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 Thirteen: Maneuvers
Hermione stood stiffly next to Harry, in that not-quite-touching way that the two of them seemed to have perfected. She had her hair back in a binding charm again, and only short tendrils were blowing about her face. Wispy clouds scudded across an azure sky, and the pleasant breeze from the ocean bore no hint that autumn would soon be upon them.
It was August now. Three days after Harry's birthday, and he was burying his parents…again. She glanced at him anxiously, but his eyes were fixed on the scarred ground. Mr. Weasley, Remus, and Ron began to lower the single casket into the place prepared for it, their wands moving in a touching synchrony.
Harry's posture was rigid, radiating tension. His face was pale, his eyes obscured by his glasses, a Darkening charm shielding him from the sun. His mouth was set in a thin, tight line.
One casket. It's rather poetic, in a way, Hermione thought, a trifle ruefully. Tonks had hesitantly come to Harry, apologizing for the way the - she'd choked over the word `remains' - had gotten shuffled together in her pack. There was a charm, she informed him; she could sort them out, but it would take a while.
Don't worry about it, Harry had said to the concerned Auror. Leave them…together. His voice had strangled over the last word, and he had beaten a hasty retreat from the room. Several hours later, Hermione had found him sitting in the garret beneath the window, his face tight with sorrow, as if it had been etched from stone by a sad and angry sculptor.
The casket was in place, and Remus glanced toward Harry, an obvious question in his eyes. Harry nodded once, jerkily, and Remus lifted his wand again. One flick, and a fine mist of dirt spewed from the end, spattering softly across the polished wood of the coffin. After a moment, Hermione and Tonks joined him, and the other Order members soon followed, until a small mound of earth had been formed and the casket obscured from sight. Mr. Weasley and Fred began to levitate a marble tombstone into place at the head of the grave.
Hermione watched Harry covertly, noticing how the sun glinted off of the dampness on his cheeks. Wizarding funerary tradition called for the nearest family member to begin the burial, as Remus had done. It had been yet another symbol - to Harry - of his powerlessness, that he could not perform even this simple task in memory of the parents who had died that he might live. Hermione's lips compressed sympathetically, noting how Harry seemed to be all harsh lines and jutting angles.
Fred had been up very late for the last couple of nights, the Carving beam on his wand honed to a razor's edge, preparing the tombstone. It read simply:
James and Lily Potter
Life and Love Brought Them Together
Death Did Not Part Them
1959-1981
An uneven gasp escaped Harry's slightly parted lips, and Hermione reached for him, threading her fingers through his. She felt his hand tense, as if he would pull it away, but he must have quelled the urge to withdraw from her - from everybody - for his hand remained twined with hers.
The attention of the Order then turned to the second gash in the earth, parallel to the first, gleaming luridly in the slanting afternoon sun. After Percy's coffin had been lowered into place, it was Mr. Weasley who began to fill the hole, followed by Ron and Fred. Penelope soon followed suit, her face nearly as flinty as Harry's, her eyes noticeably damp. Another tombstone was secured, this one bearing the words:
Percival Ignatius Weasley
Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend
With the Heart of a Lion
August 22, 1976 - August 1, 1998
Mr. Weasley spoke a few halting words in a barely audible voice, while his sons looked studiously down at their shoes with red-rimmed eyes. Hermione tried to distract herself from the tightness in her chest and her pricking eyelids, by tripping her gaze over the other Order members. Harry was nearest, filling a good bit of her vision, back-lit by the sun, looking as unmoving and implacable as a statue. She wasn't sure if he was looking in her direction behind his tinted spectacles, but she shot him a warning look anyway. Don't you dare try to shut me out, Harry. McGonagall was on his other side, sniffing decorously into a starched and prim white lace hanky. Hermione paused here, regarding the professor whom she'd always seen as stoic - even dour - a comparison, she realized now that might have been less than fair. She'd heard the old adage that parents should never bury their children, and she wondered if McGonagall felt that way about burying former students.
Then she saw the gray face of Mr. Weasley, and knew that there was no comparison at all - and he hadn't even been able to say good-bye to most of the family that was no more. Ron had put his arm gently around Penelope, who looked very close to breaking down completely, and Fred stood a little apart, his face so solemn and set that he almost didn't look like himself. Fleur stood beside him, managing to look regally beautiful as always, even with undeniable grief stamped on her features. On the far side of the newly-made graves stood Remus and Tonks. Lupin looked as if a stiff breeze would knock him over, and Hermione reflected that this interring of his friends once again had to be like clawing open wounds that had only been partially healed. Tonks had one arm around Remus' waist, and was dry-eyed, but pensive.
Penelope tried to speak when Mr. Weasley had finished, but could not manage it. Fleur stepped in with that aplomb that she seemed to always have on hand, though her chin quivered slightly while she was speaking. Hermione's gaze locked on the Frenchwoman's slender, healing hand, unconsciously splayed across her abdomen. Fleur's words washed over her meaninglessly like water. How on earth are we going to keep a pregnant woman safe? Hermione wondered, and yet she knew without asking that every last member of the Order would give their lives for this baby - this unexpected symbol of better days before, a promise of better days to come - without thinking twice.
Well, maybe not everyone, she amended, thinking of who was not present at the funeral service. Ginny was missing, of course, still incapacitated by the Nightmare curse. But it was Neville's absence that Hermione felt most keenly. He was locked in one of the empty bedrooms, with Luna keeping watch.
"What have you told them?" Harry asked again, his voice growing more insistent as Neville balked.
"I - I - " Neville stammered, his hands drifting almost aimlessly up to his temples, shaking his head, as if disagreeing with an opinion that no one else had heard.
Harry snorted air out through his nostrils, and raked Neville with a disdainful look.
"Now I know you're not Neville. He never would have betrayed us this way." Harry's tone was scathing. Neville jerked his chin up, and met Harry's gaze almost defiantly. Hermione watched pensively. She would have prepared to intervene, but Harry couldn't do much to Neville before she and Lupin would be all over him.
"I haven't betrayed you," Neville said, albeit slowly and with great difficulty.
