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 Twenty-One: Mission
The infirmary had finally settled down, and Hermione decided to go back to the partitioned room, where she and Harry had slept only twice, and gather her things for a hot shower. Harry was sleeping soundly, under the effects of the potion, and the bed was warded to such an extent that they would be alerted if he did much more than roll over.
As she padded across the open center of the cave, her eyes caught Zabini, hunched with Fred, Aberforth, Tonks, Remus, and both Nevilles, discussing something intently, bent over what looked like the Marauder's Map. Penelope and Madam Pomfrey were keeping watch in the infirmary, and it looked like almost everyone else had gone on to bed. Having finally stopped long enough to notice, Hermione was well aware of the soul-sucking fatigue that had been leeching away at her all day. She hungered for the softness of sheets and a mattress like a woman starved.
The divider obligingly thinned, and she reached for her wand automatically to brighten the light so that she could find her clothes and toiletries. Her wand wasn't there, and her mind went momentarily blank before she remembered that she'd left it in the infirmary, likely in the last empty bed together with Harry's.
"Damn," she swore under her breath, as she ineffectually patted her pockets.
"Lumos," came a voice from behind her that made her jump. The light in the room brightened, and the dividers obligingly darkened as well.
"What the hell are you doing, Fleur? You scared me to death."
"I need to speak with you, Hermione," said Fleur. "It seems an ambush is the only way to attract and maintain your attention." Hermione restrained herself from rolling her eyes, and strode to the trunk at the foot of the bed, rifling through the contents for some fresh clothing.
"Here I am," Hermione sighed. "Speak."
"There was something… I found on your wand scan that I think you should be aware of," Fleur said evenly, lifting her chin to meet Hermione's eyes. The younger girl felt dread began to pool in the pit of her stomach.
"Am I sick?" she asked suddenly, worrying that some infection had entered her body through her raw, burned skin, or that there had been some insidious witchery at work inside the Circle. If something really was wrong, what would Harry do? Would she be able to continue functioning at such a critical time as this? Her imagination ran wild at Fleur's solemn expression, and the furrow above her brows deepened considerably.
"No," Fleur responded, faintly shaking her head. Her gaze seemed to be boring into Hermione; she seemed to be willing the younger woman to know what was implied, before she was forced to actually verbalize it, but Hermione was drawing a blank. "You're pregnant."
Hermione was shaking her head, backpedaling away from Fleur, before the final syllable had even crossed Fleur's lips.
"No," she said, her head moving back and forth emphatically, as if that would wipe it from reality. "No, that's - that's not possible."
"I checked twice," Fleur's voice was soft, her eyes limpid and sympathetic.
"We are careful. You think we don't know what that would mean, what that would do, to have a child at a time like this?" Fleur's hand had drifted down to her slightly rounded abdomen, still all but undetectable, and Hermione regretted the way her words had come out. "We have always done a contraceptive charm, Fleur. Always. There is no possible way that I'm pregnant."
"Hasn't Harry always been one to beat the odds?" Fleur said, lightly, but compassionately. "It surprised me as well, and I double checked. Cast the scan on yourself. I know that this is not something you're prepared for at this time, and I will be happy to be wrong."
Hermione's head was spinning, throbbing; the room seemed to whirl around her. The contents of her stomach were sloshing around, as if discontented and disgruntled in their current locale.
"I - I don't have my wand…" she stammered, wondering why she was getting so upset over this. It's not true; of course it's not true. There's no reason to get in a state.
"Would you like me to do it again?" Fleur's voice was soothing, flowing over her like liquid, like silk.
"No," Hermione said faintly. "No… I'll - I'll go get…"
"Let me get your wand," Fleur said calmly. "Where did you leave it?"
"In the infirmary," the frazzled girl responded. Fleur glided through the dark dividers without another word, while Hermione paced frantically in the confines of the little room, stopping only to pull bottles of shampoo and soap, towels and pajamas, in her arms in a thoroughly distracted fashion.
It's a mistake, that's all. Fleur's made a mistake. That contraceptive charm was flawless. If there's one thing I can have faith in, it's my spellwork, surely.
Hasn't Harry always been one for beating the odds? Fleur's quiet question resounded in her mind.
What if she's right? she wondered abruptly, and her hand wandered down to her flat abdomen. What if I am? Even the thought of what that would mean made her stomach churn. She vomited into the small wastebasket in the corner, and then sat back on the bed, trembling and weak, her face clammy and damp with sweat. Her mouth tasted sticky and thick, and she wished she could conjure up a glass of water. What the hell is taking Fleur so long? Her stomach roiled.
A lifetime of tortured moments later, it seemed, Fleur re-entered, holding Hermione's wand in her hand, instantly taking in the Gryffindor's panicked state. She neatly Scourgified the wastebasket, with no comment, and produced a glass of water, handing it to Hermione along with her wand.
"I'm sorry it took so long. Madam Pomfrey realized that she had not looked at you. She asked me how you were doing, with regard to your burns and your fingers." Her wide, beautiful eyes blinked disarmingly at Hermione.
"You didn't tell her, did you? You didn't say anything? Because we don't know anything yet… It's a mistake!" Her voice subsided, as she lifted her wand. "It's got to be a mistake… a mistake…" She spoke in a low voice, as if to herself.
"She will have to know eventually, or she won't be able to provide care for you," Fleur pointed out. "But, no…I said nothing. I thought it was not my place to say." Hermione didn't reply, her mind whirling at breakneck speed, her heart pounding so rapidly and loudly that she could feel it vibrating her eardrums, her ribcage, throbbing in the slender column of her neck and in the newly healed joints of her fingers. Her arms felt suddenly like they might go limp, and she clutched her toiletries to her more tightly in response. "Is everything all right?" Fleur asked in concern. No, everything is going to hell, she wanted to shriek, but nodded, with a weak smile. At least, she could quickly put this headache to rest, when the wand scan came back negative.
