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-Four: Venture
The New Year seemed to bring renewed purpose to the Order. The lookouts were constantly manned, and there were streams of people coming and going, completing supply lines, covering surveillance, doing reconnaissance work. Defense training had resumed in earnest, with Harry flinging himself with vigor and desperate urgency into his dueling. His magic had improved dramatically, but it still hurt Hermione to see Ron or Seamus regularly best him in training exercises.
He often appeared disheartened and exhausted at the end of a day, but remained quiet about it, rarely commenting on what Hermione was sure he saw as his shortcomings. She would often remark on how his time had improved, or how his Stunning charm seemed to carry more power, but Harry would make a noncommittal noise, his brow furrowed and his eyes distant, as she could see him mentally going over exactly what he'd done wrong and how he could get better, if he could get better.
She had been able to marginally understand, but not really appreciate, what a lonely thing it was to be a people's only hope.
While he did seem to shut her out about his fighting ability, he was overly solicitous of her health and comfort, and that of the baby's. Her figure was blossoming now, and the Enlarging charms cast on her clothing did little now to disguise her condition. Nausea had dwindled to almost nothing, and she felt a renewed energy, as she worked tirelessly with Fred regarding any sort of advantage in spellwork or Potion-craft that they might be able to eke out.
And the vial… always the vial of that horrendous substance that had for so long shadowed Harry's mind swam in the back of her thoughts, tantalizingly. She and Fred had analyzed it, duplicated it, dissected it, boiled it down to its rawest essences. Their efforts, so far, had been unsuccessful, but surely, surely they were close to a breakthrough. Hermione could all but taste it.
Voldemort had not been idle either. Another attack on Diagon Alley had sent even the most intrepid of shopkeepers flying for their lives, with what little capital they could carry on their person. Knockturn Alley now had now become the chief place of wizard marketing. Prices soared. Fatal hexings occurred with regularity; the government was utterly eradicated, the MLE defunct, though there was some semblance of order maintained through a sort of wizarding Gestapo manned by Death Eaters. Wizards and witches were fleeing England in droves, and with every flight, Hermione knew Harry was thinking, there goes another one that might have helped us. Sometimes, Hermione found herself wishing that they could flee as well, but she knew that eventually Voldemort would bring the fight to Harry, that there would be no resolution, no peace, until one or the other -
…neither can live while the other survives… It had become truer than Hermione would have once thought possible.
Hogsmeade was being rebuilt, property and buildings being given as rewards to those deemed particularly faithful to Voldemort, those who were positively salivating at the chance to live in such close proximity to the Dark Lord himself. The Order worried about this too - it placed a populace sympathetic to the enemy at their backs, should they attempt to take Hogwarts. Harry suspected that the possibility was alive in Voldemort's mind as well, hence the strategic resettlement.
There was much planning going on in the War Room, as the Order tried to work out a plan of action when The Day came. There was a fair amount of certainty that the Death Eaters did not know that they knew about the stationary portkey in the dungeons. But as Remus pointed out,
"One way in is not enough. We've got to have them off their guard. They can't be able to pin us down in one location, and the secret passages to Hogsmeade cannot be considered secure."
Neville's clone had been scouting, skulking in shadows, and listening in doorways, aided by the Map and an invisibility cloak. He had been sending them regular notes on movements and scuttlebutt about the castle, and was just awaiting their orders to start taking out the clones.
If I can get to some of the Primes, he wrote, I could take out as many as six or seven Clones with the one kill.
Lupin and Tonks had counseled against it for the time being, and Harry had agreed with them. If Neville were discovered, it would take away one of their best tactical advantages.
All in all, the days were a whirlwind of activity, of worry and of plans. Hermione caressed her swelling stomach, with the bittersweet feeling of Laurel somersaulting within her, and felt that they were all hurtling towards zero hour, that the Fates were converging upon one point in time, and that they were all powerless to stop what was coming.
~*~*~*~*~
Hermione was unsure as to what exactly awakened her some time in the middle of the night; she just knew that when she opened her eyes and blinked hazily around her, that Harry was already out of bed, one leg in his pants, and there was light and noise beyond their divider.
"What's going on?" she asked, using both arms to push her increasingly cumbersome figure upright.
"Neville's got something," Harry said hastily, not bothering to clarify, but Hermione knew he meant the clone of Neville ensconced up at the castle. "Blaise was watching the Map. He must have yelled or something, because Tonks all but beat down our door."
Hermione nodded briskly, now fully awake and upright, and searching the wardrobe for some clothes. She threw a chagrined look as Harry vanished through the divider; she was going to have to stop in the loo first.
When she joined the larger group, they were milling around the War Room, talking to each other in low, worried murmurs, occasionally darting looks at the Map, as if it might suddenly start spouting profundities or important Dark secrets. Hermione particularly didn't like the way people kept giving her covert looks with wide, concerned eyes. It took her a moment to spot Harry, but then she saw him, actually seated at the table in front of the yellowy parchment, elbows sprawled across it, head in hands. Lupin was behind him, one hand on his shoulder.
Dear Merlin, what now? Hermione wondered, as she threaded her way through the others, until she stood at the table's edge.
"What's going on?" she asked, pressing her lips together, forcing her voice to be steady, though it came out rather more sharply than she would have liked. Harry still wouldn't look at her.
"Hermione," Tonks began tentatively. "Perhaps you'd better sit down…" Hermione felt her eyebrows draw together, anger at Tonks propelled solely by crippling fear.
"Perhaps you'd better tell me what's going on," she repeated, far more stridently than before. To her surprise, she felt hands on her shoulder, pressing her downward into a waiting chair. She looked behind her to see Ron and Fleur, their faces grim.
"You'll want to sit, Hermione, please," Fleur said, whispering liquidly with her French accent. Hermione's knees gave way as she tried to swallow non-existent saliva in a mouth that was suddenly too dry. She wanted to fathom what could be so frightening to her personally, and couldn't grasp it. Harry was here, in front of her; Laurel thumped and rolled safely inside her. Who…?
"Neville has news…" Tonks managed, before her voice gave out, and she had to cough to continue. "There - there's been word round Hogwarts that a - that a new prophecy was catalogued …"
Hermione literally felt the blood drain from her face, as she looked toward Harry, able to see only his pale fingers threaded through his ebony hair.
"He - he can't know it's - it's her… there - there was nothing…" She stammered, realizing that she was making little sense, and tried to speak coherently. "Voldemort's not mentioned in the prophecy - he has no access to it - he can't know what it said."