"Prove it," Harry bit off the words challengingly, obviously channeling Draco Malfoy with every ounce of contempt he could muster. Hermione was sure that the reluctant admiration, warring with worry and compassion for the real Neville (wherever he was), was evident in her eyes. "Tell us when they took the real Neville. When did you replace him?" Neville looked at Harry with an injured air, as if Harry'd hurt his feelings.
"At…the hospital…" Neville ground out, evidently fighting some instinct shrieking in his head for him to shut the hell up. He looked almost surprised, as if he'd had no idea of these facts until they crossed his lips. "Luna - they tried - her clone didn't take…just me. Just…" He grimaced, shaking his head, looking almost like Dobby bent on self-flagellation. "It's all jumbled up…"
"Where were you?" Harry pressed, and Neville recoiled away from him.
"I don't know. I can't remember… it's - Malfoy's dad was - aahh!" He arched suddenly, crying out and then bending nearly double.
"Where were you!?" Harry's eyes were blazing, and an involuntary
"Harry!" flew from Hermione's lips without her really meaning it to.
"He couldn't reveal the location of the house. The Fidelius precludes that," Remus put in matter-of-factly, obviously hoping to allay some of Harry's panic.
"Is he even under the Fidelius?" Harry asked, whirling toward Remus and Tonks, who shrugged helplessly.
"There's no way to know how the Fidelius would affect a clone. He's - he's the same person as - as - the charm probably just reads him as Neville. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to enter the house after the raid at St. Mungo's," she said.
"What have you told them?" Harry asked, his tone still impatiently frantic and angry.
"I - I didn't - " Neville stammered, glancing wildly around the room, as if fearing punishment by some unseen watcher. Harry swore violently, causing everyone in the room to look askance at him. Hermione wondered at his vehement reaction, and supposed that Neville - whether deserving or not - was going to be on the receiving end of all Harry's guilt, grief, uselessness, fear, and despair.
Harry turned back toward the others, seeming to dismiss Neville out of hand, apparently realizing that they might not get any useful information from him.
"We're going to have to lock him up," he said, not terribly apologetically. "He can't be allowed to communicate with the Death Eaters."
"If we cut off his communication," Hermione said quietly, "then they'll know he's been compromised. They'll know we know." Her eyes drifted slowly from Harry to Neville. "We're better off letting him communicate - as long as it's what we've carefully selected." Harry glanced at Neville, then over to Hermione. He seemed to be agreeing reluctantly.
"I guess you're right," he assented. The Order then collectively dictated a letter to Neville, which the desperate boy had taken down, while held at wandpoint, informing the Death Eaters that his recording charm had been detected and disabled, and a new ward set up which would prevent further charms of that sort. He indicated that he had nearly been apprehended, but that the Order could not conceive that one of their own would betray them. He told them that the escaped prisoners had both succumbed to their injuries, and that Harry appeared to be as strong as ever, having completely overcome the effects of the dampening field.
That had been yesterday. Neville had been kept in near total isolation since then, with someone carefully guarding the door. They had been keeping a weather eye out for owls, but nothing had arrived. Neville was still vacillating from insisting he hadn't done anything to sitting in stony silence. Hermione wondered when the effect of the potion would wear off, and when the refill would arrive.
She looked around suddenly, as the mourners began to disperse from the new gravesides. The service had ended, and she hadn't even realized it. She caught Harry's knowing glance on her, in the instant before he caught her hand in his again.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and her mouth twisted involuntarily at the irony of his asking her that question.
"I'm fine," she tried to say in her most innocuous tone, but she could feel the penetrating gaze behind the tinted glasses. Harry's chief concern had been that she was going to kill herself working so ceaselessly for the Order, and she could see that worry lurking in the watchful lines of his face.
"You came to bed awfully late last night," he observed, and she felt herself flushing, as she glanced to see if anyone had heard his casual mention of their sleeping arrangements. Hermione was fairly sure that most people were aware of it, but it had never been mentioned - even as no one had brought up that Tonks and Remus were sharing a room. And if Ron, who had awakened Harry the night Percy died, had even noticed that Hermione had come with him, he had said nothing about it.
"There's so much to do," she said looking at him apologetically. "How can I, in good conscience, not do everything that is possible for me to do?"
Harry dug his hands into his pockets, and scuffed at a patch of dirt with one toe of his battered trainers. Hermione thought she could see the faint rust of a bloodstain near the heel.
"I just…" his eyes drifted over her shoulder to where Mr. Weasley stood with his two remaining sons. And then Hermione understood. He was going to ask her to do something else, and he had decided to feel guilty beforehand.
"You know I'd do anything you asked of me, don't you?" She said gently, coming close enough to put one hand on his chest and look up into his face.
"That doesn't mean I should ask it of you," he countered, watching the Weasleys with an unreadable expression on his face. The trio of redheads filed past them into the house, Mr. Weasley placing a comforting pat on Harry's shoulder, as he passed by. Ron passed them carefully, without so much as a flicker of his eyes in their direction, his arm still carefully around Penelope, as if she were made of spun glass. The rest of the Order followed suit, with Remus giving one lingering look toward the two forlorn graves.
"What is it, Harry?" she persisted, once the back door had closed behind Professor McGonagall.
"I've been thinking about…Mr. Weasley, and - and how much - how much he's lost, and - I - I don't want him to lose anymore. I - " He looked down once into Hermione's beseeching eyes, and then plunged ahead. "I want to fix Ginny."
Hermione remained silent, electing not to ask the obvious and insulting question, "how?" Then she said, carefully,
"What did you have in mind?" The brief flash of gratitude in his gaze told her that she'd said the right thing.
"I was thinking… if we worked together again, like how we Stunned Remus… then maybe we could disable the curse." His voice sounded fumbling and uncertain, and he appeared ready for a Hermione-esque list of exactly why that was an absurd suggestion. As if hoping to head her off, he added quickly, "I know it's dangerous for you, and I've no right to ask, but - but if - if - your power through me is more than - "
"The sum of its parts?" Hermione inserted quietly, and Harry nodded.
