order members who were not technically family, and as quickly as that, he emptied out the infirmary, leaving the Weasleys alone to reconcile with their prodigal son.
~~**~~
Hermione moved to follow the other Order members down to the War Room, but Harry pulled her up the far stairs to the garret. Once they'd closed the door behind them, Harry turned to her, and suddenly enfolded her into his arms, muttering something under his breath that she could not quite catch.
"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked, patting him on the back softly, as his frame trembled against hers.
"I'm just - it - Percy…" he shook his head, looking pained, and swore quietly. "The Weasleys - they - it was because of their support of me that Percy was estranged from them. And now, because of me, that he - he's - " He trailed off and slumped, while Hermione regarded him with wide, teary eyes. My Atlas, she thought, carrying the burden of everyone else's survival on those thin shoulders.
"The Weasleys made their choice, Harry," she told him softly. "And I think - even now - Mr. Weasley has no regrets about the choice to join the Order and fight. Percy made his choice too…but I think he's realized what he did. They'll be able to say … good-bye."
"They shouldn't have to!" he burst out suddenly, his voice ringing loudly and discordantly in the small attic. "It's not fair - it - " he foundered again, and in his silence, Hermione heard echoes of her mute cry…How much more? He ran trembling hands through his disheveled dark hair. "And if it had been you, Hermione - Sweet Merlin, if it had been you…" She linked the fingers of one hand with his, and ran the fingers of the other through his hair.
"It wasn't me, Harry," she murmured. He was kissing her then, light feathery kisses, along her hairline and down the side of her jaw. She felt the supplication in his touch, his utter gratitude that she was alive, his fear that he would not be so lucky next time - and the guilt … above and behind all of it was always the guilt.
"Stay with me again tonight," he said, as if she had not spent the last several nights in his bed, and the previous night doing something other than sleeping in it. There was a self-conscious look on his face, as if he feared rejection, and a glimmer of a smile skimmed over her features.
"As if you had to ask," she said lightly, and was rewarded with a faint smile herself. She tried to imagine from whence came his worry, but knew that he remembered no familial love and hadn't even experienced affection of any sort until he came to Hogwarts. And then people who loved him, people who chose to fight with him kept dying. Her eyes grew somber, and she met his gaze head on, looking into his eyes, willing him to read all the depth of emotion for him that resided there. "I'm not going anywhere, Harry," she intoned, as seriously as she knew how. He kissed her again, one that lingered enticingly on her lips this time, and she felt some of the tension leave him. They sat in silence beneath the window for a long moment.
"Shouldn't we go down there with them?" she asked presently. "What about Neville?" She asked, as they threaded their way through the stacks of crates, to sit beneath the lone window.
"Why?" Harry shrugged. His eyes flitted uncomfortably back to the door they'd just come through. "I put that detector in his drink like you asked. Nothing happened. What was supposed to happen?" Hermione had a mix of disappointment and confusion on her face.
"Nothing - if he wasn't under polyjuice. I don't understand…" Her brow furrowed, as she lowered her head and appeared deep in thought. Memories flashed through her mind. The odd smile that played across Neville's face when he caught them nearly kissing, the comical way he'd splayed out over the window when she came in unexpectedly. The window had been open…what had he been doing? And Ron's voice - suddenly loud in the room…Neville had said a downstairs window must have been open, but they were all closed… all closed. The plastic bottle of water, its contents sparkling in the afternoon sun, hit the ground with an audible thump and rolled. No water spilled out…but Neville had brushed her off, said he'd clean it. Clean what? Why had he wanted her to think something had spilled? Because what was in the bottle was not actually water, and he hadn't wanted her to know what it was. "But it wasn't polyjuice," she said, almost to herself. She had been so sure…
Another flash of memory suddenly assailed her, this time from the more recent rally.
Tonks was talking to Lucius. He had made a comment about making an Effingus… assuming that's why Dolohov was here, rather than Hogwarts.
"Effingus means `copy'," Hermione said slowly.
"They say Replication doesn't make you stupider, but sometimes I'm inclined to wonder."
Hermione felt her eyes grow huge with realization. It fits, she thought. It fits everything…why there are so damn many of them now, how they were able to fight in so many places at once, hitting the Ministry and the wizarding world with all the subtle force of a bomb blast. She reached out blindly, and clutched at Harry's sleeve, her mouth moving soundlessly.
