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-Two: Liberation
The low whistle of a bird caught Hermione's attention, and she laid one hand on Ron's arm.
"Seamus and Luna are done," she said. Ron nodded, his lips pressed tightly together and his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Almost…got it," he muttered, as a medium-sized wooden platform hovered several meters over his head, before settling gently into the crook of a tree. "Okay, Hermione, go!" As he held the platform in place with his wand, Hermione fastened it in with a well-aimed spell. A Caecus spell made it fade from sight, apparently leaving the tree just as they'd found it.
"Ready to go up?" she asked, and Ron shrugged reluctantly.
"You couldn't have made it invisible after we got up there?" he asked rhetorically, as they Levitated themselves upward. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, not bothering to answer, since she knew that the platform would be visible as soon as they'd passed through the barrier of the charm.
Once safely aloft, Hermione paced the length and breadth of the planking, wide enough to accommodate two people, possibly three if personal space was completely disregarded. She added an Engorgio spell to expand it slightly, while keeping it beneath the canopy of the Caecus spell.
"How's the line of sight?" she asked Ron, who was peering through the foliage toward Hogwarts. They were in a small tongue of trees that jutted out from the Forbidden Forest near the main gate and quite close to the road from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts.
"Good… excellent," he said matter-of-factly. "We've got a great view of the main gate, and Omnioculars may show us the front entrance of Hogwarts too. We should be able to see most anything going in that way." He looked over his shoulder at Hermione. She nodded.
"Stock her up, then," she said. "I'll finish the wards." She moved carefully around the perimeter of the platform, setting up detection wards, Silencios, Distraction spells, and other useful tidbits that she hoped would keep anyone from disturbing the lookout. Ron carefully took the shrunken vials of potion, enchanted maps, and communications devices that they'd brought with them, and concealed them in a shadowy corner, layering them with several protective spells.
Lastly they embedded a medallion in a hollow they carefully carved out of the tree trunk. It was accessible only by approved-wand plus a password, and would enable them to travel between the lookout and the cavern without being exposed. When that task had been completed, they stood upright and exchanged glances.
"That's got it then," Hermione said, and Ron cupped his hands over his mouth and hooted like an owl. They were answered by another birdcall, lower and warbling.
"Blaise and Padma have done theirs as well," Hermione interpreted. "Let's go back." Concentrating on the cave that remained their home, the medallions transported them quietly away from the Forbidden Forest.
~*~*~*~
"How'd it go?" Seamus asked, when all three teams had arrived back in the main part of the cave. A jaunty patch now adorned his face, covering what had once been his left eye. He joked that it made him feel like a pirate, and shrugged off Madam Pomfrey's promises to fit him with a magical eye, once they had access to more advanced medical supplies. Hermione could see the new lines that had formed around his mouth, though, his forced jocularity notwithstanding.
"No problems here," Hermione replied for her and Ron. Blaise and Padma concurred.
"Not so much as a centaur hoofbeat," Blaise remarked.
"I wouldn't set that in stone," Remus said, rising from his seat in the War Room and joining them. "Centaurs have a way of not being seen or heard, if that is their wish."
"But surely, the centaurs wouldn't side with Voldemort," Ron protested.
"With a centaur, who knows?" replied Lupin. "They concern themselves with the skies, not with the squabbles of humans. After Dumbledore's death, the herd retreated even further into the Forest. Maybe we should just count ourselves lucky that you passed in and out of the Forest without incident."
The group trooped over to the Map, at the moment being watched by Mr. Weasley.
"Anything from the castle?" Seamus wondered. Mr. Weasley shook his head.
"Still nothing. It's been three days. He was in the Slytherin common room for awhile this afternoon, but he must not have heard anything important."
"Ginny and Fred back yet?" Ron asked abruptly, as if he'd just remembered it, and it couldn't wait another second.
"Not yet," Remus replied. The other two Weasleys had gone with Megan and Susan to Diagon Alley, just for reconnaissance. They had gone under heavy Glamour, and Ginny had been transformed into an old woman, so that escort could be explained away and her blindness, hopefully, go unnoticed. Ron had, predictably, been less than thrilled, but Ginny had been adamant, insisting that blind people did useful things all the time, and she had gotten particularly good at listening during the last six months.
"Did you find likely lookout sites?" Remus asked, returning them all to the task they'd just completed. The six of them nodded.
"Three sites, about half-kilometer apart, one nearly at the main gate, looking toward the front entrance of Hogwarts, and the other two watching the east face of the castle. The most southerly one also has a glimpse of the Lake; we may be able to see if anything enters or exits the castle from the launch," Blaise reported.
"Medallions embedded?" Mr. Weasley wondered, and was rewarded with nods all around again.
"We'll need to test them, and then we should be ready to man the lookouts. We should start out in teams of two. I don't relish the thought of anyone being out there alone, even in a magically concealed platform," Tonks had approached them as Blaise was speaking, and gave her Auror's point of view. Ron looked as if he were thinking of the acromantulas, and appeared to wholeheartedly agree with Tonks.
"Aren't we going to be spreading ourselves a little thin?" Hermione wondered, thinking of teams to recruit others, to do recon-work, to man the lookouts, watch the Map, watch the Lake entrance, and so on.
"Blaise and Seamus are going to be getting out in the next week or so, and really looking for others to help us. From what the Wireless has said, there are a lot of disillusioned people out there. We ought to be able to use that to our advantage," Tonks said. "We've gotten a lot of information on the movements within Hogwarts from Neville - er… Neville's clone…" she added, with an uncertain look at the actual Neville, who was listening from a War Room chair. "These lookout platforms should help us even more. The medallions in place there will give us freer movement, and we can to continue to gather as much intelligence as possible, without actually having enter the castle itself."
They all fell silent, thinking of that inevitable moment when they would have to enter Hogwarts, and wondering if the Boy Who Lived would be at their side to help them win the day.
~*~*~*~
The days had slipped gently by at first, but then dizzily spun into weeks, and soon the small remnant of the Order had found themselves facing a Christmas like none they'd ever experienced before, and for many, it was the first such holiday without loved ones, stark reminders yet again of what was forever altered.