Harry finally lifted his head, and she wanted to gasp at his appearance. It was as if he'd aged several years in the last five minutes.
"Voldemort hasn't lasted this long because he was stupid," he said in a rough, bitter voice, though she could recognize that the negative emotion wasn't really directed at her. "He's got a list of initials and more than enough information to determine to whom they belong. He's going to see another question mark and automatically assume it involves another baby. Who do you think he's going to think of first?"
"But he doesn't know…he doesn't know anything…not for sure…There's no way he can know." Hermione looked at the ring of faces surrounding her, desperately wanting one of them to tell her she was right. One of her hands had instinctively gone to her abdomen.
"No," Remus said slowly. "He doesn't know anything yet. But Neville's overheard talk of an extensive search underway. There are clones combing through every nook and cranny of every wizarding community."
Hermione's jaw trembled, and somehow, she managed to form two distinct words.
"For whom?"
"For Sybil Trelawney."
Hermione wasn't exactly sure that she could have told anyone what she thought Remus was going to say, but it wasn't that.
"P - Professor Trelawney?" she echoed stupidly. "But why - why would Voldemort need her? She didn't make the prophecy." Her voice trailed off, as she thought of the prophecy concerning Laurel, as she rather irrationally imagined Voldemort's snake-eyes glowing with malice as he cupped a sphere in his hands.
"She hasn't made one… yet," Harry said dully. His eyes looked red-rimmed and bloodshot. Hermione could practically see the thoughts spinning away inside his hand. How many more? How many more Potters are to be grist for this mill? How many more children will have their childhood snatched from them while their parents watch helplessly?
Hermione felt as if she were being unconscionably slow.
"I don't understand."
Lupin and Tonks exchanged glances.
"There are - there are certain potions," Tonks began, still speaking in that rather unsure tone, so unlike the practical voice of the Auror, "that when used in conjunction with certain Dark Spells on - used on a Seer of known ability…"
Part of Hermione wanted to shriek with irreverent laughter at the thought of sherry-drenched Trelawney being a Seer of any kind of ability, but there was indisputable evidence of accurate prophetic episodes. Still, she could see the direction in which Tonks was heading.
"They can … force prophecies?" she asked, in a wondering tone. "Wouldn't those, by their very nature, be inaccurate?"
"Some Seers demonstrate a certain …affinity for a type of prophecy - it could be prophecies involving a specific type of event, such as war or famine, or they could involve specific individuals or families," Lupin interjected. "So far, Sybil has made two prophecies that refer to Harry and Voldemort. This would make her far more likely to prophesy correctly regarding Laurel and Voldemort. And if she doesn't - or can't - then it's likely the measures will completely break her mind."
Hermione suppressed a shudder.
"Do you think he does know? That Professor Trelawney even made those prophecies?" She heard Ron's voice float out uncertainly, somewhere above her head.
"The face that he's looking for her would seem to suggest as much," Lupin said, and added, as his eyes grew coldly feral, "and there is one in his ranks who does know that she made the first prophecy."
Snape, Hermione thought, and watched Harry's eyes blaze with the same cold hatred seen in Lupin's.
"If - if she doesn't prophesy… if he doesn't find her - then they still won't have enough information to go on, will they?" she persisted. There was the faintest of nudges deep inside her, as if Laurel were reassuring her with her presence. She smoothed her hand over her belly. Oh, sweet baby…she thought.
The air in the War Room grew tense and heavy again with her question.
"That was the other thing Neville informed us about," Tonks replied.
"It's - it's what we talked about at Christmas," Harry rasped. "He - he knows that the subject of the prophecy hasn't been born yet, because the name's not filled in. So…to - to cover all the bases, he's - he's going to - he's planning to give orders to - if they don't find Trelawney…" He lifted his head again to meet her eyes, and such horror welled up from the depths of his gaze that she thought for a fleeting moment that she might be sick.
"He can't - he can't mean an edict against all the babies…" Her voice faltered, as she struggled with the concept, wondering why she found it hard to believe that Voldemort would be as contemptuous of the sweet, fragile innocence of babies as he was of all other life that he deemed less than worthy. "Surely, they - they could be hidden…" But even as she spoke, she knew it was a futile hope.
"The Magical Registry in the Department of Mysteries," Fred spoke up, heavy-voiced. "Enchanted quill automatically takes down the birth records of every child born into a magical family. He'll know the moment she's born - and to which parents."
Hermione clutched at the sides of the chair, feeling her vision blacken around the edges, as she struggled to focus. I will not faint!
"Well, we mucked up right enough by not going after Luna's prophecy when we had the chance," Seamus said, his one good eye grim and businesslike. "It's fairly clear what we're to do now. We've got to get that Registry."
"You're suggesting we walk right into one of the strongholds of the Dark Lord?" Blaise's tone was derisive.
"Let's watch the Death Eater-speak, shall we, Zabini?" Fred suggested mildly. "I don't see another way. Not only will this keep Harry and Hermione's baby anonymous, but if Voldemort doesn't have a bloody list of all magical babies, then it'll be a sight harder to track them all down, won't it?"
"I'll go," Harry startled everybody by speaking suddenly, and looking around the room almost defiantly. "It's for my daughter, isn't it? And I've been down to the Department of Mysteries. I'll be able to find the Registry."
"Harry, you can't go," Lupin remonstrated, almost gently.
"If I can't - " he took a deep breath, and started over again, angrily, "if you won't let me protect my family, then - "
Ron interrupted him.
"You aren't the only one who's been down there, mate," was his reminder. "Let me go. We'll take a team to the Ministry. After all, Voldemort doesn't know we have an informant inside Hogwarts - if we're lucky, p'raps he won't even be guarding that Registry."
"Neville, Hermione, and Ginny are out, of course," Tonks said, listing the others who'd been there that night. "But I'll go too. Remus should hold down the fort here - and the team doesn't need to be overlarge." She spoke quickly, as if to ward off Lupin's protests before he could make them.
"But what of the prophecy?" Harry demanded suddenly, his voice sounding ragged and worn in the echoing vastness of the cavern. "Once she's born - the prophecy will still disclose her identity."
"You said that your prophecy was relabeled after Voldemort marked you," Hermione corrected him softly. "Not after you were born."
"Because it could have applied to two people," Tonks pointed out. "Most prophetic lore holds that the prophecies are identifiable after the person in question is born."
"Then - then after she's born, her name - her name will - "
"We've got to destroy it," Harry burst out, cutting off her response. "Voldemort does not need to know of Laurel's existence - ever."