"Hermione?" Harry said, sounding a little worried now. "What's wrong?"
"They're clones," she said in a dazed voice of shock. "He's made up a Death Eater army of Replicants. That's why there are so many." Harry's eyes now were nearly as wide as hers, and his mouth pinched up in furious helplessness.
"How are we supposed to stop an army when he can just make new people any time he wants?" he exclaimed, prompting a hasty hushing from Hermione, who took a moment to be grateful that he was accepting all this from her merely on her own recognizance.
"There's got to be a way to stop them," Hermione said in her best determined voice. "I'll need to do - "
"Some research," Harry chimed in on her last two words, and she gave him a mock glare. He shrugged in an if the shoe fits manner.
"Let's try and talk to Tonks," Hermione said, winding her hand through his, as they exited the garret, and finally started down the stairs.
~~**~~
People were screaming…whether in rapture or terror, Hermione could not discern. The forever undulating roar whistled and shrilled in her ears. She wanted to cover her ears, but her hands provided feeble shielding against the omnipresence of the noise.
She was being knocked around, washed back and forth without control in a sea of humanity. The flailing, the screaming, it went on as if the people involved never tired, never ran out of breath.
She was at the rally.
Voldemort was on the stage, killing the Muggles. She saw the little old man block the teenagers again, but even in his death, he was unable to prevent the inevitability of theirs. One by one they all fell…all… while the people in the crowd screamed their approval, lusting and thirsty for Muggle blood.
Screaming. Hermione found herself joining them, screaming for a world that slowly spiraled into the vortex of destruction. Screaming against those who really believed that blood determined ability, talent, beauty, worth…
Her throat felt dry and raw, but she continued to scream, her own noise lost in the eternal wails of those around her. And then her parents were led onto the stage, shackled, beaten, their eyes tripping across the maddened faces, as if looking for someone…looking for her.
Further noise died in her throat.
"Mama…" she managed weakly, and such a feeble sound could not hope to make itself known in the maelstrom. Voldemort jerked his head in her direction as if he'd heard, and he smiled. He killed her parents without even looking at them. The roar of his faithful drowned out the hollow noise of their bodies hitting the platform.
Hermione felt her knees buckle, but knew that if she fell now, she'd be trampled beneath the feet of these people - these people who supped with Evil and welcomed Death as an honored guest.
Another prisoner was brought out. Clearly, he was meant to be the pièce de résistance for the event, for the white noise swelled to an unbelievable crescendo, as Voldemort raised both arms into the air, in a gesture of triumph.
Hermione's throat closed so quickly that her breath caught in a squeaky gasp. It was Harry.
"This is your fault, girl!" Voldemort said, looking straight at her, alone, lost, adrift in that ever-churning sea. "This is your fault." Hermione looked at him mutely, knowing he was right, knowing that she'd angered him, embarrassed him. If only she hadn't come here…
She raised one hand, half-clawed, toward the stage, a mute and pathetic plea for mercy, lenience, clemency. She knew she'd get none of those. Harry turned accusing eyes on her, and they seemed to blaze for an instant as green as the curse that struck him down.
"Kill me please. Kill me too, please," she said, as she struggled to keep her footing. Somehow he heard her above the thunderous echo of countless voices.
"No." He said, and smiled at her again, appreciating the nuance of his plan. "No. You get to live."
She shook her head in denial, her glazed eyes fixed on the stage, littered with bodies behind the grim row of smiling skulls. Harry… The noise buffeted her, rocked her, assailed her. She buckled, curling down into nothingness, buried under the swell of people.
Their cries of victory echoed in her ears.
"NO!" She shot up in the bed, coming awake even as she cried out, running shaking hands through sweat-soaked hair. Harry was almost instantly awake as well, sitting up and cradling her in an embrace, as she trembled in the comforting circle of his arms.
"Hey, hey, hey," he crooned, whispering soothingly into her hair. He had slept shirtless, and she splayed her hands wide over the planes of his chest, taking succor in his radiant warmth.
"I was at the rally," she hiccupped. "He killed you, but he let me live." She looked at him, agony beseeching him from her wide eyes. "But I didn't want to. I didn't want to."