"Then maybe we can accomplish what would otherwise take a team of specialists and access to St. Mungo's." He looked a little self-deprecating, as if realizing how foolish it sounded. "Penelope doesn't think she can go on much longer, without the effects being permanent. She's woken up once more on her own, and was having trouble even remembering the names of her brothers. Penelope thinks that her - her memories are starting to erode," he said haltingly, wincing a little. "She didn't want to say anything to Mr. Weasley so soon after - after Percy…"
"Do you think she'll be able to handle the reality of the situation? Assuming we can fix it at all?" Hermione asked candidly. Harry looked bleakly out toward the horizon.
"She'll have to, won't she? If she wants to survive." He sighed heavily, and appeared to be on the verge of saying something else, when he stopped suddenly, and peered intently into the sky.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, mystified, following his gaze.
"Do you see…?"
"Yes," she breathed before he could finish. "What the hell is that?"
High above them, the sky was… well, rippling, for lack of a better word, much like the tranquil surface of a pond, disturbed by a lobbed stone. Hermione felt her unease grow, as they followed the ripple, which grew larger and closer, and then began to ripple in front of treetops and the highest gable of the safehouse.
"It's Neville's owl," Harry gulped. "Get Remus!" Hermione paused to marvel that they'd Disillusioned an owl, and scrambled up the steps, calling out to the Order before they'd even crossed the threshold.
Obviously, the owls had not had any difficulty finding Neville as yet, not being including under the Fidelius, as they were incapable of giving away a location. Nor could their magical means of travel - a crude form of Apparation over long distances - be tracked. Hermione worried that this did not eliminate the possibility of the owl being charmed - or given some kind of amulet - that would act as Neville's recording charm had. After all, as she'd grimly told Harry the day before, just because Voldemort couldn't know exactly where their safehouse was, didn't mean he couldn't obliterate the entire region to get to them. In fact, Fred had gone with Ron into the nearest village the day before, and came back, urgently informing them that they had seen a small squadron of Death Eaters, trying to be covert, but obvious nonetheless.
"Neville's given them Cornwall, at least," Remus had said grimly. "They're probably looking for signs of wizarding activity."
"Are we still safe here?" McGonagall had queried. "The safehouse in York would…"
"They're already overcrowded. In fact, they may be asking us to take in some overflow soon. Both houses have been rather reluctant because there are so - so many…er - high-ranking Order members here," Tonks stumbled to an ungainly halt, glancing rather shamefacedly at Harry.
The decision had been made to stay - at least for the time being, and future trips to the village, if necessary, would be made with the utmost caution.
When Harry and Hermione arrived at the room where Neville was being detained, they saw Remus and Tonks standing in the corridor, carefully out of line of sight of the doorway.
"He's giving the owl the message," Remus said in a low whisper, mindful of possible monitoring charms.
"Where's Luna?" Hermione hissed, not liking the inability to see exactly what Neville was doing.
"She's a smart girl," Remus said, a tinge of admiration in his tone. "She's got Harry's cloak. He's at wandpoint - he'd be a fool to try anything."
There was an audible whoosh of feathery wings pumping against air, and the owl was gone. As they cautiously entered the room, they were presented with the picture of Neville reluctantly placing a package in a disembodied hand, outstretched and palm up.
The hand then gripped the package and swung in a wide arc.
"Hermione?" Nothing said, proffering her the package.
"Thanks, Luna," Hermione said, dazedly, as Luna did not seem at all inclined to remove the invisibility cloak, even though the owl had departed. Devoid of its brown paper wrapping, it was a simple cardboard box, containing a cork-stoppered glass bottle (protected by a cushioning charm), in which an effervescent golden fluid shimmered. Harry speared Neville with a hostile glance, before looking at Hermione for confirmation.
"We should destroy it, just to be safe," he said.
"I disagree," Hermione said, and Tonks concurred. "We should find out what it is - what its purpose is and what its components are. It might help us figure out how Voldemort is making the Effingi." Faced with that kind of logic, Harry nodded curtly, though still clearly not pleased with that potion being in any vicinity of Neville at all.
"Was there anything else?" Hermione asked, looking not at Neville, but at the empty space where Luna was.
"No," came her slightly muffled voice, after a pause, during which Hermione figured she'd probably been shaking her head undetected.
"Good. We'll let Voldemort chew on that information, and see how he likes it," Hermione declared in a satisfied tone. She felt Harry slump a little behind her, and figured he was wishing that the false intelligence was true - at least as far as his powers were concerned. Her gaze raked over the mostly empty room, barely skimming over Neville, who looked particularly disheartened.
"Whose turn is it to watch him?" she asked.
"Ron said he would do it next," Luna said.
"Let's go get him," Hermione responded, nudging Harry gently in the side with her elbow. This, at least, would force Ron to interact with them minimally, something he had been assiduously avoiding.
"I'm not going to do anything!" Neville burst out in frustration, looking at them with pleading, resentful eyes.
"That's right. You're not," Hermione answered him, before shrugging slightly. "This may not be your fault, N - Neville, but you can't blame us for reacting this way, can you?" She stumbled a little over his name, realizing that he wasn't really the Neville they'd known for seven years, but recovered admirably.
Neville sat on the edge of the sagging mattress, elbows on knees, looking despondent.
"No," he said heavily, looking at the weathered floorboards. "I s'pose not."
~~**~~
Hermione had stuck her head in the infirmary doorway to say something to Mr. Weasley, feeling bad about her inattentiveness at Percy's service, even if Harry was the only one who'd really noticed. Consequently, when she arrived in the War Room, Harry was pleading with Ron - and not about Neville. Their voices drifted to her ears before she had even reached the bottom of the stairs.
"So this is how it's going to be, then? You're not even going to look at me." Harry's voice was quiet, almost resigned, but Hermione could hear the undercurrent of anger and despair threading through it.
There was a moment of silence.
"There. Satisfied?" Ron's voice was faintly sarcastic. He had probably turned and fixed Harry with some kind of pointed bug-eyed gaze. Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. She had once said that Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but she had long ago come to see that she was wrong. Ron did feel things, very deeply, but was ill at ease showing it. He often covered up uncertainty or even affection in her case, with sarcasm, humor, and anger. These were his safety valves, whereas Harry had been conditioned in his childhood to hold it in until he exploded. Hence his Aunt Marge and his outburst upon his arrival at Grimmauld Place fifth year. Hermione liked to think that she had both her "boys" figured out, and she feared that Ron was going to act like an idiot until Harry had a fit. Her heart could not help but twinge, however, since, in all of their many spats, Ron had never sounded so tired and defeated.