Hermione had found herself teetering on the edge of indecision, torn between logic and love, rationality and sentiment. She knew that if she put off the decision for too long that it would be taken from her, and, in the privacy of her own thoughts, admitted that maybe that was really what she wanted: to put off the final choice until only one choice could be made. As if the knowledge of the pregnancy had been what spurred it into action, morning sickness had set in with a vengeance, confined not to a time of day, but triggered often by mere sights or smells of food, sending her to the loo with what she hoped was an urgent nonchalance that maybe no one noticed. She was eating little, losing weight, and luckily, most of the Order seemed to attribute it solely to worry over Harry. Only Fleur eyed her with an introspective, concerned gaze, and Hermione was often aware of the other's woman's contemplative watchfulness.
She was fretting over Harry, often dragging her research into the infirmary, so she could sit with him, often being found in the mornings curled up in the adjacent bed. He had not improved; the Circle had not relinquished its insidious hold on him, regardless of Penelope's and Madam Pomfrey's joint efforts to the contrary. There was generally a small window of near-total lucidity immediately after he naturally wakened from the Sleeping Draught that he was nearly drowned in on a regular basis. He knew who everyone was, knew at least the basics of what they were up against - although how much he retained from waking to waking was uncertain - and was able to recognize what was happening to him. However, this tended to deteriorate rapidly, with his crying out for Hermione, not appearing to realize that she was standing right beside him, struggling to get out of bed even to the point of wildly fighting off any restraining arms, until they were forced to shove more of the potion down his gullet.
On that particular afternoon, just days before Christmas, having returned from the mission in the Forbidden Forest, Hermione strolled from the shower back to her room - their room - gratefully noticing that Ginny and Fred's team had returned and were giving their report in the War Room. She discarded her dressing gown, and donned clothing distractedly, sighing in annoyance when she realized that the pair of jeans she'd selected had not yet had the waist expanded. She cast an irritated Enlarging charm at the material, and was then able to button them easily. Her figure was not to the point that anyone else would notice, but she was definitely seeing changes, and so would Harry if he - if … She shook her head, closing her eyes, and tried to remove herself from that train of thought. She twisted her hair into a hasty knot at the back of her head, and hurried out into the cave proper.
Constant heating charms were required now, and at a higher level than they had been at first, for the Lake - never terribly warm to begin with - was now extremely frigid. With Harry's mental state uncertain, and his connection to Voldemort along with it, there was now a guard stationed constantly at the Lake entrance. Wards were heightened, and there was always someone stationed at the Marauder's Map as well, just in case Neville's clone communicated.
She waved one hand at Tonks, who had relieved Arthur from Map duty, as she crossed to the infirmary. Mr. Weasley was in the kitchen, stirring something, and her stomach gurgled ominously and without anticipation at the thought of a meal.
"How is he doing?" she asked, stepping through the divider and greeting Penelope distractedly, as she moved toward Harry.
"He hasn't awakened yet, but it should be soon," the young mediwitch informed her, mustering a sympathetic smile. Hermione backed up onto the adjacent bed, and sat with her feet dangling down loosely.
"Then I'll wait," she replied. She could feel, rather than see, Penelope's searching gaze on her, and she looked back up expectantly.
"I'm sorry," Penelope nearly stammered. "It's just that - that you've been looking a little peaky lately. Are you getting enough sleep? Enough to eat?"
"I'm fine," Hermione said with a distracted sigh. Penelope was sidetracked from further probing by Ron's noisy entrance, and one corner of Hermione's mouth twisted upwards into a quasi-smile.
"How is he?" Ron asked solicitously, unintentionally echoing Hermione's question.
"We're waiting for him to wake up," she told him. Almost as if her words had been a cue for which he was waiting, Harry Potter blinked his eyes open slowly and deliberately, as if trying to remove grit. He rubbed them carefully with both thumbs, and reached for his glasses without looking.
"Hi," he said cautiously, his voice sounding sandy. It had been nearly sixteen hours since the last time they'd spoken with him.
"How do you feel?" Hermione said, sounding as wary as he, trying to project a deliberate and fixed calm. Harry's eyes moved to and fro, as if he were conducting an internal inventory.
"Okay," he said slowly, after a moment. "Hungry." Hermione made a motion to rise from the adjacent bed, but Ron beat her to it.
"I'll go get us a bite to eat," he said. She felt her nostrils flare instinctively, as she thought of Ron bringing a laden tray back into the infirmary, and glanced back at Harry somewhat guiltily. His eyes were fastened avidly on her face.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, reaching for one of her hands. Wordlessly, she slid from the bed, and moved next to him, threading her fingers through his. The wards were keyed to Harry only, so others could move about his bed freely.
"How's the pull today?" she asked, not answering his question, and referring to the hold the Circle seemed to maintain over him, though at these times, upon awakening, it was easier for him to ignore or suppress.
"Still there. Like a headache lurking in the background…sort of." His face was pale and drawn, lined with worry.
"Do you want to leave?" she asked him, phrasing her query delicately. He shook his head slowly.
"Not yet. But - but it wants me to go," he replied, then looked up into her down-turned face searchingly. "You didn't answer my question."
"I'm fine!" She spoke more sharply than she meant to, and had pulled her hand from his before she realized it. "We may not have much time," she hedged, as he furrowed confused brows at her outburst. "I don't want to waste it talking about me. We need to see how you're doing." Penelope had come to his bedside then, and was taking a careful wand-scan.
"I want to talk about you," he said simply. "I feel like I never - like we - " His eyes flicked over toward Penelope self-consciously. "We don't get to see each other anymore." Hermione's lips compressed into a thin line, as she regarded him apologetically.
"I can't help that, Harry. You know we have to keep you here, until we can figure out how to end this control that the Circle has over you."
"Maybe I want to spend some time with my wife! And how long has it been since you've done anything but hover and worry?" he said, his voice growing louder, sounding completely frustrated with himself, with her, and with the situation. "They'd listen to you, Hermione." Now he was pleading with her, and he couldn't have rent her heart in two more effectively if he'd shouted cruelties instead. "If you - you could tell them… you could tell them to let me out of this bed, and they would listen to you. I miss you… Hermione, please."