"It was just a dream," Harry said, rolling his eyes at little, evidently appreciating the irony of their switched roles. "They can't hurt you - most of the time," he amended.
"It was so loud," she said in a vague voice. "And then he brought you out, and everyone was so happy, and somehow he knew I was there. I begged him to kill me too, and he just said, `No.'"
"I'm not dead, Hermione. I'm right here." She looked at him suddenly, as if seeing him for the first time since she'd awakened, and their eyes locked.
"Yes… yes, you are here. You're here," she repeated, as if reassuring herself that it was true. Her fingers danced lightly across the planes of his chest, before her lips came up to meet his.
And then, so suddenly that she wasn't sure exactly how it happened, Hermione was prone on the mattress, with Harry poised above her, cradling her gently in his arms. They kissed rapidly, desperately, frantically. Hermione banished their pajamas, and Harry signaled his approval with an appreciative moan, as he kissed her more thoroughly still. Hands skimmed over warm skin, mouths worshipped at the altar of desire, and yet, somehow it was more than that, different from before, though it still echoed Hermione's stunted thought from the night before…here…now…
It was Affirmation of Life. Hermione had been surrounded with Death, pursued by it, desired by it, but she was not dead. Harry had been close to it, imprisoned by it, tempted toward it, but had not succumbed to it. They touched feverishly, hands splayed, as if they could not get enough skin beneath their questing fingers. Here…real…alive…
Alive... alive…alive… it seemed to pulse through Hermione's body, a rapid beat in time with her racing heart, matching them thrust for thrust, as they strove, searching, clutching, clinging, for the physical oneness, the emotional connection for which they both longed. Even after their passion had been spent, they remained locked together, each unwilling to let the other go.
"Harry…" Hermione said, winded and at a loss for words. She looked into his green eyes, so close to hers, and thought she would willingly drown in them. They crinkled at the corners, with an understanding smile, and he said only,
"I know."
They were alive. Other words were superfluous.
~~**~~
"Wait a minute," Lupin said, holding up one hand for Hermione to stop. He paused for a moment, and took a sip of scalding tea. "What are you saying - that Voldemort has mustered up some kind of - of army of Replicants?"
"You think something like that would be beyond him?" Tonks retorted acerbically. Lupin looked at her with reproach.
"Not on moral grounds, no," he said, his look clearly saying, and you knew that. "But practically speaking… there's almost no research surviving on the making of Effingi. After the practices was banned, it - "
"There was nearly no research on Horcruxes either," Harry spoke up, his voice icy with meaning. Lupin glanced at him briefly, and appeared to concede the point.
"What little I could find on such short notice," Hermione interposed, speaking rapidly, as was her wont, "seemed to indicate that as long as the - the original human being - the Prime - remains alive, then there is no limit to the number of Replicants that can be made."
"If what you're saying is true, then Voldemort is unstoppable," Lupin said grimly, paling as the promise of hope was leeched from him.
"Not exactly," Hermione said, her eyes coming alight with that frenetic enjoyment that always seemed to accompany learning and discovering. "The text seemed to indicate that the Prime was vital to the entire process, that you could not just make a copy of a copy, and so forth. If we found where Voldemort was hiding the Primes, and destroyed them, then…"
"No more army," Tonks finished, in a bewildered tone. Lupin was shaking his head, in the manner of one faced with an insurmountable, thoroughly intimidating task.
"If that's true, then Voldemort will have that place guarded more closely than anyone's ever thought about guarding anything before," he pointed out. Hermione regarded him for a moment, with grave, dark eyes, and nodded in agreement.
"You're absolutely right," she said. "But what other choice do we have?" She looked at Harry for a long moment, and they seemed to communicate without words. What other choice, indeed?
"It can't be any harder than finding and destroying six horcruxes, right?" Harry asked, in a weak attempt at levity. Hermione quirked a smile at him, knowing as clearly as he did that both of them realized that this time… they would not have Harry, Harry as he had once been, Harry at what had ended up being the height of his power. She thought she saw mute apology in his eyes, and she shook her head at him.
It's not your fault.
"How is Voldemort controlling them?" Lupin interjected suddenly, dashing away the moment. Hermione's forehead crinkled with the force of her earnest thought.