"Send in two teams," Seamus suggested, almost lackadaisically. "One to retrieve the Registry, and one to destroy that prophecy."
"It'll be guarded," Ron and Fred blurted in unison, and glanced at each other. A bittersweet shadow crossed Fred's face, and Ron continued, "If Voldemort is already suspicious about the person in the prophecy, then he'll not leave it where it could be taken."
"If there are two teams, they might each distract from the other," Padma suggested. "Surely Death Eaters wouldn't think we'd be brazen enough to try a dual mission."
"It's no good," Harry put in, after shaking his head and muttering to himself. "There was a reason that Voldemort lured me to the Department of Mysteries after the original prophecy. It can only be removed by someone who is mentioned in it."
"So then Voldemort could…?" someone queried, but Hermione was shaking her head before the question could be completed, having committed Luna's prophecy to memory.
"No one is mentioned except Laurel. So how could it be removed at all…?" she trailed off thoughtfully, and then looked up, renewed purpose blazing from her eyes. "I'll have to go. I'll have to go to the Ministry and destroy the prophecy. I'm the only one who can."
Harry stood up so quickly that his chair toppled over backwards. Several people flinched as it clattered noisily to the stone floor. His eyes were blazing with fury and fear, but his hands trembled as he splayed them across the tabletop to hold himself upright.
"There is no way in hell that you are going into the Ministry," he said succinctly, his gaze boring into Hermione's.
"How can I not go?" she retorted. "You know, you know, that if they relabel that prophecy after she's born, he won't stop - he won't stop - until he's found her and k - killed her."
"I'm mentioned in it," he said distinctly, his words dropping heavily into the sudden pervasive quiet.
"No, you're - " Hermione began automatically, before the words Luna had spoken at Christmas rang in her mind and stunned her into silence.
She shall be greater than her father,
Even as he surpassed those before him.
"Would I be able to take it?" Harry asked, looking to Tonks, even though she had confessed to her lack of expertise. "If the prophecy is still unlabeled, could I remove it and destroy it?"
"I don't know, Harry," the Auror said, apology plain on her face as she shook her head. "It certainly seems possible, but I don't know if there's any way to know for certain how an unlabeled prophecy would react."
"And you're willing to take that kind of risk?" Hermione's voice wobbled up and down all the notes of the scale. "Do you remember what happened last time you went charging down there? Has it occurred to you that this might be a similar kind of ploy? Voldemort acts on a supposition, and then just sits back and waits for us to confirm it for him?"
The look Harry shot at her for throwing Sirius' death in his face was eloquent.
"If you're going, then I'm going with you," she said, in a voice meant to convey that no opposition would be tolerated.
"Like hell you are," Harry retorted coolly, fire flashing in his eyes. She felt heat rise into her face.
"You don't even know if it will work. The prophecy might not let you take it. If you can't, I'd be good back-up. I am her mother," she pointed out, half-amazed at how matter of fact she sounded.
"If I can't get at it, then at least we'll know that no one else can either," Harry said, undeterred. "You are not going."
"And what happens if you're captured?" Anger and fear trembled in her voice, and her eyes filled with tears. "What will the rest of us do then?"
Harry's head sank between his shoulders as his gaze dropped to the Map, and it was only with effort that he lifted it again.
"Please don't do this," he asked, and it sent a pang straight through Hermione's heart. He was speaking to her as if they were the only people in the room. "Making me choose between them and her… and you. Don't. Please." Somehow, Hermione could tell it was costing him much to say that, to bare his soul in front of all of them, to nakedly and vulnerably reveal his fear of that from which he might never recover.
"It's too dangerous and you're too important," Hermione pressed on, ignoring the pleading on his face. "I should be the one to go."
"If you - if you - " he began, but couldn't finish. He thrust both hands through his hair and swore in utter frustration, finally turning and striding back to their bedroom. Everyone watched in uncomfortable silence as he passed through the dividers, which subsequently darkened.
Hermione felt worn and empty, as if all the energy had been suddenly drained from her body, as if he had taken it with him when he stalked out.
"Am I making a mistake?" she wondered, to nobody in particular.
"It's not an ideal situation," Tonks admitted. "I wish we knew more about the Hall of Prophecies… it would help if we could at least be sure that one of you would even be allowed to handle the sphere."
"If we can get the Registry and destroy the prophecy, then Voldemort will have no way to find out who the baby is," Seamus said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "It doesn't mean that he won't suspect the obvious, but I don't see how we can do anything less."
"I reckon Tonks could impersonate a Death Eater, like she did at the rally," Ron suggested. Tonks looked thoughtful for a moment, but shook her head.
"I could, but I still don't have the clearances or passwords that we'd need to move around in the Ministry without arousing any suspicion on the part of the Death Eaters. What we really need is the knowledge of an insider willing to help us."
Fred snorted. "I'm sure there are just loads of people like that lounging about Knockturn Alley."
Blaise cleared his throat noisily, drawing the attention of everyone gathered.
"I - I might know of someone…" he began hesitantly, quite unlike his usual air of confidence and near unconcern.
"Who?" Ron's gaze had narrowed with suspicion.
"Daphne Greengrass," he said, nodding to his former schoolmates, "you know her. She - she was more like me…never nearly as militant as some of the other - the others in Slytherin. She works in the Ministry, and I think - "
"How do you know she's still there?" Padma interrupted. Blaise shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment, finally lifting his chin to meet everyone's gaze almost defiantly.
"Because I've been in contact with her."
There was a sudden uproar, shouts of protest and noisy clamor as furniture was knocked aside. The Weasleys had made a synchronous lunge for Zabini, but were diverted by Seamus.
"I knew it," Ron was saying. "I knew it. You just can't trust Slytherins! Slimy double-crossers, the lot of them."
Seamus was standing between them, his arms outstretched in a defensive entreaty, but he was looking at Blaise, as if begging for some kind of explanation.
"Why would you do such a thing?" Remus asked. His voice was bland, as if he were once again posing a hypothetical situation in front of a classroom, but his eyes flickered dangerously.
"I haven't told her anything," Blaise insisted. "I ran into her one day while we were out. I was under Glamour, but she still figured out it was me. She always was a sharp one. We've kept in contact…I was feeling her out, trying to see if she might be sympathetic." At the continued skeptical looks from the others, he added, "She knows about my fall from grace. If she truly wanted to curry favor with the Death Eaters, then why hasn't she turned me in?"
"Maybe because she's waiting for you to lead her to bigger fish," Ron spat. Blaise quirked a sardonic eyebrow at him.