She cast the spell for the basic medical scan, and ran the wand back and forth over herself. It whirred along contentedly, until it passed over her abdomen, where it made a puzzled chirrup, much as it had when Fleur had performed the scan. The memory of Fleur's wand scan, her exclamation of surprise, her furrowed brow rushed back to Hermione suddenly.
She was fighting off nausea, feeling dizzy and panicked, and knew that all the blood had drained from her face.
"This can't be true. It can't be true. It can't be… can't be…" She was mumbling the words under her breath, as if saying them enough times would make them so. She cast the spell again, and produced the same result. She cast it again.
"Hermione, you are pregnant," Fleur said, firmly. "No matter how many times you perform that scan, you will still be pregnant."
"It says - it says ten weeks," Hermione stammered, in a barely audible voice. "I've had - I've had a cycle… I've had one since then. I - I would have noticed if it had been that long…" Truth be told, she was more than overdue for another one, but her periods had never been regular; even a potion couldn't make them more than sort-of-reliable. She wouldn't have been worried for another several days, at least.
"How light was it?" Fleur asked knowingly, and Hermione stopped, with her mouth hanging open. It had been very light, light enough for Hermione to be gratefully surprised. Oh, God, she thought, even then… "You should go talk to Madam Pomfrey. She can - "
"No!" Hermione said vehemently. "No, I'm not going to talk to anybody about this. Do you understand me? You cannot tell anyone!"
"But Harry will - "
"Especially not Harry," Hermione hissed. "This is the last thing in the world he needs to have hanging over him right now." Her jaw trembled as she tried to control herself enough to continue speaking. "Do you know what Voldemort would do if there was a child he could hold over Harry's head? Besides, the Order needs me…they - they - they need all the fighters they can get, and I - you -" She didn't have to finish. Both of them knew that the only way Fleur would be allowed anywhere near a battle is if everyone else had already died.
"What are you going to do then?" Fleur asked quietly. Hermione watched the other woman's elegant hand drift downward, cupping the unborn child within her, only now beginning to make its presence outwardly known. How far along is Fleur? Hermione wondered distractedly, twenty-one, twenty-two weeks?
"I - I don't know…" Hermione admitted helplessly, feeling tears prickling at her eyelids. There was a simple potion that could be taken. Madam Pomfrey would be discreet. It would hurt like hell, she was sure, and it would be difficult - nigh impossible - to keep it from Harry, but wouldn't it be better this way? Wasn't it selfish to bring a child into this kind of world, where nothing was certain?
Nothing is ever certain, another part of her argued, her own hand stealing down to her stomach. This is part of me, part of - part of Harry. He's always wanted a family. How can I let this go? And would he forgive me if he ever found out? Am I prepared to keep a secret like this from him forever?
Before she could understand what was happening, she was crumpled on the bed, sobbing as if her heart would break, and Fleur was sitting on the mattress next to her, patting her softly on the back and murmuring soothing nothings in French.
At length, she was spent, her eyes on fire, her skin stretched and taut, and her head packed painfully full and congested. Fleur conjured up a white cloth and cast a Cooling charm on it, laying it gently over Hermione's eyes and forehead.
"It's okay, you know," Fleur murmured. "It's okay to feel ambivalent about it. It doesn't mean you're a horrible person."
"I feel like a horrible person," Hermione mumbled. "A horrible, careless, sneaky liar."
"I think you should talk to Harry," Fleur began. "He loves you very much, and he would - "
"Fleur, no!" Hermione repeated, insistently. "I'm not going to tell him about this. He doesn't need to know." She looked at herself critically in a small hand mirror that she retrieved from her trunk, and tried to correct the worst of the damage done by her outburst. Fleur drew herself up regally, and for the first time in quite some time, Hermione saw raw grief shadowing that otherworldly beauty.
"My husband died before he knew - before I even knew - that I was carrying his child. If you decide to have this baby, it will not be easy, but you still have your husband. Do not forget that. Harry deserves to know. I would - I would give anything to have been able to tell Bill, to see his face when…" Her voice ended in an unexpected sob, and Hermione felt ashamed.
"But Harry is Harry, the `Chosen One,' the Boy Who Lived, pick any moniker you like," Hermione said, after a moment, struggling to keep the determination evident in her tone. "And nobody in this place - myself included - truly understands what he is going through, what he has gone through since he was a baby, and what is still expected of him. I am not going to be the one who piles on even more pressure and expectations. He does not need this now." The two women regarded each other coolly for a long moment. "Fleur, I'm asking you to please respect my wishes in this. Will you do an Unbreakable Vow with me? Swear you won't tell anyone about this?"
"No," the young widow replied, after a moment of consideration. "You don't need to keep this from him forever. But you have my word that I won't tell him…yet."
Hermione looked as if she would have liked to protest, but Fleur's expression didn't seem to leave much room for it. The swirling, uneasy sensation in her stomach seemed to have abated for the moment, and Hermione suddenly felt very, very tired. Her shoulders slumped, and Fleur softly patted the one nearest to her.
"I - I - " For a moment, Hermione felt as if she had no more will to move, and she was finding it hard to string together a coherent thought. She had not thought for a moment that the day would end like this… with Harry in an artificial sleep, drugged and warded against possible mind control, and Fleur sitting on her bed, calmly telling her that she was going to have a child - Harry's child - and knowing that, paradoxically, there was nothing she wanted more…or less… than that right now. She took a deep breath, releasing a gusty sigh, and looked blankly at Fleur.
"Go and take a shower," Hermione was instructed softly. "You'll feel better."
"Will I?" Hermione asked cryptically, almost laughing in a dazed way. But she did as Fleur suggested, ducking through the dividers, with her arms full of shower things, making her way to the area of the cave set off for the loos.
But there were some things, she reflected mournfully, that a shower could not wash away.