"So why'd you really come down here?" Ron asked. "Let's face it, you haven't been seeking me out any more than I have either of you."
"Ron…we wanted to give you time - space - to process everything, but we miss you. We both hate that - "
"We?" There was a bitter laugh, and Hermione, still frozen in the hallway, flinched. "Oh that's rich, Harry. You two speak for each other now? Tight little Duo? You're better off with her anyway. What do you need me for?"
"I can't believe you even have to ask me that. After everything…" Harry's voice was very quiet, and fairly vibrating with intense emotion.
"Everything's changed." Ron's voice was heavy, and Hermione knew he was talking about more than just their defunct relationship.
"You think I don't know that? Everything that's happened in the last two months has been because of me! All those people…" Harry's voice cracked, and Hermione found herself instinctively moving toward the doorway, but she checked herself.
"You didn't start the war, Harry," came Ron's voice, in the tone of one who has repeated himself innumerable times. "It's not your fault that he chose you. I just wish she hadn't." The last sentence was said so low that Hermione nearly didn't catch it. She found herself pressing her hand to her mouth, so that no sound would escape.
"Ron…I'm sorry. I didn't plan for this to happen; I - "
"But it did happen," Ron finished for him.
"Yes," Harry replied simply. There was another silence, and Hermione sidled toward the door.
"Are you sleeping with her?" The question hung out in the tense air, sandwiched in between two periods of thunderous silence. Hermione froze, unsure whether to be annoyed, offended, or worried, or all three. She waited for Harry to bluster that it was none of Ron's business or something similar, but instead she heard another simple,
"Yes." Hermione's eyes slid shut. Ron said something under his breath that she didn't catch. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ron. She's so - " He stopped and sighed, as if he could not find sufficient words. "I love her. There is nothing more important to me than her well-being and happiness… And I know that's important to you too." Ron grunted something that might have been agreement.
"What'm I supposed to say, Harry? Congratulations? All last summer, I - we - Merlin, Harry, I tried. And none of it was good enough. None of it made her happy. And now, we're holed up here, and there's nowhere to go, and almost everyone's dead, and I have to see you two… her, happy - knowing that I couldn't do that. It hurts. Especially with - with everything else…"
"I'm sorry that this hurt you. It's the last thing in the world either of us want, you have to believe that. But I'm not sorry for loving her. And I never will be."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Ron said, and Hermione thought she detected a faint tinge of reluctant admiration in his tone. There was another silence, and Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Listen… I wanted to ask you for a favor," he stammered. "Hermione - well, she's escaped Voldemort twice, and he knows that she - that we - he knows our feelings. I expect he'll find me eventually, and there's not going to be a whole lot I can do to stop him. I mean, I'm - I'm probably going to die before this is all over."
"Harry - " Ron protested.
"Will you look after her for me? If anything happens? I know she can take care of herself, but I would feel better if - "
"You know I will." There was a quiet kind of dignity in Ron's voice, and Hermione supposed that he really had grown up.
"If it - if things start looking … bad," Harry said, a kind of hesitance in his voice, as if he were unsure of exactly how to proceed. "Will you get her away from it? Ensure her safety? No matter what it takes?"
The moment seemed to hang heavily between the two boys, and Ron did not answer immediately, evidently trying to take in the gist of Harry's meaning. Without really thinking before she did it, Hermione finally stepped into the War Room, startling them both.
"You can't ask that of him, Harry. You've no right." She was almost smiling as she spoke, her voice firm, but her eyes misty.
"Hermione, I just want to know that you'll be safe - no matter what," Harry defended.
"You'll be asking Ron to abandon the fight, just to escort me away. You'll be asking me to leave, regardless of the outcome or consequences. I won't do that." She sounded just as decisive as he had, when rejected her suggestion of a magical transfer.
"You know what will happen if Voldemort captures you!" Harry's voice was pleading. "You know what he'll do. You saw." Hermione swallowed convulsively, acknowledging the truth in Harry's words.
"I know," she said softly. "And I won't abandon anyone fighting for the Light… even if it's hopeless, even if you - if you - " She couldn't say it. "You wouldn't ever leave them. Don't ask it of us."
Harry watched himself shuffle his feet. The unruly black fringe of his bangs flopped forward and obscured his eyes from her.
"I just - " I just want you to be okay. I just want you to live. I think I could handle dying, if I knew you were going to be alright. These unspoken statements fairly leapt from his eyes, when he finally lifted his face again to look at her.
"I know, Harry," she said softly. She knew that nobody was promised tomorrow, or even the next heartbeat, but somehow she felt like they were at more of a disadvantage than most. She knew that, at this point, the likelihood of any of them surviving was small, and Harry was under even a greater threat. Add to that, his loss of magic, and it was no wonder that he felt like he should resign himself to his fate. She found herself stepping over to face him, and she placed both of her hands on his shoulders.
"Don't decide to die on me just yet, okay?" She tried to lighten her words with a watery smile, but there was a definite sheen to her eyes that gave her gravity away. Harry let out a breath of almost-laughter, and he smiled a little as well. Both of them seemed to have forgotten Ron was in the room, until they all whirled at the sound of a new voice coming from the fireplace.
~~**~~
The limited-access Floo network had finally been rigged up and deemed usable by Tonks and Fred. It connected only to the two safehouses, one in York, and the other near the Scottish border. Even so, there had been limited networking between the three houses beyond exchange of news. Hermione figured that everyone was still a little jumpy and nervous, and busy dealing with their own internal problems.
A familiar face floated greenly in the flames.
"Oh, it's you three! Hallo!" came the voice, cheerily enough. Hermione, Ron, and Harry exchanged amazed glances.