"What, like you, Weasley?"
Ron was no longer trying to get past Seamus, but his glares at the Slytherin were positively murderous.
"Just let me talk to her, one more time. I'll explain my loyalties, and see where she stands. If she - if she isn't who I think she is, then - then I'll be the only one at risk," Blaise said, sounding brisk and businesslike.
"Unless they torture you into giving up our location," Fred pointed out, almost lackadaisically. Blaise fixed him with a grim, determined expression.
"Trust me, I won't allow that to happen."
~*~*~*~*~
"Harry?" Ron poked his head through the divider, and squinted into the dimmed lights of the room. "Head still up your arse then?"
"Sod off, Weasley," came a threateningly growled response from the shadowy figure hunched at the edge of the bed. Hermione paused at the threshold at the snarled response, feeling at once grateful that she had sent Ron in as an intermediary and ashamed of her cowardice.
Ron could not be so easily deterred, and he called for lights, moving to sit on the trunk at the foot of the bed.
"She's doing the right thing, you know," he remarked, almost casually.
"It's too big a risk. For her and the baby. If I …" Harry's voice was muffled, fingers steepled in front of his face, as if even the vocalization of the possibility were too much for him to contemplate.
"She's trying to save your baby. And who knows how many other babies?"
"Taking the Registry will save the other babies," Harry said hotly, whipping his head around to finally glare at Ron. "Let somebody else do that. She doesn't have to go. Not Hermione." He inhaled a shuddering, ragged breath, and finally said it. "Do you - do you know what it will do to me, if I lose her? If I lose them?"
"I've an inkling," Ron said dryly, causing Harry to fix him with a curious glance and then smile half-heartedly. They lapsed into a momentary silence, before Ron spoke again. "Look, Harry, if - if anyone had told me a year ago that we'd be - we'd be bloody well hiding in a cave, plotting how to do Voldemort in or die in a blaze of glory trying, that - that most of my… family …" his voice wobbled a little on the word, "would be dead, I - I would have said they were crazy… and - yet, here we are. And we're all actually still functioning - doing something, you know?
"Hermione - her whole life practically since we first got to Hogwarts has been helping you, standing by your side. She was so scared to tell you she was pregnant, because she thought that meant she would be forced away from you, unable to help you any longer - and that you - you would - I dunno, resent her or something because she wasn't there."
"That's ridiculous," Harry snorted derisively. "She has a bloody good reason for being out of the line of fire. I like knowing that she is safe, that my baby is safe."
"Don't you think she wants you safe as well, then?" Ron demanded, a sort of triumph in his tone, as one playing his trump card. "As endangered as any of us are just for standing against Voldemort, how much more is that multiplied when it comes to you? You know, when he - when he took you, we - we all thought it was over, thought you were dead, that there was nothing that could be done. And Hermione just - just bloody well thumbed her nose at the entire Order and went marching into Voldemort's bloody house and got you out. You think you have the corner on being the most broken up if something happens?"
"Hermione's strong," Harry said in a rough voice. "Besides, if my dying rids the world of Voldemort, then it's - it's for the greater good."
"Tell that to your widow and your fatherless child," Ron said bluntly. Harry made a kind of strangled noise in the back of his throat. "What happens if you save the world, but then her world is gone?"
"Are you trying to make me feel worse, Ron?"
"I'm trying to tell you that she is just as scared of losing you as you are of losing her," the redhead said slowly. "She is one of the only two people who has a chance of dashing that prophecy against the nearest convenient brick wall. And you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and remember that you're in this together, and then get down on your knees and tell her you understand why she wants to do it, and thank her for loving you - and …" Ron seemed to suddenly realize that he had said too much, and stopped abruptly, his ears glowing like twin beacons.
The silence grew so heavy that Hermione risked poking her head farther around the edge of the divider to see what was going on.
Harry was staring at Ron as if he'd never seen him before.
"I don't reckon," he finally said, the words dragging from his mouth, as if under heavy weights, "that I ever really understood what you've gone through since that battle at Hogwarts."
"I'll look after her with my life, Harry," Ron said seriously. "You know that. I swear on my - " he stopped again, and Hermione wondered if he was thinking of the skulls that decorated the stage at Voldemort's rally, wondering which of them belonged to his brothers, his mum…
"I know you will," Harry said, sighing despondently. "I just wish I could do something."
Ron stood to his feet then, and moved toward the door, but looked back over his shoulder at his best mate.
"You're still here," he pointed out. "And your magic's coming back. You're doing more than you know, trust me. And you'll have more than your share to do before it's all over."
After Ron passed her, Hermione waited for what seemed like forever before finally gathering up the courage to enter the room she and Harry shared. When she did, she saw that he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, in much the same position that she'd seen him during his conversation with Ron.
He lifted his head to look at her when she entered, but said nothing. She swallowed.
"Are you okay?"
"My pregnant wife wants to waltz right into the mouth of the dragon," he said, after a moment. "No, I'm not okay."
"Harry, I - "
"I understand all your reasons, and they seem to be good ones. But I don't like it. And you can't expect me to."
"Nobody is expecting you to like it," she offered softly, darting her eyes up at him, as she moved to the trunk at the foot of the bed, rifling through its contents and adding some of them to her pack, which she then set on the wooden chair in the corner. "I don't like it…but I think it needs to be done." The springs of the bed creaked quietly, as she sat down beside him, and regarded him wordlessly, tucking a curly strand of hair behind one ear and waiting on him to say something.
The artificial lighting in the cavern began to dim slightly, and Harry shot Hermione a questioning look.
"Blaise is going to try to reach Daphne Greengrass for help in accessing the Ministry. He believes that she can be trusted. We can't do anything until he's spoken with her, so we're to try to get what sleep we can before we head out."
Harry's face tightened back up at her use of the phrase `head out', and she noticed. Her lips compressed together in sympathy and worry.
"Harry…" she sighed an apology.
He leaned toward her, propped on one hand, and used the other hand to run his fingers through her wild hair.
"You - you encompass the two most important things in the world to me," he said, his voice barely audible. "The thought of you going in there terrifies me." He pressed his forehead to hers, dropping a soft kiss on her lips. His anger seemed to be gone, squelched and suffocated by the overwhelming fear that came from his overwhelming love. "I love you so much." Another kiss, this one deeper. Hermione felt herself arching toward him, even as he was already speaking again. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll come back."
She wanted to protest the futility of such a promise, but the look in his eyes told her that he was well aware of
that fact.