"I miss you too, Harry. And I love you so, so much, but I can't do that. You can't get out until we know for sure that you won't bolt again. If you tried to swim the Lake now, you'd likely die of exposure before you got halfway to land. Not to mention the forest bordering the Lake is still crawling with Death Eaters… I know you don't mean to, I know you can't help it - that it's that damned Circle, but we can't risk it, Harry, we can't."
Aberforth Dumbledore had never come back, and what little hope the Order had sustained for his safe return had gradually fizzled and died. The cave had remained on heightened watch, and until quite recently, only Blaise or Seamus had ventured out very occasionally, and even then under heavy Glamour charms and the invisibility cloak. They reported that there were regular patrols through that sector of the forest now - something that had not been occurring before - but the patrols didn't seem to have picked up any sort of clues as to who had intruded into the Circle, or where they were now. Blaise had overheard them referring to Aberforth as that old madman, which gave them hope that they had never actually caught him and found out who he was. But if the Obliviation charm had been triggered, then, alive or not, Aberforth would not be returning.
"You could," Harry said stubbornly, spearing her with an even, yet mutinous glance. "You could if you wanted to, if you trusted me…"
"Harry, it's not about trust," she nearly wailed. Did he know how much it hurt her to see him virtually caged like an animal or a prisoner… or a mental patient? Was he doing this on purpose? She looked furtively toward Penelope, who had moved back to the small desk, and was no longer facing them, but the rigid set of her shoulders told Hermione that she was listening intently.
"Yes, it is. Don't you believe that I'm stronger than this? Don't you trust that I can overcome this? It's not supposed to be this way!"
"I believe that you could, yes, but - but you don't have full control, don't you see? That's been taken from you… and it's not your fault! Nobody is blaming you for this; we're just trying to protect you. We - I love you, and I don't want anything to happen to you. I want - " She stopped herself in shock, nearly aghast at what she had been on the point of saying. I want our baby to know his father. She swallowed hard against the rising tide of nausea, and tried to think of something else to say. Harry had not previously been this verbally and articulately difficult, hammering away at her excuses with seemingly sane argument calculated to cut her to the quick, rather than mad and blind pleas for her presence.
"Hermione, that's dragonshit!" Harry swore, slamming one open palm noisily against the railing of the bed, and Penelope looked over her shoulder with astonishment. Hermione vaguely noted the mediwitch reaching for her wand, but she was still hung up on what she'd almost said. When did I decide that I was going to have this baby? And when was I going to let myself in on that piece of information? "I'm fine. I don't - I don't understand why you won't let me help. I can fight - I - I need to be training, and - and you're just - you're making it easier for him to win in the end. Is that what you want?"
"Of course, it's not, Harry," Hermione tried to say in a calm voice. "You know that."
"I don't know anything anymore." His tone was wounded, wearied. "I don't know you." She knew, she knew that he wasn't talking sense, but it still hurt her. She had had many and varied "discussions" with Remus about the Wand Bond, but he was still adamantly against it, unless the choice was between it and Harry's death. He argued that they didn't know for certain that it would override the hold the Circle had on Harry, and it could do more damage than good. Then, there was the fact that Hermione wanted to keep the life-bond information to herself, which Remus would not allow, not to mention Hermione's secret - which was still unknown by all save herself and Fleur - and the enigma of its effect on the Bond.
"You know I'm doing everything I can. Blaise is even planning a mission to Diagon Alley, to check out some of the bookshops to see if they have anything that can help us." She moved closer to him, leaning on her elbows on the bed, and pushed one soft palm through his hair. "Harry…" she murmured softly. He leaned into her caress, and his eyes closed, lashes making shadowy smudges on his cheeks.
"I'm sorry… I know that you - everyone's - I just hate this," he finished with a despondent sigh. "I miss you. I miss us. You - you've really gotten the short end of the stick in this thing, haven't you?"
"Harry… I don't regret any of it," she said softly, trying to reassure him. He looked up at her sadly, his eyes transmitting the depth of the love, despair, confusion that he was feeling. And even as she watched, they began to cloud. "Harry?" She leaned forward, threading her fingers through his, and brushing the dark hair back from his forehead. "Harry? No, stay with me, stay with me! Harry?" She bracketed his face with both hands, trying to force him to look at her.
It's happening so quickly.
Ron came back into the infirmary, tripping over the threshold of the divider, and swearing under his breath, as some silverware rattled noisily to the floor. Hermione barely noticed, her attention focused solely on Harry. She felt like she was trying to tether him to this consciousness by the sheer strength of her will alone.
"Harry?" She was shouting, but strangely, her voice didn't sound loud in her ears.
"What's going on?" She heard Ron say, as if from a great distance.
"Harry, come on, love. Stay with me."
"….can't…" It was a harsh, guttural groan, hardly even a word.
"Is he already losing it again?" Ron asked Penelope rather inelegantly. "Should I get Remus?" Hermione did not see or hear the mediwitch's response, but it must have been affirmative, for Ron disappeared through the divider again, discarding the tray on the nearest flat surface with a clatter.
The vivid green of his eyes disappeared, as the orbs rolled up in his head. His hands had been at his sides, one entwined with hers, but now one slowly moved up to snarl in her hair.
"I'm not sure what's happening. Something's different," Hermione's voice was urgent, worried. "Penelope…"
"I'm here," Penelope replied, moving swiftly to the bedside, and beginning a scan. "Do you want me to get the potion?"
"Not yet. Harry, look at me." His lashes had been fluttering wildly over his eyes, and they slid slowly shut. They reopened, and his breathing, which had been harsh and erratic, calmed somewhat.
"You…" he whispered.
"Hermione?"
"I think he's okay," she breathed in response to Penelope's question. She leaned down toward her husband, her nose only inches from his. "Harry, are you okay?"
Harry blinked at her, looking at her almost blankly, as if he was trying to figure out who she was, and why she was asking him questions.
"Harry?" she repeated again, both of her hands going to either side of his face once more. "Harry?"