"I'm not sure. If he could control large numbers of people indefinitely, he'd probably just use Imperius. I personally think he's not controlling them at all." She began to speak faster again, over their incredulous looks. "Think about it," she said. "He picks out the stupidest, cruelest, most ignorant, and amoral among his followers, and uses them to make Effingi. Technically, they have as much freewill as the Prime, but the highest probability is that they will think and act in the same way that the Prime always has."
"And…" Tonks began slowly, clearly thinking of her conversation with Lucius Malfoy, "Voldemort's own inner circle refuses to make Effingi. Is this their idea? Or Voldemort's - to keep from having too many ambitious, intelligent, possible usurpers in his ranks?"
"I'm sure that Voldemort let them think it was their idea," Hermione replied. "It also answers why Voldemort would not want to make Effingi of any of the Order. The likelihood of one of us being able to be turned from the way we normally live and think and act is so low as to make the risk hardly worth it. That's why I think Neville - " she caught herself and stopped abruptly. The others - even Harry - goggled at her slightly.
"You think Neville is an Effingus?" Tonks breathed, in barely a whisper. Hermione cast a self-conscious look at Harry, and began to list all the reasons that Neville had attracted her suspicions.
"I think he was an experiment. I think Neville was replaced by an Effingus in that closet, while Luna was Stunned. I don't think Luna has any real idea how long she was in that closet. I think they tried to program Neville, and there's something in his water to make him more… acquiescent … to their way of thinking. I also think it's not working well. He's starting to act erratically - the way he cast early the night you - " she winced apologetically toward Remus, "nearly escaped. I think that he was instructed to somehow let you loose - once he'd told them that you were the Secret Keeper - hoping that you'd injure or kill one of us, and maybe be driven from the safehouse in despair."
"Right into their waiting arms, I'm sure…" Remus finished for her grimly.
"He tampered with the wards, but then his plan went awry," she continued. "He was going to cast early, and clearly broadcast his intentions. It's as if he wanted to be stopped. His inherent nature as Neville is fighting with what they've tried to program him to be."
"Does that mean - ?" Harry began, but he never got a chance to finish his sentence, interrupted by a sudden clamor on the stairs.
"It's not true. It's not true!" An irate Neville burst into the War Room, his face reddened with anger, betrayal, and fear. Hermione regarded him with some sadness and a little pity.
"How did you know what we were talking about, Neville?" she asked calmly. When he did not respond, she persisted, "You've put some sort of listening charm in the War Room, haven't you? It was in the infirmary, and that's what I heard that day, isn't it? Though I'm sure you've moved it by now…maybe into your bedroom? Ron's a heavy sleeper."
"Why - why would I have to - I'm - everyone trusts me," Neville blustered, looking more petrified by the minute. "I wouldn't have any need to plant anything anywhere, when I could hear it firsthand."
"Not if you're recording it…and sending it off by Owl to Death Eaters," Hermione continued, unfazed, and with a biting tone in her voice. Neville shook his head wildly.
"I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't…"
"What's in your water, Neville?" Hermione asked, the gentle tone returning, as she tried to sound disarming.
"It's just water," he mumbled.
"It's charmed to look like water," Hermione corrected. "But nothing spilled out that day I knocked your bottle over, remember? What is it, Neville?"
Neville slumped then, and buried his face in his hands.
"I don't know," he moaned. "I don't know. They send me refills by Owl, and I send the recordings. I - I'm just supposed to drink it, and somehow it's easier."
"Easier to do what?"
"To do what they tell me to do," Neville said vaguely, before suddenly snapping back to himself. "But I can't be. I can't be what you said."
"Why not, Neville?" Hermione asked blandly.
"Because I remember!" Neville's voice was hoarse, and sounded tear-clogged. "I remember what happened to my parents. I remember living with Gran - and being bounced down the lane by my uncle, and going to Hogwarts, and losing Trevor. Harry saved my Remembrall. I took Ginny to the Yule Ball. I fought with the D. A. twice. I…. I am Neville Longbottom. I have to be… I have to be…."
The other four in the War Room looked at Neville with a mixture of compassion and revulsion. It was Harry who stepped over to his side, and placed one hand on the other boy's shoulder companionably.
"Of course, you're Neville. They're trying to control you, but they're failing. You haven't done any real harm yet. But you're going to have to tell us everything," his amiable tone was replaced by an intense one. "What do they know about us?"