~*~*~*~
Her mood had not improved with the shower, the smell of her flowery soap and the feel of steamy water doing little to make her feel any better emotionally. She stood in front of a mirror, in a small tiled anteroom that Tonks had set up, looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing comfortably slouchy clothes, and had twirled her hair up on top of her head, leaving it wet, though the worst of the water had already been wrung out. Drying charms made her hair even frizzier, and she only used them when she was in a hurry. Her eyes were no longer as red as they had been after her bout of tears, but they were heavily shadowed, and her face still looked a little puffy. She cast a couple of Refreshing charms on herself.
Look at the poor little Mudblood, she thought dispassionately. First she was Harry's best friend, then his lover, now his wife, and she doesn't even have enough brains to keep herself from getting pregnant.
She sat down abruptly, backing up until she was against a wall, enjoying the feel of the cool tile beneath the soles of her feet and through the thin material of her t-shirt. She looped her arms around her legs, and propped her chin on her knees. What am I going to do? She had never seriously considered termination, simply because she had never seen herself in a situation where it would become an option. She was prepared, well-read, cautious, trained in self-defense; she had rarely done anything without thinking of contingencies and consequences. And nature had come and bitten her in the arse anyway.
Because it was Harry, the option seemed desirable. This was war; he was the focal point, and this baby would have a target painted on it before it was even born. And yet, because it was Harry, the option also seemed untenable. He would be able to see the sense in it, she was sure, but he would also realize that the child was part of him, something of his, and he would want it anyway, she was also sure, regardless of the practicalities.
Could parenting a child be distilled down to pros and cons? She had always seen herself as becoming a career woman, ambitious and driven, shattering the glass ceilings placed by those who thought that women and Muggle-borns were somehow less than worthy. She could admit to herself that part of this had come from the realization that she was never likely to have boys knocking her door down either. But Harry had changed all that - all of it, and she suddenly, desperately, irrationally wanted his child.
"I'll sleep on it," she mumbled to herself. "I'll sleep on it, and decide what to do in the morning." Even as she spoke the words aloud, a tiny voice inside her said, You don't have to tell anybody yet. There are glamour charms. Perhaps the war will have reached its conclusion in eight months. "No," she stilled the hopeful little voice. "Sleep first."
She stood to her feet, gathering her things, and was nearly to the door, when she all but collided with someone coming in … Cho Chang.
"Sorry," the new arrival said, seeming to look everywhere in the tidy little room except at Hermione.
"Quite all right," Hermione tried to say casually, hoping that she didn't look as frazzled and confused as she felt. She was almost through the divider, when Cho suddenly said,
"Erm…" Hermione politely waited, even though every fiber of her being was screaming at her to get away. She shifted the bundle of towels and bottles in her arms; it seemed ages before Cho spoke again. "So… Ginny told me… you and - and Harry - ?"
Hermione could only imagine that Ginny would have been unable to refrain from having some kind of perverse pleasure in telling Cho of her and Harry's relationship. Something akin to I can't have him, but then again neither can you.
"Yeah," she heard herself saying, as if from very far away. "We - we got married… two days ago actually… almost three. McGonagall performed the ceremony."
"That's - that's great. Congratulations," Cho enthused emptily.
"Thank you," Hermione chirped, with just as much substantive emotion in her voice.
"Padma - Padma said - " Cho blurted, as Hermione once again moved to exit. "She said Michael proposed to her… a few days back."
"Really?" Hermione said, sounding more sincere. "That's brilliant. I'll have to congratulate them."
"Yeah…" Cho said, and the conversation trailed off to an awkward halt again. Hermione belatedly wondered what it must feel like for Cho, to have been arrested and detained - probably tortured and interrogated for her connection to Harry, however small - only to be rescued and brought to live in close quarters with not one, but two ex-boyfriends, both of whom had moved on. It was another reminder to Hermione of a fact that was all too easy to forget these days… they were all still so young, and their last days of young adulthood that could have been carefree and fun, days of self-exploration and discovery and aspirations for the future, were slowly trickling away like sand through an hourglass.
She smiled crookedly at Cho, trying not to think of Harry's baby inside her, and moved to step through the dividers again.
"Hermione?" Cho said once more, and Hermione again stopped and turned. "Are - are you all right? You - you look like you've been - "
"No, no," Hermione said more heartily than she really felt. "I'm fine, just fine… just a little worried about Harry."
"Of course," Cho replied quietly. "We're all thinking about him."
"I know he'd appreciate it," Hermione said, and scooted through the doorway before Cho could say anything else. The other woman made her feel flustered and childish, and that irritated her. She wondered why on earth Harry couldn't have dated some dowdier people before they left Hogwarts.
"Hermione!" she heard Fred hail her as she padded back across to her room. "Can we have a word?"
Inwardly, she felt herself sigh, but she squared her shoulders, and faced Fred with a smile.
"Absolutely," she said, indicating with a gesture that she needed to put her things back in her room. "Half a moment."
~*~*~*~
It had taken almost half the night, Hermione thought blearily, as she staggered back toward her room for some much needed respite, but she and Remus had finally managed to create a fully functioning duplicate of the Marauder's Map. It wasn't Remus' fault really, as it had been quite some time since he had first help create the original, but he felt terribly guilty that he wasn't more help at remembering the exact combinations of charms and spells. Everyone had agreed that it was absolutely essential that Neville's clone have one as well, going back into Hogwarts, and Hermione had even added some extra charms for Disillusionment and Camouflage that went beyond the simple blanking of "Mischief Managed." One of the additions that Hermione was proudest of was one that linked the two maps by written communication, in much the same way Riddle's diary had. Accessed only by written password, the map would absorb and transmit whatever Neville's clone wrote at the bottom to their Map back at the cave.
The consensus had been reached relatively quickly and with little debate. It was clear what had to be done, and what was required to accomplish that goal. If they were going to infiltrate Hogwarts, then one of the Nevilles needed to be back in the cell, and that necessarily needed to happen before anyone discovered that he'd been gone. The Map had remained activated since they'd left on their Lake mission, and nobody had been seen venturing down to the lower dungeons. What that meant, Hermione reflected, was that they were safe so far, but every minute they delayed made it more likely that someone would come down to check on Neville. Madam Pomfrey came and scanned Neville's clone several times, finally pronouncing herself satisfied that he was clear of all the effects of the potion he'd been given by the Death Eaters.