The hand that had been softly tangled in her hair suddenly clenched into a fist, forcing Hermione's head back to release the pressure on the trapped strands. A small gasp of surprise escaped her lips, and she saw Penelope raise her wand in the periphery of her vision. Hermione lifted a warning finger, signaling for the mediwitch to wait.
"Harry," she murmured, her voice nearly quivering from the effort to remain calm. "Harry, please let me go."
The hand entangled at the nape of her neck suddenly trembled so violently that she could feel his fingers vibrating against her skin, and his arm fell back to the mattress like so much dead weight.
He looked bleakly at her then, and apology and resignation were warring in his face. His green eyes were flat and fatigued.
"Let me go, Hermione," he said in an eerie echo of her own words. "If you're just going to keep me trapped here… I - I can't - let me go."
"I won't," she said resolutely, trying to keep at bay the tears trembling on her lashes.
"Maybe you won't…have a choice," he rasped. His head jerked abruptly from one side to the other, and she saw his hands fist into the sheets. An inarticulate growl escaped his barely parted lips. "It - it - maybe I can't fight it any more."
"Of course you can, Harry. Don't give up - " Whatever useless platitude she had been intent on verbalizing died unsaid on her lips, as Harry's back arched away from the mattress, his hands clenching onto the linen so tightly that his knuckles were white. Penelope was at Hermione's elbow, but she signaled the mediwitch again to wait.
"He's fighting it," she whispered to the former Ravenclaw. "If he can snap the hold of the Circle by his own power, it might be better than anything else we could do for him." She leaned forward avidly, her hands curled around the railings of the bed, watching her husband's face carefully. There was a scuffle behind her, as other Order members entered the infirmary at Ron's behest. She heard Remus say in a low tone of urgency,
"What's going on?"
"It's different this time, Remus," Hermione said, turning toward them, a hopeful lilt in her voice. At that point, anything different was viewed as positive, something to break the monotonous cycle of sleeping potions and incoherent accusations and wild escape attempts. "He was making more sense when he spoke. He's having a physical reaction to the pull of the Circle, but he hasn't tried to get away."
She turned back toward Harry, leaning with her elbows on the mattress, and smiled at him, even though his eyes were closed. His breathing was labored.
"Harry, can you hear me? Stay with me, love." Penelope ran another scan, while Hermione murmured soothing inanities, brushing his hair back from his brow as she did so.
When he opened his eyes again, there was an odd, blank look on his face, like all emotion had been somehow leeched away. Her brows furrowed, as she regarded him curiously, while his eyes searched hers impersonally.
"Harry?" Her voice quavered from one syllable to the next. She could hear the Order members stir restlessly, anxiously behind her. "Wait!" She cried, thrusting a hand, palm out, in their direction.
"Mudblood bitch," Harry said, in a low voice, as calmly as if that were her name, and yet the epithet carried an unmistakable air of menace.
"Stun him! It's not him!" Ron called out, horror fringing around the edges of his tone, giving voice to their worst fear, that somehow Voldemort would take over his mind, as he had attempted to do in the Department of Mysteries fifth year.
"Wait!" Hermione cried, struggling to infuse authority into her voice. Harry sat up, and she poised on the balls of her feet, her eyes furtively going to her wand on the side table, gauging the distance between it and her.
He groaned again, a strangled moan of agony that seemed torn from the very depths of him. Hermione watched his face carefully; this was different, this was not the wild, disorganized attempt at flight that they normally quelled with the potion, but something going on internally, something that had so far not been directed at them - until he'd spoken to her. His face seemed to be shuttling frenetically from one extreme emotion to another, as he desperately fought for control of his own mind.
His body bowed up on one side, as if he were having some kind of seizure, and one arm shot out wildly. It happened so quickly, and with a force that Hermione did not expect from one who'd been all but immobile for the better part of a month. The back of his hand and side of his arm caught Hermione across the jaw with a resounding crack, and sent her flying backwards into the metal base and undercarriage of the adjacent bed. She fell full-length, hitting first with her hip and ribs, and then her shoulder and the side of her face. She closed her eyes, as dizziness washed through her. Her ears were ringing.
"Hermione!" Ron had squeaked out a horrified cry, when she'd rocketed backwards. He knelt at her side, as she blearily opened her eyes. Just over his shoulder, she saw Remus and Tonks exhange glances and raise their wands.
"Stop!"
"Hermione, he's dangerous. He's clearly not himself," Remus argued. "If we Stun him, then Penelope can administer the potion."
"Are you all right?" Ron asked. Nausea surged up in her, wetting her mouth, but she swallowed with difficulty.
"Don't! Please!" she pleaded, as she struggled to stand. Ron looped his hand through hers to help her up, but the room still spun wildly around her. The side of her face felt like it was on fire. "I know him, and I'm telling you he is fighting this. The Circle wants control, but he's fighting back. If we put him under now, he may lose his advantage, everything he's gained so far."
"He - he just hit you," Ron managed to say, as Madam Pomfrey worked her way forward to assess the injuries. Hermione flinched away from the examining wand, half-afraid, even now, of what a scan might show the mediwitch.
"He didn't mean to. It's - it's a battle for control. Don't Stun him - just yet." She looked on Remus and Tonks with beseeching eyes.
"Hermione…" Remus' tone was dubious. She followed his gaze back to Harry, who was beginning to rise. On his knees near the foot of the bed, he raised both arms, palms out, and moved forward slowly, seemingly oblivious to his wide-eyed audience, warily waiting.
He's trying to see where the wards begin, Hermione thought.
"Just a little longer, Remus, please," she said, though she never took her eyes of Harry. "I'm out from under the wards now; he can't come through, can't hurt anybody if we just stay back." Remus' shoulders lowered slightly in acquiescence, but neither he nor Tonks lowered their wands.
Harry's hands had come in contact with the wards, and they shimmered slightly at his touch, like the rainbow ripples in an oil leak. He pushed forward further, and the shimmer turned into a glow. Hermione could tell by the tension in his neck, shoulders, and arms that he was straining against the wards with all the strength he had.
Alarms began to wail.
The wards began to spark.
"He's not going to take them down single-handedly?" Ron murmured it questioningly, in a tone of disbelief.