"A - Aberforth…" Harry stammered uncertainly. None of the Trio had ever been particularly clear on what to call him, as Mr. Dumbledore just sounded off somehow, and the man himself actually expressed a preference for Abe, which Hermione steadfastly refused to call him. She had been none too happy whenever the boys tried it either. Ron had used to try it out every now and then, just to watch her twitch.
"Harry…it's good to see you," the older man, who looked uncannily like their late headmaster, sans beard, said, infusing a world of meaning into that one word.
"Where have you been?" Ron said, blurting out the question that all three of them had probably been thinking. Aberforth Dumbledore had been one of those missing, presumed dead, following the battle at Hogsmeade. He had made acquaintance with the Trio at the beginning of their seventh year, when he undertook Harry's extracurricular training at his brother's behest.
"I was in the Hog's Head when it blew up," Aberforth's head said. "Laid in the rubble for a couple of days, before I came to long enough to make it to some Muggle farmhouse. Nice old man and his wife." Hermione smothered a smile at his calling anybody `old'. "Anyway, a falling beam `bout took my leg off. Got all infected, and they tell me I was out of my head with fever. Took me this long to come to my senses, and figure out how to find the Order. Just got here this morning. Made `em let me use the Floo, soon as I found out you were still okay. Figured we'd need to get back on our training regimen, as soon as possible." Before he'd finished his last sentence, Harry was shaking his head, uncomfortably.
"Actually, no, I'm not going to be able to - " he began, while Hermione and Ron cast him covert sympathetic looks. But Aberforth continued on, as if Harry were not speaking at all. He was looking over his shoulder, talking to someone that they could not see.
"Need to speak to Minerva too. Is she about? We've found Poppy Pomfrey, you see. Wasn't she looking for her?"
"I'll get her," Ron offered, uncoiling himself from his crouched position before the fireplace, and sprinting from the room.
"Why the glum faces?" Aberforth asked perceptively, thought somewhat belatedly. "Poppy's not been found too late, has she?" Hermione's mind flitted over the thought of Percy and the painstakingly carved tombstone in the backyard, but she shook her head in the negative.
"No," she said slowly, thinking of Ginny screaming, blind eyes roving wildly, clutching at Harry's hand as if to a lifeline. "No, there's still someone that we need her to see."
"Well, that's good then," Aberforth said. "Now, Harry, about your training - "
"Haven't they told you?" Harry interrupted bluntly. "I can't - "
"Harry!" Hermione hissed warningly, grabbing his arm. "You shouldn't say anything over the Floo, even if it is a secure connection." Aberforth's eyes darted back and forth between them for a moment, and he seemed to read something there, for he said only,
"I see," and subsided. Barely an instant later, Ron reentered the War Room, with Professor McGonagall in tow.
"Why, Aberforth!" She said in amazement, when she saw whose head hovered in the grate. "We thought you'd - "
"I haven't," he said, before she could finish the patently obvious statement. His eyes twinkled, even in the flames, and Hermione was suddenly and painfully reminded of his brother. The excited teenagers quickly filled their old professor in, and she said in a voice near delight, "Poppy's there?"
"Standin' right next to me," Aberforth said jovially. "Who is it?" he added, the good humor suddenly extinguished from his eyes. McGonagall and the Trio grew equally grave.
"Ginny Weasley," the former Headmistress said. "Does Poppy have any other supplies that we might not have?" Someone muscled Aberforth aside then, and the serene visage of their school nurse appeared in the Floo.
"Actually, I have," she answered. "My cousin ran a small wizarding clinic. It was out in the middle of nowhere, and the Death Eaters hadn't noticed it at all. He was killed in Diagon Alley, and I've cleaned him out. It won't be as good as St. Mungo's, but …" she shrugged her shoulders.
"We'll bring her through," Harry said suddenly, his gaze locking with Hermione's. She read the unspoken intent in his eyes, and nodded. He wanted to discuss the possibility of their combined efforts countering the curse that had been enacted on Ginny. There were few who knew the range of either Harry's or Hermione's powers better than Madam Pomfrey… or Aberforth Dumbledore, for that matter.
McGonagall opened her mouth to say something, and Ron appeared mystified, but Harry's stubborn gaze challenged anyone to gainsay him.
"We'll be expecting you," said Madam Pomfrey, as soothingly as if she were tending to a feverish first-year. Harry nodded resolutely, his eyes blank, his features an inscrutable mask.
~~**~~
In the end, Penelope and Ron accompanied them through the Floo to the safehouse in Northern England. Fred had offered to take Ron's shift guarding Neville, so that his brother could accompany his friends and baby sister. Mr. Weasley had wanted to go as well, and, partially because of the guarded look in Harry's eyes, and partially because it was true, Tonks had gently requested that he stay, to prevent any safehouse from being undermanned at any one time - just in case.
Hermione gave herself over to the odd swirling sensation as she stepped into the Floo, and then out into a small parlor that had been set up for purposes similar to their own War Room. A genuine smile wreathed her face as she saw Madam Pomfrey and Aberforth waiting for them.
Harry came through behind her, cradling Ginny gently in his arms. He had obviously inhaled at exactly the wrong time, for he was coughing in that suppressed way that one uses when one is trying to minimize movement. Hermione tried to squelch the feeling of jealousy that licked through her, even as she thought derisively that it wasn't like Harry was going to wake Ginny up by coughing - there was no need to be careful of it.
Ron and Penelope followed them, and when they were all through, Madam Pomfrey turned to the Ravenclaw, all business.
"What's been done to her?" she asked. Penelope began to fill her in, as they trooped through the house, into a large room obviously used as an infirmary. It was much better equipped than the one in Cornwall, and Hermione thought that it had once been a very large dining room, with polished wood floors and a modest crystal chandelier overhead. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, and Hermione supposed that behind the draperies, they opened out onto some kind of veranda.
Madam Pomfrey was shaking her head regretfully, eyes on Ginny, as Hermione turned her attention back to the matter at hand.
"Is there anything you know of that could help?" Penelope asked with large, anxious eyes. "The Nightmare Curses are so new - I really, I don't know much at all."
"The Nightmare Curse is not as new as you might think, Miss Clearwater," said the older mediwitch. "The Order has known about it for quite some time now. Professor Snape gave us the information three years ago."