"I promise," she whispered, even though they both knew it was a vow impossible to keep. His lips moved on to her jawline, the barest tips of his fingers slowly sliding her hair out of the way, moving it from where it impeded his progress down her neck.
"Harry…" she said again, but this time it was a bleat of protest, its very nature belied by the vibrato of desire that thrummed through the pair of syllables.
"No one's going anywhere until morning," he said plaintively, nudging aside the neckline of her shirt.
"We're supposed to rest," she informed him, even as she tilted her head to one side, to offer him more skin.
He hummed his affirmative response into the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, and his fingers strayed to the hem of his shirt, where they deftly unfastened one button, then two, then three.
"But maybe…" Hermione suggested, trying not to sound breathless. "Maybe relaxing would be just as good."
And the thought that rang through her head, resounding over and over again in a prayer of supplication to an unseen Power, as the heat from their bodies commingled, and she gave herself over to the feel of his mouth on her, was, this isn't the last time, this won't be the last, it won't be the last, I won't let it be the last…
~*~*~*~*~
It was the ever so slight increase in bustle and conversation beyond the boundary of their divider that roused Hermione from her fitful slumber. She pushed her tumbled hair back from her face, and sat up, even as her body decried the withdrawal from Harry's comforting warmth. He stirred as she slid from the bed, and reached toward the bedside table for his glasses without looking.
"There's no need for you to get up…" she began, as an almost token protest.
"I'm getting up," he said in a decisive tone, cutting her off before she finished her sentence. Figuring that his mood was going to be less than amiable, despite the interlude they had both enjoyed, Hermione did not offer further argument.
Instead, she occupied herself with donning fresh robes, double-checking her pack, shrinking it, and secreting it beneath her clothing. She then turned toward the mirror and eyed herself critically within it. Almost mechanically, she began to cast several Glamours upon herself, straightening and shortening her hair, changing her eye color and skin tone, and lastly, casting a spell that hid her pregnancy from sight. She watched her wand-slender figure in the glass, and moved her hands toward her waist, where they were stopped several inches from her visible body by an invisible - but still present - abdomen.
"It's like a Masking charm, see?" She said, meeting Harry's eyes in the mirror. He approached her from behind, leaning his chin over her shoulder and overlapping her hands with his, resting on what appeared to be nothing.
"My turn…" he said, with a falsely casual air that did not fool her in the slightest. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, and asked, with a decidedly cool tone,
"Your turn for what?"
"For the Glamour charms? You always were a sight handier at them than I was - I can't imagine I've improved lately."
She turned to face him then, and forced her lips into a sweetly dangerous, artificial smile.
"Why on earth would you need any Glamour charms cast on you?" His green eyes had darkened with determination, and his gaze did not waver from hers.
"Because I'm going with you."
She blew air out from between her lips with impatience, even as the last three words were still proceeding from his mouth.
"Now is not the time for this, Harry."
"The time for `this'? The time for what? Do you think I'm being difficult to make some kind of point?" His voice whip-cracked around the room, angry and sarcastic.
She whirled away from him, refusing to meet his eyes any longer, and gave herself another once-over in the mirror, checking the security of her pack one last time, and tucking her wand safely away in her robes.
"It doesn't matter what I think." She was impatient, dismissive. How dare he try to pick a fight with her now? "They're not going to let you go."
He reached out and snagged her upper arm, pulling her toward him almost roughly. His face was centimeters from hers, and there was barely a trace of the loving tenderness that she had found there only hours before. Instead, the lines of his body were brittle and his eyes like shards of green-black volcanic glass.
"I'm asking you to stand with me in this. I need to do this." She opened her mouth to protest, but he plunged ahead, washing away her response with the torrent of words and emotion that followed. "Laurel is a part of me and of you. She's ours. And if there's any possibility that I could be the one needed to safeguard her life, her destiny… then I'm willing to take that risk. I've given up everything, everything, for the almighty bloody Fight, but I'm not going to hide in this bloody cave while you go in there alone. I won't do it, Hermione." His grip was biting into the flesh of her arms, and she hadn't even noticed, but he did, and relaxed his hold on her. "They won't stand against the both of us."
"Do you really understand what you're asking me to do?" She breathed in a voice that was far more wobbly than she would have liked. "If something happens to you…"
"I need to do this… I need to know that I can do this. Hermione, please."
She regarded him silently for a long moment, blinking rapidly a number of times in an effort to stay the stinging tears that threatened to overspill their boundaries. Releasing only the slightest of shuddering sighs, she retrieved her wand from its inner pocket, and cast several spells on him in quick succession.
When she was done, he was swarthy in complexion with dark hair and even darker eyes, but something of Harry still seemed discernible in his face. She felt a sudden stab of fear, as Blaise Zabini's words came back to her mind. I was under Glamour, but she still figured out it was me. She always was a sharp one. Would a particularly alert Death Eater still be able to tell it was Harry? Lucius Malfoy had known Harry's wand on sight that day during the battle at Hogwarts. She rolled her wand nervously between the tips of her fingers. If something goes wrong, it will be all your fault, she told herself sternly.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling anxiously, as she cast a couple of layers of Imperturbable charms over their Glamours, so that it would take more than just Finite to expose them for their true selves.
If they catch you, I'll be responsible for your death and the utter annihilation of the wizarding world as we know it. So many people hate you, hate what you stand for, would rejoice in your death - is there any spell strong enough to truly hide who you are?
She said only,
"Lucius Malfoy recognized your wand when you were Polyjuiced during the battle at Hogwarts."
"You can't fundamentally alter the appearance of a wand. Illusion spells won't work on them," Harry pointed out, obviously. She was already nodding.
"We'll have to try a Confundus charm," she said. "Hopefully, that will bewilder anyone who takes it into his or her head to examine your wand very closely." She hoped that her voice exuded more confidence than she actually felt, as she cast the charm in question. "Roll up your sleeve," she said, perfunctorily, and he obeyed without question, watching curiously as she inked Dark Marks onto both of their forearms. As almost an afterthought, she traced his magical signature in the air, and revamped the Masking charm that she had cast that long ago autumn day in the Scottish hut.
Satisfied that they were ready to go, she laced her fingers tightly through his, as they moved toward the divider.
"Harry Potter," she whispered fiercely, leaning over to kiss him desperately on the mouth. "You had better not give me cause to regret this." His eyes raked over her face solemnly, as if he were stamping each of her features indelibly on his memory. He whispered only,
"I love you."