The lighting in the cavern flickered brightly, then dimmed. Hermione could hear the clamor of questions, as other residents approached the infirmary.
"He's got to be stopped, Hermione," Tonks told her. "He could dismantle the entire network!"
Hermione felt herself wilt a little, her shoulders drooping, as she slumped onto Ron. Tonks took her dejected posture as concession, and she raised her wand in tandem with Remus Lupin.
Harry had gotten one hand completely through the wards now; it groped blindly against the forcefield, and Hermione could see that the skin was red and blistered. He did not appear to be registering any pain, but merely watched his hand skim the protesting wards with an air of detached fascination.
Remus and Tonks were going to fire any second, Hermione knew, staring with an air of helpless transfixion. He is trying to beat this; I know he is, was the compelling thought resounding in her head.
"Ron, help me push into Harry's mind," she said in a low, insistent whisper, whirling on her best friend, whose mouth gaped at her.
"Hermione?" he said in a voice of disbelief, as if questioning her very sanity.
"Ron, do it, now!"
There was a look of resignation in Ron's face, and she thought he was going to refuse, but then he responded so quickly that she barely had time to close her eyes and concentrate on her husband.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as she envisioned herself reaching outside of herself, stretching across a gap, bridging the distance between her mind and Harry's floundering one. She streaked toward him, as surely as a true arrow makes for its target.
Harry! Harry, you're hurting yourself. Force it back. I know you can.
Harry's mind seemed to be tainted a dull, steel gray, almost as if a low-hanging, polluted mist permeated it. Somewhere, she could hear the otherworldly call of the raven, and she knew that this was the influence of the Circle, insidious and pervasive, tendrils of it snaking into every facet of his mind.
What - what are you doing here? Harry sounded exhausted, his voice ragged and weary. She had broken his concentration; she felt the mist thicken and swirl ominously around her.
Must get out…out…must go back…back…Back! The moaning polyphony of the Circle hissed around Harry's mind, like a desolate wind. Hermione flinched instinctively.
I've come for you, Harry. She imagined herself stretching out a hand for him to take. You can break the Circle. It is within your power. Come back with me, love, please.
There was laughter in the fell aura.
Never…The Circle hissed.
Hermione… Harry's voice was searching, hopeful.
Here! I'm here. Follow my voice, follow my presence. We're going home.
Where is that? He sounded five years old.
You'll see, she told him. Come on, I'll take you there.
I - He was faltering, unsure. Hermione's soul felt leaden; the Circle was casting a pall over everything in Harry's mind, obscuring his thoughts, confusing her way. She felt panic rising in her chest like a swelling bubble, preparing to burst.
Mudblood bitch, the Circle sneered, and Hermione could feel the essence of malevolence, the remnants of the evil intelligence that had created it brought to bear on her.
Get away from him, she told it stalwartly, even as icicles of fear crept in, freezing her retreat.
You can't save him now.
You can't stop me, her shaky consciousness belied the resolution she forced into her voice. I love him. Harry, do you hear me? I love you!
And then she heard Harry's voice again, sad and defeated, laden with regret. The chorus of the Circle pulsed behind it, underneath it, creating a discordant symphony with his words.
That's your misfortune.
The mist in his mind blackened, shrouding her from seeing anything, from realizing her way back to herself. Distantly, she could hear alarms shrieking in protest, people's voices raised in panic, but she didn't know where they were coming from, didn't know which way to go.
She felt herself trying to claw her way through the impenetrable influence of the Circle.
Harry! The despair of the ages was in her voice.
I can't fight it, Hermione. It's too strong.
No, it's not. It's not! Fight it, Harry! Dammit, fight! Was she screaming? She wasn't sure, but she felt raw and worn and drained. The mist was everywhere. The Circle was winning. Voldemort was winning. The Circle would take over Harry, and Harry would go.
Fatigue swept over her, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to fight it either. Dimly, she wished that she could somehow find Harry's self in all this madness, and they could at least surrender to it together…
And you call yourself a Gryffindor? The voice was stern, but laced with fondness. Harry, get your arse up, and come on, before Hermione kills herself trying to save you.
Hermione tried to force herself to understand this sudden turn of events.
And before I do too, the voice added.
Ron? She uttered, in unadulterated astonishment.
The Circle seemed to grow more frenzied now, more desperate; there were too many people, too much influence warring with its own. It surged up over her, crested, broke. White light blinded her; there was a roaring in her ears. Someone was shouting.
She was swept away.
~*~*~*~
Hermione lay very still, taking stock of every muscle, nerve, and joint. She was lying on something relatively soft - an infirmary bed, she guessed - and there was a deep and lingering ache up and down the length of her right side, as well as both sides of her face, where she'd hit the bed frame and where Harry had hit her. The bed seemed to lurch and bob, giving her the vague sensation that she was floating on an open sea, so she didn't risk opening her eyes just yet.
Gradually, the babbling brook of voices reached her ears, and, after a moment, her foggy brain began to process the sounds into actual language.
"… we do now?" Someone asked.
"Poppy said that Harry had fallen into a natural sleep on his own. All we have to do is wait for him to wake up." This was Penelope speaking; she sounded as if she were on the far end of the infirmary, and there was an accompanying bustle and clink of glass as she moved about.
Hermione felt her heart nearly seize with sudden joy and lightness, subsequently tempered with caution. Could Penelope really mean that Harry is out from under the influence of the Circle?
"Re - really? You're quite sure?" A third voice stammered this question, and Hermione recognized it instantly.
Ron. His voice sounded thin and hollow, and she recognized that quality too - fear. She did not need to imagine how he felt, as she'd been there quite recently, when both he and Harry had succumbed to injury following their return from the Lake.
"Ron, your friends are very lucky that you came to the rescue when you did," said Madam Pomfrey, and she sounded near the divider, as if she'd just entered. There was a murmur of assent from McGonagall, which then rose up into a chorus from the other Order members nervously hanging about the infirmary.
"It wasn't me," Ron dissented. "Harry did it." Hermione felt herself stiffen reflexively, and the jolt of movement caused her head to spin. An involuntary groan escaped her lips, and the conversation halted. She heard footfalls, and attempted to open her eyes, but her lids felt impossibly weighty.