Fred had bemoaned the fact that they had only Harry's invisibility cloak, when Zabini had produced another one from his pack with a flourish. Fred had been gleeful, and had asked where on earth Zabini had gotten it, only to be hurriedly subdued by the Slytherin's reply.
"It was my father's."
They were able to find Neville's clone a suitable wand from the pile that Mr. Weasley had brought back from Ollivander's, and Fleur worked on attaching a pocket inside his ragged clothes, on which Hermione placed several different and subtle masking and shielding charms. An enlargement charm was set on the pocket as well, so that the invisibility cloak, Map, and wand, would all fit in there, completely undetectable. To this, Fred added several knick-knacks from his shop, including Extendable Ears, Decoy Detonators, and something new that would fit in one's eye much like a contact lens, and enable the wearer to see in the dark, even through Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. A little tin of the latter was slipped in also.
"You can't take a medallion, N - Neville, I'm sorry," Hermione had told him mournfully. The risk of a medallion falling into Death Eater hands if he was caught was too great. Hermione had been lucky that her medallion had been immediately destroyed. They decided to conceal one in the tunnel just past the stationary portkey, accessible only by his wand-initiated password, for him to use if he needed a quick escape.
"I - I know…" Neville's clone had stammered, looking frightened and yet somehow more resolved and determined than Hermione had ever seen him. The actual Neville had sat a short distance away in a chair against the wall, watching the proceedings, looking rather dazed, as if the entire surreal situation were something that he could not quite grasp.
"You'll need food." Ginny's voice had drifted to them, as she carefully made her way from the kitchen to the War Room. She was carrying a tray laden with already-shrunken containers of food and water, and these were added to the secret pocket along with everything else. Ginny's face had been carefully blank and vacant, as if she were keeping her true feelings carefully concealed. Hermione had not been sure what Ginny was unhappy about: the fact that any sort of Neville was going back into such a dangerous situation, or that she could not accompany him.
"Who's going with him?" Hermione had asked upon thinking of this, trying to keep her voice brisk and businesslike, as she clipped a ward detector onto the end of his wand.
"I'm going to go as far as the tunnel," Tonks had replied. "And Blaise is going to actually escort him into Hogwarts. We'll need to have a couple of others. Aberforth should go, perhaps, because he has the most extensive knowledge of the countryside in this area. We don't want a large team, in case they're still searching the woods for you."
"I should go too," Hermione had said suddenly. Fleur's head had snapped up, and Hermione had become intently aware of the half-Veela's blue eyes fixed intently on her face. She had ignored it. "I'm the only one who's been there, who is healthy enough to go." Tonks had appeared to mull this over for a moment, and then nodded.
"You're probably right. It's obvious neither Ron nor Harry is in any fit state to go."
"Hermione, I don't think - " Fleur had blurted, but stopped at the quelling look Hermione was aiming at her. "You've had no sleep at all since you returned. I can't help but think of the handicap that will place upon your effectiveness." She lifted her chin, looking quite pleased at her fabricated excuse, and Hermione felt her eyes narrow.
"I'm fine," she had said, biting the words out ominously, as she struggled to smile politely at Fleur.
"Perhaps Fleur is right, Hermione," Tonks had remarked apologetically. "Take an hour, maybe two. Sleep. We want to leave when it's still dark, and pre-dawn is probably the least likely time that we'd have company. Blaise, why don't you pick someone else from your team to go as well?" Tonks had appeared to have forgotten her earlier squabbles with the Slytherin.
"That sounds good," Hermione had replied, as Blaise mulled over his answer. She had been unable to stop herself from looking triumphantly at Fleur.
So there she was, halfway across the open floor and eager for a kip, however brief, when she was startled out of her thoughts by Fleur's hand around her upper arm.
"You should not do this," Fleur said. "You are doing neither yourself nor your team a favor by going on a mission when you are at less than optimum." Her eyes were flashing, but Hermione bristled.
"I am not at less than optimum," she retorted in a fierce whisper.
"Then you were not getting sick in the bin in your room?" Fleur asked archly, and Hermione scowled at her, hissing furiously,
"That was different. I was under stress. Now you listen to me, Fleur Weasley, I am not going to take myself out of this war, when I can still do anything at all to help the Order and Harry. I might be p - pregnant," her voice was low, and stumbled over the damning word, "but I am not dead or incapacitated, and you are not going to wrap me in cotton wool, or prevent me from doing my part in this war. I will not allow it."
"Don't you think you owe it to Harry to safeguard your life and the life of his child?" Fleur asked mildly. Hermione had turned away from her, as if to continue on to her quarters, but she stopped when Fleur spoke, her spine growing rigid.
"For the love of God, Fleur, shut up!" Hermione cried out, in a shouted whisper clogged with tears. "There are already three fighters out of commission, not to mention you and Ginny. We don't even know what's wrong with Harry, and - and - " her chin trembled, as the fear that she had been trying to keep at bay surged upwards. "They need me. I will not abandon them, and you shouldn't talk about what you can't possibly understand."
"My apologies," Fleur said with forced politeness, her face carefully composed, but her eyes flashing with suppressed emotion. Hermione ducked her head ashamedly, realizing that Fleur probably knew at least as much about risks and loss as any of them.
"This is all new to me, Fleur," she managed to say in an apologetic way. "If I stay holed up in here, I'll go mad. I haven't even decided yet if I … I can't think about this yet - I just can't. I'll be careful, and I'll not take any unnecessary risks. Harry's well-being is very important to me, and so - so is - so …" She couldn't finish the sentence. "I - I do appreciate your concern. Thank you," she said softly, and disappeared into her room.
~*~*~*~
The forest was mysterious and misty, with everything tinted a pearly gray, when they emerged from the waters of the Lake, and passed into the embracing arms of the outermost trees. Hermione, Tonks, Aberforth, Blaise, Neville's clone, and Michael Corner, who had also volunteered to go, adjusted grips on wands and cast drying and Disillusionment charms. The faint outline of Aberforth flicked its head in her direction, and nodded.