Hermione felt the weight of the curious and dismayed eyes when both of them stepped into the cavern proper. Harry squeezed her hand in support, but she couldn't bring herself to even look at either Lupin or Ron. Instead, she lifted her chin with an air of confidence, and smiled unseeingly.
"We're ready," she called out, and they moved toward the staging area at the edge of the Lake.
Blaise was in mid-sentence when they arrived, and his eyes trailed over them lingeringly and curiously, but he did not falter in his speech.
"…Daphne's agreed to meet us in the subterranean levels beneath the Ministry. With Arthur's directions," here he nodded toward Mr. Weasley, "we should be able to gain access through the same ductwork that he used to exit. If Tonks can get us through the wards, then Daphne should be able to ensure that the breach isn't noticed."
"And how about getting through the populated parts of the Ministry?" Hermione asked, still holding tightly to Harry's hand and striving to force her voice to sound natural.
"Daphne works in the Department of Mysteries. She says that the Department is intently watched, but still remains more open than many others because the work done there is so highly specialized and misunderstood that the Death Eaters are forced to tolerate employees that may be neutral or at least less than fanatically loyal. Anyway, there are so-called `Inspectors' who snoop around down there on a regular basis - evidently it's the Dark Lord's way of keeping apprised of any potential `situations' that might crop up. Daphne thinks that we can pose as these inspectors, and have relatively unrestricted access. She's going to try to obtain one of their identification cards that we can duplicate and alter for our purposes."
Ron, sporting longish sandy hair tied back in a queue, had arrived somewhere in the middle of the briefing, and said rather sullenly,
"What exactly does Greengrass know? How do we know that we won't be faced with a squadron of Death Eaters the second we set foot inside the Ministry?"
Blaise sighed in a long-suffering way.
"Well, Weasley, I suppose that you can't know for sure, now can you? But the fact remains - whether you like it or not, as it happens - that I am on your side, and I believe that Daphne can be trusted. She could have turned me in three or four times over by now, if she'd wanted." Ron scowled, crossing his arms defiantly, and glaring at Zabini, undeterred.
"You didn't answer my first question."
"I'm not an imbecile, Weasley. I told her that we were fighting for the Order, and that we needed to … appropriate the Magical Birth Registry. She doesn't like the idea of anyone taking out children any more than we do. I mentioned nothing about the prophecy, and figured she didn't need to know that she would be escorting members of the illustrious and most wanted Golden Trio." The label left his lips with ill-concealed sarcasm. "And seeing as how, apparently, nobody knew that Potter was going to try to play the hero, I couldn't have told her about him either, could I?" Harry made no overt movement at Blaise's derisive comment, but Hermione felt the muscles in his arm tense, and she quietly laid one hand over them in subtle restraint.
"Harry…" Remus interjected quickly, seeing his moment at Blaise's mention.
"You can't talk me out of this, Remus," Harry said respectfully, even though he had raised his other hand with the unintentional, but unmistakable, aura of command. "Hermione's going, and I'm going with her. She's taken every precaution. I understand my - my value," he looked as if he wanted to gag on the word, "but I am going to take every action available to me to preserve my daughter's life. I've been hiding long enough."
Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, and she tossed a glance behind her to see that Ron had stepped into place there.
"I'll see that they both return safely, Professor Lupin," he said in a voice of steely determination that Hermione had heard only rarely. She smiled gratefully at him, while their former D.A.D.A. professor looked as if he would still like to protest.
Tonks hastily stepped into the gap.
"We should go then. The more quickly we get there, the less likely that Voldemort has already put safeguards in place to secure the Registry." She pushed her sleeve up over her elbow, and extended her arm to Hermione. "If you wouldn't mind doing the honors."
Hermione released Harry's hand and reached for her wand, deftly performing the spell that would create the facsimile of the Dark Mark on the arms of the other team members. She looked up at Harry and Ron, looking so unlike the two she loved so well, and felt another ripple of unease. She desperately hoped that it was not a portent.
~*~*~*~*~
When they finally arrived in the dank basement rooms of the Ministry, Hermione had never been so glad to be able to stand upright in her life. The space was damp and desolate, smelling strongly of mildew, but at least she wasn't crouched over on her hands and knees. She pressed her hands to the small of her back, which was aching assiduously. She felt Harry's concerned presence hovering at her elbow.
"Are you all right?" It was a low murmur in her ear.
"I'm fine," she said, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "I just didn't realize that the - the pregnancy might look invisible, but it doesn't feel invisible. I certainly hope we're not going to be crawling through any more vents."
Whatever Harry might have replied was cut off by a furtive whisper and the sudden flare of blue-white wandglow.
"Zabini?" came a nervous-sounding voice. "Blaise, is that you?"
"We're over here, Daphne," Blaise replied, lighting his own wand so the dank shadows were chased away even more completely. A backlit figure in billowing robes moved toward them. Hermione noticed surreptitious motion as Ron, Harry, and Tonks all reached for their wands. Without even realizing she'd moved, she felt her fingers close about the shaft of her wand as well.
Daphne appeared smaller than Hermione remembered, frail and almost nondescript. She was never nearly as militant as some of the others.
Blaise stepped beyond her, as she drew into the light, and raised his wand high, clearly inspecting the corridor through which she'd just come. Hermione thought she saw a somewhat hurt look flicker over Daphne's face. Apparently, Blaise had noticed it as well, when he turned back toward the group.
"Sorry, Daphne. Can't be too careful, you know. Have you got the badge?"
She reached into a pocket and proffered a small plastic card, with a moving photograph in the lower right hand corner. Blaise took it from her, and scrutinized it closely, squinting against the glare of the Lumos charm.
"There are anti-Duplication wards on the originals, but I managed to remove them while the Inspector had his head stuck in a bell-jar." She laughed slightly, but it came off as nervous and false in the echoing, empty hallway. "Since this is a copy, you should be able to alter them as you see fit."
Blaise made additional copies of the identification card, and passed them out to everyone else. As they were making their adjustments, he nodded toward the duct opening that had served as their access point to the Ministry.
"Can you check the ward breach?"
Daphne moved to the duct, and cast a couple of diagnostic spells at the black maw of the opening.
"Looks pretty clean," she said, looking with grudging admiration toward the other team members, all Glamoured except for Metamorphed Tonks. She cast another spell which caused the rift made by Tonks to shimmer purple, close, and disappear. "They shouldn't notice a thing. One of you must have been an Auror."
Nobody responded, and Daphne filled the silence by pulling a handful of small objects from a pocket in her robes, and tossing each one of them one in turn. Hermione turned the small ring over in her hand curiously, and looked questioningly at her former classmate.