"Hermione?" Ron spoke, much closer now. She finally managed to force her eyes open, and saw a blur of ivory face, topped with a shock of vivid hair.
"R - Ron…" She was surprised to hear how feeble her voice sounded. "What happened? How…long…?" She shifted on the bed, planting her hands on the mattress to push herself upright. Her side shrieked in protest.
"No, no, don't sit up yet," Madam Pomfrey and Penelope were at the other side of the bed, busily checking her over. Hermione thought she could hazily see Remus and Arthur at the foot of the bed.
"Am I all right?" She asked tentatively, thinking of the baby, and knowing that, as far as the mediwitches were concerned, all hopes of keeping it to herself any longer were lost. "And - and Harry? Did I hear you say…?"
"You are going to have some lovely bruising, but you're lucky you didn't break every rib on your right side. All things considered," and here Madam Pomfrey paused, and regarded Hermione appraisingly. She knows, Hermione thought, forcing herself to meet the mediwitch's gaze squarely, swallowing as she did so. "You've been very lucky."
"And Harry?" Hermione repeated, wanting Madam Pomfrey's penetrating gaze removed from her. From the foot of the bed, Remus sighed.
"We don't know yet," he said. "He collapsed at the same time you did. We revamped the wards, in case… in case…" he could not finish. "But Poppy has assured us that Harry's sleep is completely natural."
"The first he's had in weeks…" Madam Pomfrey sniffed.
"Then - then, you think it's - the Circle's gone?" Hermione asked eagerly, sitting up in the bed, ignoring Penelope's muffled protests, as well as those from her battered body and her light head.
"We'll know more when Harry wakes up, but we've had good indications of it," the werewolf answered. Hermione turned her gaze toward the other bed, where her husband slept, both hands swathed in thick bandages from fingertip to elbow, where they'd been scorched by the wards.
"His hands…" she said sorrowfully, biting her lip, and then looked over her shoulder as something soft was placed behind her back. Ron had elevated the head of her bed slightly, and was positioning extra pillows so that she could recline.
"Just looking at you sitting all hunched over like that was making me achy," he muttered with mock grumpiness. "Far be it from anyone to tell Hermione Granger to bloody well lie down!" She looked fondly at her other best friend, and the affectionate look turned into a smile, when Madam Pomfrey observed archly,
"Hear, hear!"
"It's Potter…" she corrected absent-mindedly, feeling a little sleepy again, but then flinched guiltily when Ron froze. He tried to laugh it off.
"Sorry…old habits, you know…" he said, brushing off her murmured apologies, as she gritted her teeth at her own insensitivity.
"What did you mean, Harry did it?" she asked suddenly, as she remembered Ron's comment. She was also grateful that the question banished the naked, longing look in his blue eyes.
"You - you went into Harry's mind, and I - I helped you go, but didn't go myself. I - I guess I hoped to be your anchor, but I could tell it was going badly. I lost my hold on your mind almost immediately, and Harry was screaming. Wards were blowing all over the place, and then - then you collapsed…" She reached out and took Ron's hand compassionately, as she saw the worry relived in his face. "So, I took a chance, and followed you into Harry's mind, hoping that maybe I - maybe I could get you both out. It's a wonder I found either one of you. Can't believe that Harry hasn't gone mad, with all that in his head. Damn shrieking birds."
"And you got us out?" Hermione said, a tone of wonder and gratitude in her voice. One corner of Ron's mouth turned up in a regretful smile, as if he wished he could take credit for it.
"No. You were so close - I thought I might actually get to you before everything went to hell. But then, I lost you - that mist was everywhere, and I really thought we were all going to die, but then - then there was this - "
"White light…" Hermione remembered, and Ron nodded.
"It was Harry. He just - he just sent out this … wave of power, and - and it - it was like it purged everything. Must have shoved us out of the way too, because the next thing I know, I was on my arse between the beds, with you on top of me. Harry dropped like a rock; neither of you were breathing worth anything for awhile…"
"But he's going to be okay…?" She whispered, clasping her hands in her lap, and watching Harry with hungry eyes.
"We think so, Mrs. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "Now I really do suggest that you get some rest." Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but the mediwitch continued speaking, "I promise that we will wake you the moment Mr. Potter stirs."
Hermione let herself relax against the pillows, and opened her mouth obediently when Penelope spooned something in. Almost immediately, the nagging pain that plagued her right side subsided.
A murmured spell caught her attention, and she lifted her head to see Ron Levitating a chair in between her and Harry's beds. He noticed her curious glance, and lifted one shoulder self-consciously.
"Thought I'd sit with you both for awhile." Hermione felt the corners of her eyes crinkle in the barest of smiles.
"Thanks, Ron…" she breathed, feeling herself slipping into sleep. Quietly, as if from very far away, she heard him reply,
"Always, Hermione."
~*~*~*~
When she awakened again, the infirmary was still dim, but she could tell by the lighting in the cavern proper that it was well into the next day. She sat up quickly, cursed, slumped back down, and then looked across at Harry. He had not stirred. Peering over the twin bumps her feet made under the sheet, she saw that Ron slouched awkwardly in the chair, his head and neck hunched to one side, sleeping.
"Ron!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "Ron!" On the second call, he snorted and began to stir. He blinked at her, and a smile crossed his face when he realized she was the one who'd called him.
"Hey, you're awake," he said, unnecessarily.
"How long was I out?" she asked.
"I stayed awake for a few hours," Ron said. "Remus brought me some Order stuff to work on." He shrugged a little, and looked chagrined. "It didn't take me long to fall asleep doing that." He looked over his shoulder, and must have spotted his brother, for he cried out, "Oy, Fred! What time is it?"
Hermione instinctively tried to hush him, fearful of disturbing Harry, and missed Fred's reply.
"Fred says it's almost noon. What?" He smiled slightly, as she flapped her hands at him to be quiet. "Don't you want him to wake up?" He slanted an unreadable look at her. "Reckon you have some things to tell him." Hermione froze, moving only her eyes to warily meet Ron's.
"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice bland, but failing quite spectacularly.
"You know exactly what I mean, Hermione."