"Snape!" The word was spat from the mouths of both Harry and Ron with utmost disgust.
"Then you know?" Penelope asked eagerly, her mind obviously staying on the task at hand. "You know how to counter it?"
"There is no counter curse, per se," Madam Pomfrey hedged. "At least, not one that will fully remove the Nightmare."
"Not fully?" Hermione queried, her mind speeding up to its familiar state of overdrive.
"The one person affected by the Curse that the Order has had… access to - well, even with a specialized counter-curse applied, he was plagued intermittently with recurrent waking nightmares, and was unable to fully function within wizarding society."
"And then he died, didn't he?" Harry asked, his eyes having been fixed on the nurse's face during her story. Madam Pomfrey looked uncomfortable.
"He committed suicide," she said shortly, not looking at Ron, and appearing somewhat put out at Harry because he'd brought it up.
"So what happens to Ginny?" Ron asked dully, and Hermione saw Penelope pat him gently on the arm.
"The Order was conducting some rather covert experiments with dream-speaking and Legilimency that looked promising. But it's all extremely theoretical."
"It's all we've got," Harry said stolidly, looking so sorrowfully down at Ginny that Hermione felt her heart ache, even as she mentally berated herself for being so foolish and petty. Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, her lips tightly pursed, and began to scan Ginny with her wand. She and Penelope consulted the readout together, with similar grave expressions.
"How is she?" Ron asked, in near perfect synchrony with Harry.
"The Curse is progressive. She was attacked over a month ago?" Nods met this question, and Madam Pomfrey continued. "Did she ever act like she was on the point of waking?" This time, Penelope nodded.
"Professor McGonagall sent for me, when Ginny started waking. I woke her artificially, but - but it didn't go well. She was sedated fairly quickly after that."
"That probably helped slow the Curse down, but even that would only be temporary. Has she required higher doses to stay sedated?" Penelope nodded slowly, and the Hogwarts mediwitch looked grim. "Then it's already spreading. Any other symptoms?"
"She's blind," Harry blurted out suddenly, surprising everyone in the room, as well as himself, if his expression was any indication.
"I see," Madam Pomfrey said simply. "Her body's done this reflexively, in an attempt to stop the images that replay themselves in her mind. After this much time, the blindness is probably not reversible, but we may still be in time to keep her from … from disconnecting completely with reality."
"Penelope said she'd go mad," Ron ventured desperately, as if pleading with Madam Pomfrey to negate his statement.
"And so she will, Mr. Weasley, if we cannot stop this soon." She consulted her wand again, and asked, "Does anyone know what nightmare has attached itself to her?" Almost unwittingly, all eyes drifted slowly over to Harry, who gulped a little.
"She's in the Chamber of Secrets… with - with Tom Riddle, and her family is dead," he managed to say.
"Harry's the only one who could get anything lucid out of her at all," Penelope put in. "If any of her family tried to speak to her, she just screamed out that they were dead. Harry seemed to calm her down … at least a little bit."
"Of course," Madam Pomfrey said. "Harry was the one who saved her from the Chamber initially. It is only logical that he would be somehow - somehow above the nightmare. He got her out of it once; even her subconscious believes that he would succeed again."
"What do I have to do?" Harry asked.
"There's a spell I can cast on you, to put you in a kind of dream-like state. You would then need to reach out to Miss Weasley through Legilimency. If you can get to her, make her understand that none of what she sees is real - perhaps get her to leave the Chamber with you - you should break her out of the curse." Harry looked dubious.
"Is that all?"
"Is that all? I assure you, Harry, this is not going to be a walk in the park. For one thing, this has never been tried before. Legilimency during dreaming is always risky at best, and downright dangerous at worst. There have been those to try something similar, and some have - have not come back."
"Not come back?" Hermione jumped on this quickly, speaking over the end of Madam Pomfrey's words, her brow knit in concern. The mediwitch nodded at Ginny pensively.
"He could end up just like her."
"What if he were to - " Hermione began, but Ron interrupted.
"I can't believe you're even arguing about this. Does it even really matter?" Hermione met his gaze squarely, and he swung around to look at Harry, his eyes appealing for support. "You can't do Legilimency, Harry. This is pointless."
Aberforth started visibly, and Madam Pomfrey looked from him to Harry, mystified. Hermione watched Harry's shoulders slump ever so slightly.
"They didn't tell you?" he said, looking at the headmaster's brother. It didn't really sound like a question at all. At Aberforth's sympathetic head shake, Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione rushed ahead before he could label himself a Squib again.
"Voldemort had Harry captured after the battle at Hogwarts. He used some kind of specified dampening field to drain all Harry's magic. He hasn't gotten it back yet." Aberforth sucked in a hissing breath in the middle of Hermione's speech. "We were hoping that you," this was directed at Madam Pomfrey, "might know something to help us here as well."
But the mediwitch was already shaking her head.
"A dampening field keyed to a specific person would be all the more potent. I've not heard of one yet that could be undone. It's the reason that they're banned."
"Well, someone better be sure to give Voldemort his citation," Harry snapped humorlessly, but apologized with almost the next breath.
"It doesn't matter right now anyway," Hermione interjected, shooting a quelling look at her boyfriend. "We were prepared for this contingency. We thought it might be a spell, but Legilimency can't really be that different, can it?" Ron was the quickest to realize exactly what she meant.
"Hermione, are you talking about what you two did to Lupin? You try that on my sister and you'll likely just take the top of her head off. Never mind that you're risking throwing away your magic permanently."
"Harry and I have already discussed this - " Hermione began, trying to speak in an even voice.
"Oh, I'm sure that you and Harry have come to a mutually agreeable solution," Ron said, with an unpleasant innuendo in his voice. Hermione felt herself bristle.
"Don't bring the problems you have with me into this, Ron," Harry warned. "We want to help Ginny. We've just been told that I'm probably the only one who can, and that we don't have much time left. Let me do this." Something bitter flickered in his eyes. "You used to believe in me…once."
Ron looked almost ashamed, and he appeared to be on the verge of saying something, but Harry and Hermione had already turned their attention back to Madam Pomfrey and Ginny.