Hermione went first, trying to steer the group carefully in a line that passed between the entrance to the tunnel and the Circle, without ending up within the Circle again or going too far afield in the denseness of the woods. She knew that Michael was behind her, with Tonks and Aberforth guarding the clone, and Zabini bringing up the rear.
Nothing seemed to move in the eerie stillness, the sun having yet to make an appearance above the horizon, but being quite close to doing so. Some distance away, a hoarse-throated bird called out, suddenly and noisily, and Hermione jumped, stopping abruptly and causing Michael to collide with her.
"Sorry," she said in a barely audible voice, and that was when she heard the noise, the low rippling sound of voices speaking indistinct words. She looked over her shoulder with alarm, and saw that Tonks had heard it as well; a much smaller outline was gesturing to the others to get down. Hermione dropped to the ground near the base of a young tree, and tried to remain absolutely still. Disillusionment charms were handy, rendering one nearly impossible to see, but movement would betray a person every time. There was a barely detectable rustle, as Michael slunk to the ground nearby, and the others on the team were lost in the dim light of the woods, melting into their backgrounds.
The voices stopped abruptly, and for one long hair-raising moment, there was absolute silence. There was a querying murmur, and a laconic response. Had they been heard? There was no way to know for sure. Hermione could feel the perspiration born of fear trickling between her shoulder blades, and knew that the hand tensely gripping her wand was clammy and damp.
"Avada Kedavra!" came a voice, frighteningly nearer than she'd thought - but she could see no one - and to her horror, the fuzzy outline of Michael crumpled to the ground with a muffled thump, less than two meters away from her. It appeared that he had merely been winged, but with a curse that was, of course, completely lethal.
She stiffened, spine thrown rigid by shock and horror, and she was unable to tell if the gasp she sucked in hurriedly was audible or not. She threw herself face first into the grass, and began to crawl slowly toward him, but the sound of voices again paralyzed her.
"Oy, I think I got sumpin'," came a voice, probably thickened with whiskey and lack of intellect. Hermione felt tears burn the backs of her eyelids. What kind - oh what kind - of idiot fires the Killing curse into a forest, blind? "Told you summun were out here."
"Of course someone is out here, you blithering fool," came a fierce, yet aristocratic voice, and Hermione's heart turned to ice within her, as she realized who it was. Whatever she, Neville, Ron, and Harry had unwittingly done by stumbling into that Circle, Voldemort had obviously seen it as important enough to send one of his more trusted lieutenants, Lucius Malfoy. "Pray tell, why else do you think we were dispatched here in the dead of night? You'd better hope, for the sake of your miserable, pathetic life, that whatever just died was not another of the Dark Lord's servants."
Whatever just died… the knot in Hermione's throat was tight and painful. Oh, Michael…oh, Padma…She could see them now, charcoal outlines against the slate gray dimness of the trees, and realized with dread that they were coming to see what the curse had dropped, that she was going to be pinned down here, unless she did something quickly. She could not see any of the other team members, and did not know their exact position. Michael was a former Hogwarts student and member of the D.A., and Hermione was sure it wouldn't take the Death Eaters long to link him with Seamus and possibly Harry. The forest would be swarming with amoral idiots like the one approaching within minutes.
Damn, damn, damn, she cursed, and refusing to think further, she flung herself the final few feet, landing almost on top of Michael. The medallion, on its slim chain around her neck, seemed to burn into her chest like an ember, as she closed her eyes, clutching onto Michael's cloak tightly. Harry, oh dear God, Harry…
All she could do was hope that her lunge had not made too much noise as she vanished.
~*~*~*~
When she reappeared, still with Michael prostrate beneath her, and she wanted to sob with relief when she recognized the cool, stone floor of the cave and the sturdy metal legs of the beds of the infirmary. Her medallion had taken her right to Harry.
"What on earth…" came Madam Pomfrey's wondering voice, and Hermione realized that the Disillusionment charms still held. With a trembling wand, she performed Finite Incantatem, and heard the gasps of horror as they became fully visible.
She struggled to stand, barely aware of a hand above her elbow, assisting her. She looked into the tired, worried eyes of Remus Lupin.
"What happened?" he asked, obviously fearing the worst.
"Michael … Michael - he - he - " She couldn't speak, found herself staring down at the glassy, lifeless eyes of someone she'd gone to school with. It had been so fast, so fast, and she wondered dimly if this is how Harry had felt when Cedric died. Until that moment, she had not even noticed the similarities of her impromptu arrival with Michael to Harry's return with Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament. "There were Death Eaters…searching the forest… one - one fired blind, dear God, fired blind, and - and Michael…" She had the dim realization that she wasn't making any sense at all. She couldn't lift her eyes from Michael's body, and she couldn't remove from her mind the image of Padma tucked securely beneath his arm in the War Room.
"I'll get Padma," a soft voice said, and Hermione looked up wildly to realize that it was Cho. Their eyes met, and there was nothing there, but grief, weariness, and fear.
"I've got to - I've got to go back. The others won't know what happened to me. I couldn't see them, and - " She was babbling again, and Remus grabbed her by both arms, and looked intently into her face.
"The others - they're okay?"
"Yes, they - the - didn't even know we were there… it was a - blind shot, lucky shot… They weren't even sure if they'd hit a person…." The horror of it was gripping her tightly, more real to her than Remus' grip around her arms. Blind shot, lucky shot, useless, pointless waste… Her vision grayed a little around the periphery, and she shook her head suddenly, trying to pull her frayed, scattered mind back together.
"Go," Remus said, his voice low and nearly inarticulate. "Go back to Tonks. Neville's got to get back in that cell." He jerked his head to the right suddenly, as if he thought Harry would rise up and protest the sending of his wife back into such a perilous situation, but Harry's chest rose and fell evenly, spurred by the Dreamless Sleep potion. Hermione's eyes welled with tears as she watched him, and then she looked back at Michael, and thought of Padma.