"What do these do?" she finally asked.
"Calibrate them with your identification. It will cause the wand-scan at the Reception desk to give a false reading of your wand, and match it with the identity on your card."
Blaise whistled admiringly, as he slid the thin metal ring onto his wand.
"What they won't think of next," he muttered under his breath. Hermione saw Tonks scan hers covertly, before attaching it to her wand. A tense and distrustful silence filled the abandoned corridor. Finally, Daphne jerked her head back in the direction from which she'd come.
"Well," she spoke slowly and with hesitation. "We should go."
~*~*~*~*~
Hermione was sure that someone would be able to detect their treasonous mission by her increased heart rate alone. They walked through the large atrium, steps clipping on the floor in a businesslike way, as she struggled not to reach out and physically draw strength from her husband. As they neared the Reception desk, the number of black-robed, dour-faced witches and wizards increased, but she grew only slightly more comfortable in their anonymity.
She had felt the tension from both Ron and Tonks when they'd entered the large entry hall, and knew that it stemmed from their presence at the rally. The greenish glow was still present in the rather eerie lighting, but the Ministry was much more like an office with the brisk and constant flow of people, than with a slavering mob packed within it. She took a moment to feel glad once again that Harry had not been present that day, and Ron's gaze met hers as though he'd read her mind. She tilted one corner of her mouth upward at him in understanding, and then they were at the counter.
"Wands, please," said a bored-sounding witch, in black like everyone else, and with talon-like nails to match. Hermione was trying to appear as blasé as possible, as her wand clattered into the proffered tray with everyone else's, but she was afraid that the anxious and guilty heat was rising obviously in her face. She noted the edge of the Dark Mark peeking out from under the witch's sleeve, as she withdrew the tray of wands for scanning.
There was a brief moment where the Confundus charm on Harry's wand seemed to cause some sort of glitch in the scan, and the witch swore healthily under her breath, but the occurrence passed. Hermione felt the knot in her stomach ease when their wands were returned, accompanied by small badges with their fake names and "Department of Mysteries Inspection" printed neatly beneath.
"Have a nice day," the witch droned, sounding like she couldn't have meant anything less, and Hermione couldn't help but marvel that polite social inanities were still in place, even in a world of Darkness.
"Right this way, please," Daphne said, using a tone of impersonal formality for the benefit of the Reception witch, as she gestured them toward a corridor that they knew all too well.
A few more bends and twists of the meandering hallway, and Hermione felt herself relax further. They were seeing fewer and fewer Ministry employees, and those they had seen had not even given them more than the most cursory of looks. All they had to do now was get the prophecy and the Registry, and use their medallions to get the hell out of there. She flicked surreptitious eyes toward Harry and Ron, and knew that they were thinking the same thing she was.
Daphne, on the other hand, seemed to grow more flustered and nervous, her steps carrying her faster down the corridor. They had to noticeably increase their pace, until Blaise finally lunged forward and caught her by the elbow.
"Hey," he said in a concerned and sympathetic voice. "Are you okay?"
She smiled unevenly at him, and deliberately slowed her stride, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind an ear in a gesture that seemed nervously habitual.
"I'm sorry. I just - this is all - it's a little nerve-wracking for me."
Blaise nodded and touched her arm gently, a movement meant to quietly reassure.
"You're doing the right thing," he murmured, so softly that Hermione barely heard him.
And then they were standing at the door that Mr. Weasley had been guarding when Nagini had attacked him. Hermione felt Harry go rigid beside her, even when Daphne led them into the circular room of rotating doors, she could only muster up vague detachment. It all seemed like a lifetime ago, and so many people had died since then…
The doors began to spin at a dizzying pace until Daphne stopped them with a sharply barked spell and password. Ron let out a softly barked chuckle of laughter.
"That'd have been nice to know last time, eh, mate?" he said in a low whisper, elbowing Harry in the side. Harry didn't respond, his face looking pale and strained, and he'd lifted one hand to absent-mindedly rub at where his scar should have been. Hermione hissed a little between her teeth, a warning for him to mind what he was doing, and his hand arrested mid-motion. A covert glance at Daphne revealed that she was moving toward a door, reaching for a specific knob, and had not appeared to notice any of the byplay.
Still, as they entered the door that she indicated, Hermione felt the knot of unease, which had untied itself slightly after they left the Atrium, return.
At a junction of two intersecting corridors, Daphne stopped and turned to face them.
"The Registry is housed in that room, third one, left hand side," she said. "You have a way to get back out?" Blaise reached up to his shirt collar, where his medallion was concealed, and nodded. "Good, then - then I'm through here… I - I have to get back to work."
"Daphne," Blaise called out as quietly as he could. "you - you know you don't have to stay here…"
She turned back toward him, and smiled a little, but it was twisted and mirthless. She looked almost apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Blaise," she whispered. "I'm - I'm not cut out for this… I'm not like you -
and I - I certainly wasn't ever in Gryffindor." Had her eyes flickered in their direction, Hermione wondered?
"I wouldn't - I wouldn't know where to go or… " She shook her head quickly, dislodging the hair that
she'd tucked away earlier. "I'm sorry," she concluded abruptly. "Good luck."
Her heels clacked back down the hallway, as the group knotted together briefly.
"All right, you and Tonks go get that Registry," Harry was saying to Blaise. "We'll go to the Hall of Prophecies. If I remember correctly, it's just through there. Once you've got the Registry, go back. Don't wait for us."
Hermione turned suddenly, her short hair swishing around her chin, as she heard a shuffling noise, but concluded that it was just Daphne's heels skidding as she rounded the corner. Her footfalls soon faded out of earshot.
"Remus will kill me if I come back without you," Tonks pointed out. Harry seemed to consider debating this, but evidently decided that a corridor controlled by the enemy was not the place for it.
"Then watch for us from the doorway," he said. "Stay out of sight."
The group split apart, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved in a path identical to the one they'd traversed in fifth year. All was not unchanged though, and Hermione reflected that the research Voldemort would be interested in was probably quite different from what the former administration had espoused. The room where the brains had been - Ron was visibly suppressing a gag reflex - was now lit in a lurid red and lined with some kind of magical restraining devices. Some were empty, and some were holding people. Dark-robed Unspeakables moved briskly among them, and Hermione heard muffled cries of pain.
When one worker looked at them curiously, Harry held up his badge.
"Inspection. Continue about your business, please," he said briskly.