"If you two are determined to do this…" the older woman began tentatively, eying both of them in turn, "then I suggest you at least practice the method on someone else, whose health is in a … less precarious position. Aberforth and I should be able to coach you through the basics… " Even as she finished her sentence, Harry's and Hermione's collective gazes were floating toward Penelope.
"I'll do it," Ron's voice spoke insteand, and they both turned warily toward him. "Let me do it. Use my mind."
"I'm not altogether sure you can spare any of it," Hermione sniped, but her eyes twinkled a little. Ron and Harry regarded each other gravely for a moment, before Harry nodded once, unsmilingly.
"Close your eyes, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said, while Aberforth pushed a chair up behind him, so closely that he sat down rather abruptly when it hit him in the back of the knees. Hermione watched him do so, before sitting down as well.
"We've not had the privilege of working with this kind of - of piggy-back magic before," Aberforth said, in a bemused tone. "Hermione, why don't you go ahead… concentrate on Harry. He's going to have to have your magic in his possession before he can initiate the contact."
She reached. She felt a curious aching sensation, a dwindling of her power that she had not noticed on their previous attempt. For a moment, deliciously, she felt all the warmth and complex vitality that was Harry's very essence. Here it is, she thought. Use it how you will. She knew that any loss of her magic, she would consider well worth the sacrifice, even though Harry would not see it the same way at all. She still seemed to retain connection to her magic by a tenuous mental thread; she could feel it pulling taut.
Then suddenly, there was a flash and a loud clatter. Her magic rushed back to her, and she skidded backwards in her chair a few meters. Hermione's eyes snapped open, to see Ron, still sitting in the up-tilted chair, his feet in the air, and his back on the floor.
"Bloody hell, Harry. Are you trying to read my mind or shatter my skull?"
"Sorry," Harry muttered. He looked beseechingly at Madam Pomfrey. "I mastered this over a year ago. Once I have power, shouldn't it - shouldn't I be able to do it correctly?"
"What Hermione is doing is rather like fitting you with a prosthetic limb, a magical hand perhaps, or something like Alistair's eye. You may have been adept at using your power originally, but it will take some adjustment to learn how to use Hermione's as if it were your own. Miss Granger, let's dial it back just a touch. And Harry, think of the light touch of a rapier, not the blow of a battleaxe." Despite the seriousness of the situation, Hermione could not stifle the bubble of laughter that trickled from her lips. Harry eyed her somewhat dourly, with a mock air of betrayal.
They tried again. Ron was only knocked over once more, but it took several attempts before he was able to successfully gain entrance into their best mate's mind. She could tell when he did, because her link to her magic stretched and faded to almost nothing, and it was with a frantic, panicked grasp that she was able to snatch it back from the jaws of oblivion, feeling as if she were clinging desperately to it by her fingernails.
She sat back in her chair, alarm in her eyes, breathing heavily, trying to compose herself. She noticed Aberforth's eyes on her contemplatively, but he said nothing. Harry and Ron had gotten very stiff and awkward, and were quite occupied at studiously avoiding each other's gaze. Hermione wondered absently what Harry had seen that Ron had not wanted him to see.
"Very good, Mr. Potter."
"Brilliant work, Harry." Aberforth's words tumbled over and mingled with those of Madam Pomfrey. Hermione watched with almost maternal pleasure, as Harry flushed under the praise. She could read his emotions flickering tell-tale across his face. He had done something magical, and it did not matter one whit to him that he had had aid. Hermione had seen a look similar to this one on his face when he finished planting the garden, or when he had accepted the Polyjuice potion to use on Neville… the pleasure of contribution, of feeling like part of a whole. Almost anyone, Muggle or wizard, would feel the same, but Harry's disability seemed to magnify all of the innate feelings of worthlessness that the Dursleys had done their level best to instill in him.
They performed the maneuver twice more, before the two older Order members declared themselves satisfied with the progress. Harry was eying her with concern; Hermione could tell that her eyes betrayed her fatigue, and her skin felt clammy.
"Do you want to try with the Wakeful Dream spell induced?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Harry looked uncertain.
"Hermione's tired," he said, even as his eyes floated down to Ginny. Hermione knew why. No one was entirely certain just how much time she had left.
"No," she said quickly. "No, I'm okay. We're not going to hurt Ron, are we?" Her eyes flickered anxiously over to him.
"Doesn't matter if you do," he mumbled. "We've got to do everything possible to help Ginny, while - while she's still able to be helped." Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances, but then turned and nodded in tandem to Madam Pomfrey. The mediwitch, in turn, raised her wand, saying softly,
"Quies conscius."
The change in Harry was subtle, but quite remarkable. He did not slump over and his eyes did not close. Hermione saw the tension in his shoulders and hands relax, and the light, which had been shining out of his eyes like refracted sunlight through green glass, shimmered and dimmed slightly. His breathing deepened, and his blinking ceased. Madam Pomfrey moved in front of him, and spoke to him, but provoked neither visual nor verbal response.
She reached out with her magic, and must have gotten Harry's attention, though his reaction time seemed to be slower and more languid than it had been previously. Hermione thought she understood why Madam Pomfrey had said that combining a dream-state with Legilimency was risky.
"He's made contact, Mr. Weasley?" came the medwitch's soft voice. Hermione kept her eyes closed, concentrating on maintaining a connection with her magic. It seemed to pull further away from her, and she found herself following it.
And then suddenly, she was somewhere else entirely, a large room that seemed to containing nothing but moving pictures or something like television screens, filling every conceivable space.
There was a red-headed boy pulling a Hogwarts trunk toward the Express, while a tiny toddler girl wailed inconsolably.
Arthur Weasley lay in a ward at St. Mungo's, victim of snakebite.
A chocolate cake with eleven sparkling candles was placed on a table, the soft glow gently framing Molly Weasley's face.
A bushy-haired girl with a lofty manner stood in the doorway of a train compartment asking about a toad.
Harry was sorted into Gryffindor.
A graveside service, the details of which were blurry and indistinct. Molly Weasley sobbed into a handkerchief, holding a baby on one hip.