"Yes," she said simply, looking at Remus with a clear, direct gaze. She stepped away from Michael, intent on transporting back to Tonks, but her movement happened to coincide with Cho's and Padma's entrance into the infirmary. Hermione didn't know what Cho had told her housemate, but Padma's hand flew to her mouth in horror, her knees buckling and her eyes overspilling with tears.
"No…" she said, shaking her head. "No…no, Michael, no…" Her voice was barely a whisper, syllables forcing their way through a blocked throat. Cho was openly crying, and Luna, who had appeared in the divider behind them, with one arm wound through Ginny's, had silent tears streaming down a pale, set face. Hermione's eyes slid shut, as the pending tears prickled fiercely, and she thought desperately of Tonks, as the world slid away again.
~*~*~*~
Tonks started violently, but made no noise, when Hermione appeared behind her. She could now see the others in the group drawn back into a loose knot, crouched in some underbrush, having crept some distance away from where they'd been. They could still clearly hear Lucius and the lackey, who may or may not have been joined by a couple of others, beating the bushes, looking for the fallen. Hermione heard one clear Accio through the indistinct mumbles, and she silently blessed the fact that she had left with Michael.
"Where's Michael?" Tonks' face was very close to hers, and she could see the shadowy outline of her lips move, though barely any hint of sound other than movement of air escaped. Hermione shook her head, as her eyes swam anew with tears.
"Gone." Her mouth formed the syllables deliberately. Tonks' head sunk between her shoulders, and she saw Blaise's jaw jut, as he shifted restlessly next to her. "I took him back to the Lake."
"We've got to get them away from here," Aberforth mouthed.
"Maybe we should go back." Tonks was clearly worried. "There may be others." Blaise was shaking his head; it looked like the leaves were blurring faintly, wafting in a non-existent wind.
"Once they find out Neville is gone, this opportunity will be closed to us. We may not have a chance to do this again, and that would mean that Michael died for no reason."
"Someone needs to draw them off. They're convinced someone is out here. Let's give them someone," Aberforth said, straightening his shoulders.
"Wait! What about one of these?" Neville's clone asked, pulling one of the Decoy Detonators from his hidden pocket. Hermione felt her heart seize up, as she saw the small, black cone. Tonks nodded.
"Do it," she ordered, hardly even audibly. The clone knelt, and lobbed it through the bushes, parallel to the ground. There was a momentary silence, where Hermione figured that the Detonator was scurrying to a new location, followed by what sounded like a tree branch, at least a finger's width in diameter, cracking noisily.
There was a noisy scuffle punctuated with exclamations, as the Death Eaters shuffled off in the direction of the crack. Quietly and with unspoken consent, the Order began to creep through the trees, in the general direction of the tunnel.
"Oy, Lord Malfoy!" came a voice, different from the one that had killed Michael. How many of them are bloody out there? Hermione thought in worry and frustration. "There's nobody here. It were this little thing." Hermione's tortured imagination could see a Death Eater holding the small black device between his thumb and forefinger. It must have ended up right in front of him. Would there be no end to their ill luck?
"Godric be damned!" Lucius said. "That's one of those Weasley devices - "
"Weasley…" the first one breathed. The implications were clear.
"Spread out! Quickly! And send back to the castle for reinforcements. Potter may - " and Malfoy's voice trailed off into a intent mumble that they could not hear. The Order exchanged worried glances.
"We're going to have to go back," Tonks asserted, and even Blaise looked grim.
"No," Aberforth said. "Let me go. I'll draw them off." Tonks was already shaking her head, vehemently against the suggestion. "It'll work. If they catch me, or even see me, it might clear the rest of you. I'm connected to Albus, who was connected to the Weasleys. They might even drop Harry out of the equation. Most people have always thought I was more than half-mad anyway. I'll go back to the Lake, if I succeed in drawing them away." Tonks wavered for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. Finally, she held out her hand, palm up.
"You'll have to give me your medallion, Aberforth," she said quietly, struggling to keep her voice quite steady. Hermione watched Aberforth's eyes - so like the Headmaster's - spark knowingly, and moving slowly, he lifted the chain over his head, and pooled the piece of jewelry into Tonks' hand. The tears that had been threatening now began to drip down Hermione's cheeks, even though she knew they couldn't risk a medallion falling into enemy hands. The Auror swallowed convulsively. "Timed-memory spell?" she asked, and Aberforth nodded. Tonks did a nearly silent incantation, tapping Aberforth once with her wand, and he did the same, mumbling two words under his breath, one of which sounded vaguely to Hermione like "licorice."
He started to sidle away from them, moving deeper into the forest, away from both the Lake and the tunnel, but at the last moment, he turned back. Hermione could see his dim outline moving, as he met each of their eyes in turn.
"Albus would be very proud… of all of you," he whispered, and Hermione had to struggle to hold back a noisy sniff. Tonks pressed her arms against Hermione on one side, and Blaise and Neville's clone on the other, and the four of them shrank into the vegetation, as Aberforth broke into what sounded like a sprint, heedless of the noisy rustle and snap of leaves and twigs.
There were exclamations of surprise and anger, and the Death Eaters began to move away from them. Soon spells began to zing out here and there, and Hermione could hear Aberforth's voice taunting them, moving farther and farther away.
"Go!" Tonks prodded her in the ribs with her wand; the Auror's face was set and hard. Hermione knew what she was feeling: the mission had to work now, they had lost too much for it to fail. As they moved toward the tunnel as rapidly as they could, while still moving silently, Hermione thought she heard a call, tossed faintly back on the wind,
"Oy, Lucius, you want to see some inappropriate charms?" A sad smile twisted her lips.
A moment later, they had come to the tunnel entrance, felled the guard there with a silent Stunner before he'd seen a thing, and slipped noiselessly inside.
~*~*~*~
Hermione's detector charm reported no one inside the tunnel, and with the portkey dismantled, they knew everyone would have to come from the castle. They dropped their Disillusionment, but Blaise still had rear guard, and spent much of their walk strolling backwards.