"Did Madam Pomfrey - ?" She asked angrily. She wasn't sure of the exact laws, but there had to be some wizarding statutes guarding medical privacy. She was already preparing a tirade in her mind, when Ron cut her off.
"She hasn't said anything. I saw it - the - the baby… in your mind… you know…earlier…Didn't mean to," He trailed off, staring at his shoes. His shoulders were rigid. When he finally looked back up at her, sorrow was stamped across his face. She figured he was thinking regretfully about what might have been, but he said,
"Merlin's beard, Hermione! What were you thinking?"
"Excuse me?" Hermione said, her tone dangerous, even though she didn't quite understand what had upset him so.
"Now? Of all the times to have a baby - are you crazy? Don't tell me that Harry agreed to go along with this?"
"It was an accident! And how dare you insinuate that I would make a decision like that without telling Harry," she snapped, as a nagging voice reminded her that she had contemplated many actions without telling Harry - in fact, had no immediate plans to tell Harry about the baby at all. Resolutely, she pushed that voice aside, with no small amount of guilt.
"Accident?" Ron looked bewildered. Hermione reflected that accidents must be much rarer in the Wizarding world than she'd previously thought.
"I was - I was so scared when Fleur told me - I - I couldn't believe it was true… didn't want to believe that it was true." Ron looked like he wanted to apologize, but wasn't quite sure how to go about it.
"And Harry - ?" he asked. Hermione shook her head.
"There hasn't been a chance to tell him. And - and truthfully… I'm not sure I'd have told him, even if there had been opportunity."
"Hermione!" Ron sounded scandalized. "You can't not tell him."
"And what happens when I tell him, Ron, hmmm? What happens then?"
"Well," Ron drew the word out, trying to think of a satisfactory response. "First, he'll have kittens about it, then he'll be happy, then he'll drive everyone batty worrying over you. He's going to keep you from going out on missions, that's for sure. How long have you known?" Hermione averted her eyes.
"Almost a month," she said hastily. "But that's not the point. You're right, you know. All it's going to do is make him worry. Worry and feel even guiltier than he already does. More guilt, more pressure - that's the last thing he needs."
"The last thing he needs is people hiding things from him," Ron observed astutely. "Remember what happened the last time somebody did that?"
"I can't help him if I'm kept shut up in here!"
"Yes, you can! Do you think Ginny and Fleur just sit round looking dainty all day long? Ginny even went - " He stopped, evidently deciding that bringing up Ginny's trip out the day before wouldn't really advance his argument. "There's plenty that you can do. Developing new spells won't require you to leave the cave - and we're going to need every advantage your brilliant brain can give us, you know."
"I - I just - " she tried to protest.
"What is this really about, Hermione?" Ron was studying her with narrowed eyes. "Are you worried about what Harry's going to say? Are you afraid people will think you screwed up the charm?" At that question, she pierced him with a sizzling glare, which he deflected with a slight grin. "Or are you afraid of being left behind?"
The words stung, and she drew herself upright, lifting her chin defensively.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said shortly. But he looked at her so long and knowingly that her façade crumbled without much resistance. "You two are so reckless - and - and you'll probably rush into something without thinking things through, and I - I - " She threw her arms up and flung them down into her lap in frustration.
"You're not giving any of us much credit, are you? Sideline Hermione Granger, and the wizarding world is doomed…" Ron was chiding her, but his voice was gentle.
"Tell me I'm not that arrogant," she mumbled, as she lowered her face into her hands.
"You're the most intelligent person I've ever had the privilege to be around," Ron said honestly. "But that doesn't mean that everyone else here is a Troll."
"I never thought - " she began, and then finally admitted the truth, to herself and to her best friend. "We were going to the end together. We all promised…"
"I don't think Harry'll hold you to that promise," Ron remarked.
"If he - if he doesn't - " She couldn't give voice to the dread that she'd never even spoken of to Harry.
"With you and a baby waiting for him - there's no way Harry won't come back victorious. You may have just saved us all." He spoke lightly, with his eyebrows raised, but there was pain lurking in the shadows of his eyes.
"It's terribly unfair of me to have unloaded this all on you," she admitted, after a moment.
"You needed to tell somebody," Ron said simply.
"Thank you," she replied, unsure of what else to say. So she held out her arms to him, and he came into the embrace, folding his arms around her carefully. The contact alone was enough to make her flinch, and he noticed. "I'll go tell Penelope you're awake," he said. Hermione could tell by the shutters that had lowered over his eyes that he considered the discussion over.
As he left, she folded her hands together, and pressed them against her mouth, thinking furiously. Could she really tell Harry? The rest of the Order? How long could she really keep it from them anyway? And if she didn't, and was injured somehow out on a mission on which she had no business being, would she ever forgive herself? Would Harry ever forgive her?
"Hermione?" Tonks poked her bright pink head around the edge of the divider. "Feel up to some company?"
"Sure," Hermione nodded, more enthusiastically than she actually felt. Her mind was still churning with uncertainty about what to do next.
"And maybe some analysis?" Tonks hedged, holding up a vial.
"Okay…" Hermione said quizzically, and the Auror made her way to the bedside, handing her the vial. "What is it?"
"It's whatever was left, after whatever it was that happened to you and Harry," Tonks said, not very coherently.
"What ever was left?" Hermione turned the vial over and over in her hands. It swirled and frothed with a charcoal mist that seemed to suck away all light that touched it. Even the surface of the glass did not gleam in the dim light of the infirmary, but instead felt cold. Hermione was suddenly loath to touch it, and let it slip through her fingers to rest softly on her mattress.
"Lovely stuff, isn't it?" Tonks asked rhetorically, noticing her reaction of distaste.
"This was - this was in Harry's mind - or at least, this was the way he was visualizing it - the influence of the Circle, the call of it. It was obscuring things, hiding things, twisting and distorting, trying to get him to come to it." Her brows were furrowed, and her words tumbled out disjointedly, as she tried to express what she'd seen in inadequate language. "So - so if it's here, then…"
"Do you think that means that it's left Harry?"
Hermione's eyes all but glazed over, as she continued to think aloud.