Hermione herself, red-faced and angry, her hair tumbling from its pins, shouting at Ron in the Gryffindor common room.
Hermione and Ron, on the sofa, kissing, in the Gryffindor common room. The quill fluttered from Hermione's fingers, and she…
That particular screen went black, and she could feel embarrassment permeating the very atmosphere around her, suffusing her with its self-conscious heat.
Holy cricket! She thought suddenly. I'm in Ron's memories. How did I get in here? Where's Harry? Where'm I? She reached out for her magic again, for herself, and it seemed to slip away from her like pouring sand. The first tendrils of panic threaded their way through her consciousness.
Harry?
She saw another picture. She was pulling away from Ron; he was grabbing her arm, trying to turn her toward him, pleading. She was stricken by the anguished look on his face.
The screen blanked out again. Hermione tried to find her magic again, her sense of self, but her equilibrium was off. She felt like a diver that did not know which direction was up, or even what "up" was. She felt swamped under a smothering wave of shame and regret and abandonment.
Is that really the way Ron feels about us? She wondered, and wandered further down the corridor, looking with interest at the pictures around her, knowing them now to be Ron's memories. Several of them blanked out, turning into gray squares or disappearing entirely, when her eye fell on them.
Then, a shadowy figure caught her attention. She could not say how far away the figure was, as time and distance seemed to have no meaning here, and indeed how could it be otherwise? It explained why events that happened many years ago could reappear in one's memory with more clarity than happenings far more recent. She walked - if walking it could be called - with more urgency toward the person. He was turned away from her.
"Ron?" she asked, curiously. "Harry?" He looked up at her instinctively, and she thought she could see the glint of light and shadow on the lenses of his glasses. Or was she being deceived and misled by her own mind? Or Harry's? Or Ron's?
The thousands of screens seemed to swim around her. She was getting confused. She turned back to where she had last seen Harry (was it Harry?), but the shadowy figure had vanished. She began to run (was she moving at all?) in the direction that she thought she had last seen him.
"Harry?" (Who's Harry?) She felt the muscles of her throat and mouth moving, but she heard no sound. Pictures fizzled out of existence, as she ran by, blurring into multi-colored lines. But she was paying them scarcely any mind at all. Panic began to churn itself up into a high-pitched whine.
Hermione? Someone said. Hermione?
Was that her name? Who were they talking to? Who are they?
HERMIONE!
And with blistering clarity, she remembered… turned… Harry! She felt his presence, felt her magic … moved towards him.
Her eyes snapped open, and she took in a noisy breath of air, as if emerging from under water, after a prolonged amount of time. A ring of concerned faces, with wide, anxious eyes, were ranged round her.
"Are you all right?" came the one voice that she loved most in the world. She managed a shaky nod, trying to process exactly what had happened, trying to identify it, so she could give it a category and a label.
"What - what - ?" she managed to gasp.
"Do you have it?" Harry was almost frenzied, the blazing brilliance of his eyes giving away his anxiety.
"What are you talking about?" she nearly shouted back, goaded into emotional reaction by her confusion and fear.
"Your magic, Hermione. Do you have it?" She felt worry flare in her brown eyes, as she searched for it, raising her wand almost automatically, and saying,
"Alohamora." Behind the shield of the heavy draperies, everyone could clearly hear the rasp of a window latch unfastening. She saw Harry sag, his eyes sliding closed with almost palpable relief.
"I don't understand…" she ventured, in a tentative tone that did not sound at all like herself.
"You followed Harry into Ron's mind," Madam Pomfrey said gently. Hermione nodded with impatience; she had been able to figure out that much. "I'm not entirely sure that anything like that has ever happened before. You nearly lost yourself." She shook her head. "I would not have thought that you would have been at as much risk as…"
"What would have happened?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.
"I don't know. Your body would have probably lapsed into a permanent catatonic state. And your mind - your mind would have probably been driven from Ron's, in a self-defensive gesture, where it would have ceased to exist. If he could not have driven you out, your mental presence would have driven him mad."
Hermione clamped her lips together, more than upset at the near miss, and wondering how she had failed, what she could to rectify what had happened. She looked sorrowfully at Harry and Ron.
"I'm sorry," she said, infusing layers of meaning in the simple phrase. Ron shrugged it off.
"You've been bloody well driving me mad for seven years. Hasn't done me any permanent harm yet." Hermione looked at him with a tearful half-smile.
Harry, however, was less lackadaisical, which Hermione had been expecting. Instead of speaking, he cupped her face in both hands, staring into her eyes, touching her skin, as if he wanted to memorize her, as if he were terrified that, even now, she could disappear forever from before their eyes.
One giant sob heaved its way up from her chest, and she stood, all but throwing herself into his arms, as they comfortingly enfolded her in an embrace. She thought she could vaguely hear him murmuring her name into her hair.
"We're going to have to find another way," she thought she heard Ron say.
"There is no other way," a voice said quietly, like the breath of a sigh. She started slightly, when she realized that Harry was the one who had spoken. She moved out of the circle of his arms, and looked at him questioningly. " But I'll not ask you to do that again, Hermione," he finished.
"That means - " Ron said, hoarsely, his eyes fixed on his little sister.
"No!" Hermione said, suddenly and vehemently.
"Hermione, it doesn't work!" Harry argued back. "We can't risk losing you for something that we can't even make work." She saw his eyes dart hastily and guiltily over to Ron, but the red-head conceded his point.
"He's right, Hermione," Ron said in a tired voice.
"How long can Ginny go before - before there's no hope at all?" Hermione asked, turning to Madam Pomfrey.
"It's hard to say… the number of these cases is quite limited, but I'd say no more than two weeks - and that's probably at unsafe levels of Sedation potion."
"Give us one week then," she said, her eyes moving from Harry to Ron, eliciting very reluctant nods from both. "If we practice in your presence, perhaps with someone anchoring me here, maybe we can do it." Her eyes drifted down to Ginny on the bed.
Her face was set like flint.
TBC
There we go. I had a dramatic action scene planned, but it would have ended in a cliffhanger….so I decided to stop it here, and put off the action until the next chapter.
Hope you enjoyed. Please review before you go!
lorien
-->