"What was - what was that spell you used, Tonks?" Hermione asked, after clearing her throat.
"Timed-memory spell," Tonks replied. "Version of Obliviate. All Aurors learn it. It implants a timed-memory wipe. It will automatically Obliviate in five minutes, or can be triggered earlier or canceled by one of two code words set by the person to be Obliviated."
"So - so even if - even if he … gets away - ?" Hermione stammered.
"He might not ever be back," Tonks finished for her. "But if they do catch him… he'll not give anything away, no matter what they do to him." Hermione put one hand over her mouth. Images whirled dizzily in her mind. Michael's glassy blank stare, as he lay motionless in the floor of the infirmary, Padma clutching at Cho, shaking her head, denying what her own eyes were telling her, Remus' worried gaze resting on her, Aberforth Dumbledore dancing through the trees like a wood-elf, taunting Lucius Malfoy, Harry in a potion-induced sleep, a baby - their baby - inside of her, Fleur's fierce eyes snapping at her refusal to tell anyone…Saliva rushed into her mouth.
"Excuse me," she managed to say, turning quickly and vomiting to one side of the tunnel pathway, narrowly missing Blaise, who swore under his breath. She Scourgified the mess, and turned back to her companions, her face crimson. "Sorry. I - I - I'm sorry." Blaise's eyes were sympathetic, and she could tell that he thought he understood.
"How was Padma?" he said, in a low, concerned voice. She blinked at him, and the metal of the crossbow slung over his shoulder gleamed and swirled in the minimal light from Tonks' wand.
"She - she nearly co - collapsed when she saw him. I - I couldn't stay, I didn't - " Hermione was shaking her head, and felt Blaise's hand come to rest gently on her shoulder.
"It's never easy, Granger, but it's why we've got to win." They continued walking, but Hermione felt drained. There were so many, so many Death Eaters, that they could thrash around in a forest, not even trying to be quiet, and still nearly pin down a tiny band of fighters. She hadn't been so completely aware of the sheer enormity of their ultimate goal since the Battle at Hogwarts.
Shortly, they had arrived at the place where she'd half-buried the controls to the stationary portkey. There were scuffs in the dirt that suggested someone had been there to investigate, but no repairs had yet been made. At the sight of the footprints, all four of them nervously reapplied their Disillusionment. Hermione pulled the components, returned to her by Fred, out of her pocket, and brushed the loose dirt away from the box, so that she could reinstall them.
After a moment, the small indicator on the outside cover of the box blinked an intermittent green, and Hermione looked up and nodded.
"It's ready." Blaise adjusted the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder, and looked at Neville's clone.
"Are you ready?" he asked. The clone pulled the Marauder's Map out of his pocket, and they all bent their heads around it. The nearest people to the lower dungeons were in the Slytherin common room. There was not a sign of life on the deepest level. He folded the parchment up and tucked it safely away.
"Let's do this," he said.
"If - if you - " Tonks said, but hesitated, and Hermione thought that she was trying to think of a better word to use than `betray'.
"Tonks, Harry is - " He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "I feel like Harry is one of my closest friends. My parents - " He squirmed a little, and looked ill at ease again. "They - they gave their lives for this cause, as - as surely as Harry's parents did. I wouldn't betray that. I - I couldn't, really… not even when I was under the influence of that potion."
"I believe you, Neville," Hermione said quietly, for once not stumbling over his name, and the clone smiled gratefully at her. "Be careful!" He nodded, and moved further down the tunnel, where the field of the portkey awaited. Blaise looked back at the two women soberly.
"Take it down as soon as we're through. I'll use a medallion to come back." Without a backward glance, the two of them had crossed through, with only a flicker of green and faint crackle of energy giving testimony to their passing.
Tonks looked at Hermione, her eyes melancholy and anxious.
"This had better work," she said. Hermione simply bent wordlessly, and began to dismantle the portkey again.
~*~*~*~
When Blaise reappeared, nodding his satisfaction that Neville's clone was now safely ensconced in the cell, apparently with no one being the wiser, Hermione did a final quick survey of the portkey controls, to assure herself that everything looked exactly as they had found it. Then, without further communication, they used their medallions to return to the cavern beneath the Lake.
Hermione arrived again in the infirmary to find Harry's status unchanged. She wondered grimly what they were going to do, and the Wand Bond drifted through her mind again tantalizingly. Now, however, there was a third party to the equation. What happened when one tried to cast a Wand Bond while pregnant? Was the baby tied into the spell? If she were to miscarry, would all three of them die? And then there was the guilt, guilt that she was even contemplating doing something to Harry, without his informed consent, without full disclosure. The only way, she thought frantically, it might be the only way.
But recklessness was not one of her more forceful qualities, and she knew that she would not do anything until she had found out everything possible, or until Harry's life had been placed in a more immediately precarious position. Her eyes went wistfully to Harry's still face, and one hand strayed to her waist, as she suddenly understood why Fleur was often in this position. She didn't feel any different, but it was there, resting, growing, a physical manifestation of the love she had for Harry, and Harry for her.
Someone called her name then, and when she turned, the scope of her vision caught the white-sheet shrouded form of that which had been Michael Corner. Somewhere in the distance, there was soft sobbing, from whom she did not know. She was at once forcibly reminded of the shakiness of the ground on which they stood. Fleur's doing it… and alone too, she thought, and wished forlornly for her mother, or Mrs. Weasley, wished for someone to just tell her what she should do, so that she didn't have to bear the brunt of this weighty decision on her own shoulders. Not even Harry is in a position to help me now.
She averted her eyes from Michael, and they danced instead to Seamus, still unconscious, half of his face shrouded in bandages. The grindylow talon had caught him across one eye, and they were afraid that the poison had done irreparable damage. Ron was in the next bed, sleeping naturally now. His color was improved, and Penelope had told her that he'd awakened to eat earlier, asked about her and Harry, and gone back to sleep. Then… there was Harry. What would happen if they awakened him now? Would he immediately try to get back to the Circle, heedless of the ramifications? The forest was sure to be crawling with Death Eaters, even though they'd surreptitiously Enervated the guard from the dim recesses of the tunnel, before using medallions to return to the cavern. Harry'd not make it three meters before being captured.