"If Harry was fighting it… and he won - then perhaps he was able to counter the pull of the Circle so forcefully that - that he pulled it here." Tonks regarded the vial with new wariness at Hermione's words.
"Then we're lucky that Fred was thinking quick on his feet, and bottled it up before it dispersed," she remarked. "As it was, it spread quite a mood over everyone. You, Ron, and Harry were well out of it, but it felt - it felt rather like a Dementor, only there wasn't just fear, but anger, panic, hatred, despair." Hermione all too well remembered those feelings from her sojourn inside Harry's mind. Tonks shook her head after ruminating for a moment, and added, "I think Susan called me a rather nasty name."
"I'd love to get a better look at this - under controlled conditions," Hermione mused. "I bet Fred would too."
"Oh, he's been itching to get his hands on it," Tonks affirmed. "But we made him wait on you." Hermione smiled a little, and sighed.
"I guess all that remains is to wait and see what Harry's like when he wakes up. If this - if this - " she looked up hopefully at Tonks, and she knew that her heart was in her eyes. "If this is fixed now, and Harry is fine, then - then… Tonks, I've missed him so much. There's so much I need to tell him."
"Well, tell him then," said another voice, in a delightfully throaty growl, "because he's awake."
Hermione felt herself draw a quick, sharp breath into her lungs, and it seemed that the action simultaneously caused her heart to skip a beat and her eyes to well with tears.
"How are you feeling?" she whispered with a watery smile.
"Like I've been asleep for a thousand years, having very bad dreams," Harry said, with a faraway look in his eyes. "There was a - a raven… and a voice. What happened to you?"
"Nothing. I fell," Hermione said casually, dismissing his concern. She barely noticed Tonks slipping from the room.
"I hit you," he corrected her, with realization in his voice.
"You weren't yourself."
"I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for, Harry. I'm fine. How - how's the pull?" He paused for a moment, once again doing some internal monitoring.
"It's gone," he said, with dawning wonder. "It's gone. Did you - you and Ron - ?" He was speaking slowly, still trying to fill in the blanks and comprehend the sequence of events.
"You did it, Harry. You broke the Circle's hold - and probably saved my and Ron's life, while you were at it."
"I thought it was over," he murmured. "I thought it had won, and then - then I felt it overwhelm you, and I - I knew I couldn't let anything happen to you…"
Hermione felt a smile warm her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes.
"I've missed you, love," she said, in a voice that was hoarse with tears. She reached across the gap to grasp his hand, and he met her halfway.
"I missed you too. More than you know," he responded. "Now what was it you were going to tell me?"
Her heart leapt into her throat, as she opened her mouth to speak, frantically searching for the right words to use, but she never got the chance, as Ginny, Fred, Susan, and several of the others entered the infirmary, herded through the doorway by Madam Pomfrey, who immediately moved to Harry's bedside to evaluate him.
"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, her face lighting up with a smile. "Tonks said you were awake. It's nice to hear your real voice again."
"Thank you," Harry replied sincerely. His eyes slid questioningly to Hermione's, but she dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap.
"It's nice to have a little good news," the red-head continued. "Especially after what we saw yesterday…" Hermione recalled that she'd never heard about Ginny's reconnaissance mission, and looked up curiously, in spite of herself.
"What happened yesterday?" Harry asked.
"We went to Diagon Alley just to listen and watch, find out what people were saying. We heard about a disturbance at the Ministry, so we decided to check it out, and nearly got caught in a riot."
"There was a riot?" Harry echoed, his hopeful tone making the idea of a riot sound oddly positive.
"Maybe twenty or twenty-five witches and wizards marched on the Ministry. Evidently supply lines have been disrupted all over the country. Food has been hard to find for some, and the Galleon's lost almost all its value. These people decided to let Voldemort know how unhappy they were with the way he's been running things." Ginny's face was grim.
"What happened?" Harry asked hollowly, as if he really did not want to know, but was asking for form's sake. Ginny sniffed loudly, and didn't continue. Fred picked up the thread of the story.
"Death Eaters came out with a child of one of the leaders - little girl, looked about four years old. I don't know how they figured out where to find her. They demanded that the leader recant and apologize, or the child would be killed. So he did - he was on his knees, sobbing, pleading for mercy, swearing his allegiance - he even offered to take the Mark."
Harry's face was a blend of disgust and pity. The youngest Weasley spoke again.
"The Death Eater accepted the apology, and then used Avada Kedavra on the child anyway. The way that father screamed - I'm - I'm glad I couldn't see it. I don't think I'll ever forget the way it sounded." Ginny's face was blank with horror.
"He was an idiot!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, startling everyone in the room. "Why didn't he try to find us - find someone who could help him make a difference - a real difference? Did he really think he could protest against Voldemort without consequences - or that it would do any good? Did he think that Voldemort wouldn't use someone he loved against him? He should have packed his little girl off somewhere secret a thousand miles away! And then contacted us. Voldemort's going to have to be dealt with on a battlefield, not in a political forum!"
Everyone in the room was staring at him, including Hermione, while Harry continued to mutter something about stupid, useless wastes.
"What - what happened to the father?" Hermione asked Ginny, not removing her eyes from Harry.
"They killed every single one of the protesters," Ginny informed her slowly. "And they saved him for last." Hermione made a strangled kind of sound in the back of her throat.
"Twenty-five people who were brave enough to march against tyranny," Harry said, looking on the verge of exploding again. "We could have used them! We could have - and that little girl - dear God. Senseless, stupid, pointless…"
"Mr. Potter, will you please calm yourself?" Madam Pomfrey remonstrated, prodding him none too gently with her wand. "And Miss Weasley, need I remind you that you've needed dosing with Calming Draught since you got back? I would think that you wouldn't want to rehash that again."
Hermione felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. To her, it appeared that Harry had made quite clear his feelings about children caught up in this conflict. How could she ever tell him now?
TBC
AN: Many, many apologies for the long delay in this update. We are getting closer to the end, and it's getting harder to make sure I've got everything lined up the way I want it in preparation for the end.
I hope you enjoyed it. I rather liked the Circle scene, but I'm not sure about the rest of the chapter.
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
lorien
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