The room with the veil was as empty as it had been the first time they'd entered it, with the arch still free-standing in its center. But now, instead of fluttering softly, the veil billowed and snapped, as though propelled by a gale-force wind. And instead of barely audible whispers, there were high-pitched keens of soul-rending anguish that seemed calculated to shred the eardrum and pierce the heart. Hermione could hear them, and knew by the looks on their faces, that Harry and Ron could too.
"Is that what it sounded like before?" Ron asked, seemingly barely resisting the urge to flatten his palms over his ears. Harry's face was grim.
"No."
They gave the arch a wide berth, and exited the room quickly.
Once in the Hall of Prophecies, they began moving quickly down the aisle, wands out, heading the same direction that they had before, but passing the aisle that had housed Harry's prophecy without a second glance. Though it remained unspoken, they were all acting on the assumption that the spheres were filed in chronological order.
Now we just have to find the end…Hermione mused, as they passed aisles 104 and 105.
"There!" she hissed suddenly, pointing down aisle 106, which still contained empty shelving. She took a step down the aisle, but stopped suddenly at the feel of Harry's hand gripping her arm. She looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head, exchanging glances with Ron. Their best friend moved down the adjacent aisle, slowly, and Hermione understood. Ron was going to make sure the far end was clear, before they exposed themselves and the prophecy they were after.
They stood there for what felt like eons, Hermione's hand still distractedly fisted in Harry's sleeve, before Ron poked his disheveled, sandy head around the opposite end of the aisle.
"Clear," they both heard him call as softly as possible. Only then, did Harry nod at her, as they both began to move down the aisle, scanning the labels as rapidly as they could. Ron continued a circuit around the nearest aisles, keeping watch while they searched.
It was Harry who saw it first, the shining golden sphere with the crowded label, a question mark front and center, Luna's initials, and then a whole host of letters parading as initials of those who had heard it. H.P. led the way.
"I can't believe it wasn't guarded," Harry murmured, reaching for it, but tiny bolts of lightning seemed to arc from the surface of the sphere to his hand. He swore and jerked his hand back, wringing his wrist joint to shake out the sting, and exchanged a rueful glance with Hermione.
"Shall I try?" she asked, not really wanting to sound like I told you so, but unable to fully refrain.
"By all means," he said theatrically, gesturing toward the prophecy. She was confident in her identity as Laurel's mother, and so was completely flummoxed, when she was prevented from removing the prophecy as well.
"I guess if neither of us can get it, then that means nobody can," Harry pointed out, obvious disappointment at their failure in his tone. He turned as if to vacate the aisle, but she grabbed at his robe, and said,
"Wait! Let's try it together."
In slow motion, they reached for the sphere again, moving deliberately so that their fingertips would touch the sphere at the exact same moment. Hermione found herself bracing for another jolt of pain, but none came. Instead, she felt only smooth, warm glass beneath her hand.
"It worked!" Harry breathed, almost in awe, as they carefully lifted it down. Golden light spilled over both of them and split into diamond sparkles that splashed onto the floor. Harry was looking around for Ron, when Hermione gasped suddenly.
"Harry, look!" She stared at the label as one transfixed. The question mark was swirling on the label reforming itself into script that was faint at first, but quickly darkened.
The label now read, Laurel Potter.
They exchanged bewildered glances again, and Hermione tried to fathom what it all meant, placing it in context of Dumbledore's conversation with Harry about the innate natures of prophecies in general, and whether or not they tended to be self-fulfilling. Would it have always been Laurel's prophecy? Or had they made it so by retrieving it together?
"Well, there's no doubt that we've got to smash it now - " Harry began, but was cut off by a unseen and muffled yell, followed by the sound of shattering glass. "Oh shit." A glowing line of spell fire passed by the end of the aisle, and ended in more breaking glass.
"Ron?" Hermione's voice was quiet and unsure, as she directed the question toward Harry. There was another cry, this one of pain and protest, and it sounded as if a body had hit the rack of shelves just on the other side, for the shelves they faced wobbled precariously. More glass spheres hit the tiled floor.
Quickly, Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and relinquished their mutual grip on their daughter's prophecy. As it hit the ground, Harry blasted a shelf at random, so that the sound of smashing glass would drown out the otherworldly sound of Luna's ethereal voice.
There were cries of surprise, and Hermione knew that their presence in the Hall along with Ron, was no longer a secret.
"Go!" Harry whispered fiercely, all but shoving her away from him. "Use your medallion. Get back to the Lake."
"I'm not leaving you. We've got to get Ron."
"Damn it, Hermione, I'll get Ron. You have to get out of here. Now!"
Even as he spoke, an elegant Death Eater, his hair pulled back into a long, neat tail, appeared at the end of the aisle. Hermione instinctively moved in front of Harry. Do you know how important you are?
"For the love of God, Hermione, please," Harry hissed in her ear.
The Death Eater's mouth quirked upward in amusement.
"So good to see you both again," said Lucius Malfoy, for it was he. "I figured one of you must be Mr. Potter. Thank you for making it quite obvious for me which one. Now, if you will kindly step aside." He flicked his wand at Hermione.
"No!" she said, and she felt Harry all but tremble behind her. Her sweaty fingers slid on her wand; she'd never be able to raise it before she was disarmed. Harry's arm was moving; he was going to try to get a curse off, but she wasn't sure he'd be able to do it in time either. She knew he'd never leave Ron without finding out what happened to him.
In a lightning-fast motion, Malfoy's wand was up.
A spell was racing toward her in a deadly arc.
Harry was shouting something frantically behind her, as she whipped her wand up from her side.
A large, dark shadow loomed over her head.
Glass shattered again, and there was a thunderous crash, as though an entire shelf had collapsed.
Something warm and heavy hit her, knocking her to the ground. The breath left her lungs.
Black spots danced before her eyes, as her head cracked painfully on the unyielding floor.
Something sticky was seeping through her clothing.
She heard Harry's hoarse scream of protest.
Somebody was laughing.
Something was on top of her. She thought she felt hair brushing her cheek.
Then there was the sensation of movement, and a rush of dizziness so profound that she knew nothing more.
TBC
Okay, I know it is unspeakably evil to leave you for 4 months with no update, and then plant a cliffhanger. But this chapter was getting so long, and I had to stop it somewhere.
So, anyway, can I make it up by saying it won't take me 4 months to update again? This was a very hard chapter to write. I felt like it was in danger of bogging down in details, but I hope it didn't.
Anyway, the end is near. Hope you are still reading and still enjoying.
You may leave a review on the way out if you like.
lorien
HHd d
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