~~**~~
A loud rapping on the door awakened Harry and Hermione from a sound sleep, tightly entwined around each other, in the middle of the night. Instinctively, Hermione shrank down under the sheets, but only Ron's voice, sounding rough and frayed around the edges, issued through the door,
"It's Percy… you -- you'd better come…he's asking for you…" Harry and Hermione exchanged alarmed glances, and flung themselves out of the bed, dressing quickly. The entire house was dark, and seemed to be poised, waiting… but when they got to the infirmary, light spilled out into the corridor, half-blinding them.
From what Hermione could see through her starry eyes, the entire Order was assembled. Fleur was sitting up on her bed, with her legs dangling over the sides, watching Percy tremble and mutter, her eyes filled with tears and one hand splayed protectively over her abdomen, as if she still could not believe it. Mr. Weasley was perched in a chair at Percy's side, looking as gray and old as if he'd aged a decade in two days. Ron had obviously just entered, and he and Fred had ranged themselves at the foot of Percy's bed, like sentinels. Penelope sat on Percy's other side, clasping one of his hands in both of hers.
Hermione cast a silent look at Tonks and Lupin, as they arrived at the infirmary door at the same time.
"He's going," McGonagall whispered from her post near the door. "The deterioration has reached his organs. There's nothing else we can do." Hermione poised on the balls of her feet, rocking back and forth uncomfortably. She felt out of place here, like she didn't belong, and her eyes tripped nervously from one somber face to the next. She saw Ginny, prone, unconscious due to heavy sedation, and she felt a momentary pang that her estranged brother was in the next bed over…dying…and Ginny would never know.
"Harry?" called a rough, raspy voice, with effort. Harry's feet propelled him unevenly into the room, where he continued until he was in Percy's line of sight. "Wanted to …say'm sorry… `bout … Min'stry…all of it."
"Percy…" Harry spoke quickly, trying to explain that it was unnecessary, that the old feud had been abandoned in the light of more important things, but in Percy's eyes beneath the shadow of death, gleamed the desire to say this, to make things right before the end.
"N - no," Percy raised one hand weakly, and Harry clasped it, but not before Hermione noticed that the dull gray tinge extended now to Percy's extremities. The edges of his fingernails were nearly black. "Should've known….should've believed you… I - I could've helped, done something…could have…"
"It's forgotten, Percy," Harry said. "Everyone makes mistakes, and I assure you…it is forgotten." The skeletal smile glimmered briefly across Percy's sunken features again, and he sucked in a noisy breath with a kind of ah-ahh sound, obviously in pain.
"D - dad? Ron? F - fre - " his voice failed him, and he went into a spasm of coughing, even though the reflexive action clearly agonized him.
"It's been said, son. Don't fret yourself over it," Mr. Weasley said, speaking in a quavering voice. Ron and Fred nodded in agreement, as Ron tried to dash away sudden, hot tears with the back of one hand.
"Fleur?" he choked out, with difficulty, and his sister-in-law moved gracefully to his bedside, kneeling beside him near her father-in-law. "Take - take care… that baby." Hermione watched Fleur's eyes brim with tears, as she nodded.
"You saved me, Percy… me and the baby. I shall not forget it. And tell B - Bill - will you? - about his child…and how very much I love him." Percy smiled again, not with his mouth, as the effort cost him too much, but with his eyes.
"I'll… tell…" Another spasm of pain cut off the end of his sentence, and he obviously used all his effort to turn his head toward Penelope, who smiled a bright, watery smile at him. "Penn…" She laid one finger on his darkening lips to shush him, and ran her fingers through his hair, almost maternally.
"I know, Percy. I love you too," she said softly, able to only achieve a whisper, without completely breaking down. His body stiffened again with convulsive pain, and his eyes closed. Hermione thought that was the end, and clutched Harry's hand, when he returned to her side.
But then Percy opened his eyes again, and raised one hand, reaching for something that no one else could see, looking through them, looking beyond them, and his smile wreathed his battered, decaying face.
"Mum? Everyone?" he whispered, "I'm home."
TBC
Urgh…this chapter gave me fits. I revamped it two different times, after it had already been half completed. I know "nothing much happened", but I hope it showed some of the after-effects that the rally had on them.
More on Neville…and Ginny… next chapter.
lorien
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