Her eyes went to his wand on the small table beside his bed, and then to hers, cupped loosely in her hand. Her stomach lurched unevenly, as she again returned to the enormity of what she was contemplating, and her hand again shot, almost of its own accord, to her abdomen. A swath of red hair caught her vision.
"Ginny?" she dropped her hand guiltily, even though Ginny had no way of seeing her motion. It had been the youngest Weasley who had been attempting to get her attention.
"Hermione… I was wondering…" she said hesitantly. She seemed to realize she was halfway into the infirmary and paused. Her eyes roved around uncertainly, and she seemed to become distracted. "I can't believe it… about Michael." Hermione was reminded that Ginny too had briefly dated him. "Do you have time - I mean, Zabini is filling Professor Lupin in on everything, and I thought maybe - maybe you could tell me about who cast the - the curse on me. You said you…" She seemed to sense Hermione's repugnance, and added hastily. "But you've had an awfully long day. We can do this later."
"No, no that's okay," Hermione assured her, pushing aside her own fatigue and despair. She looked back at Harry again. "We can go talk about it." She moved to the youngest Weasley's side, and threaded her arm through Ginny's, leading her to the room she and Harry shared.
They had both sat on the bed, cross-legged, and Hermione had cast a Silencing charm, but did not really know how next to proceed.
"Penelope said it would have to be someone who - who knew… about my worst nightmare…" Ginny began tentatively. "I - I don't see how … everyone who knows - they wouldn't do that to me…" Her voice was hollow, a faint echo of its normal self, as she tried to contemplate that level of disdain and hatred.
"Ginny…" Hermione started to say. "Did you - did you ever tell anyone in a public place, where you could have been overheard?"
"No," she replied. "I - I didn't tell many people… it was so embarrassing, and - and shameful… that I - that I couldn't stop him, that I wasn't strong enough, and I - I didn't like to talk about it. Most of the people that know are in this cave now."
"It was Draco Malfoy," Hermione finally blurted, but regretted it when Ginny went so completely still that it frightened her. Rather than protesting or wondering how that was possible, Ginny's head drooped down toward her chest.
"Oh…" she said quietly. "Oh, I see…"
"You told him?" Hermione asked incredulously, making a quick determination from Ginny's lack of surprise or upset.
"I was so stupid!" Ginny said suddenly and violently. "I - I liked Harry so much, and - and third year, he was so - so distant and … almost untouchable, one of the `Triwizard Champions' and you got swept up in all that Rita Skeeter nonsense, and I - I just wanted to - wanted him to…" She floundered for a moment, gaze pointed blindly in the direction of the floor, seemingly lost in her thoughts. "I finally told myself I had given up, went out with Neville, Dean, and M - Michael. But I really hadn't and… fifth year, I ran into Malfoy in one of the corridors and he seemed so upset, and we - we talked a little bit. I wasn't holding my breath that he had changed, but he seemed - he seemed rather lost, and the more we - he mentioned getting swept up in things beyond control, and I told him that I knew exactly how that felt, and it - it just came out… I - After Harry noticed me, I was too embarrassed to tell anyone, and I was afraid that Harry might - might dump me if he found out. And when Dumbledore died - I …" She shrugged, seeming at a loss for adequate words, but then turned, looking uncannily right at Hermione. "It's my fault then, isn't it? If I hadn't - Mum would be - " Her face crumpled.
"Ginny, no!" Hermione soothed. "They were targeting you because they thought you were dating Harry. Harry told me that himself, after we got away from Voldemort. If it hadn't been the Nightmare curse, it would have been something else. It's not your fault."
"How did you - how did you find out?"
"We ran into him at Godric's Hollow a couple of months ago," Hermione replied. "He was on some kind of sentry duty. Ended up right in Harry's back garden." She did not say what she and Harry had been doing in the back garden.
"What happened to him?" Ginny asked, rather doggedly, as if she really already knew the answer on some level. Hermione swallowed hard before replying.
"Ron killed him. He didn't mean to, but…"
"I see…" Ginny replied slowly. Hermione watched a succession of emotions play across her face, and she suddenly felt sorry for everyone involved, for Ginny, who'd been duped into sympathy for someone not worthy of it, and for Malfoy, who'd been offered a hand of friendship and had used it for evil.
What will be left of any of us when this is all over? She wondered sadly.
TBC
AN: I didn't want this chapter to get into some huge debate for or against abortion, but I did want to show Hermione at least attempting to clinically examine it from all sides, which is what I think Hermione would do. I think that someone in this type of extreme situation would be seriously considering all options, even if only briefly. Like Hermione, I have never had a reason to consider something like this, with my near-decade marriage, stable finances, and two planned children, but I can't truthfully say what I would do in a situation like this one: war-torn, on the run, etc. I think Hermione rationally knows what the most logical choice would be, but she is also hampered/bolstered by her love for Harry and her knowledge of his desire for a family that he's always been denied.
That being said, I will be sticking to tried and true, romantic fanfic cliché, like those (including me) who have Harry and Hermione marry hastily, marry young, have babies after only one encounter, etc. She will decide to have the baby, but I wanted to express at least some of her ambivalence… this is certainly a less than ideal situation.
I really hope that I haven't offended anyone. I think this is for fun, not for moral posturing or political statement. I believe her pregnancy adds another level of angst - not that she needed anymore - not to mention when Harry finds out, when others find out, when they find out how long she's been keeping it secret, etc. Lots of fun to be had…. And it has plot relevance as well - of course, having something to do with why Hermione could suddenly use Harry's wand (remember there has been no Wand Bond instituted as of yet)… and that has major ramifications later.
Okay, that's the end of my rationalization. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and you may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
lorien
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