Resistance
Chapter Six: Raid
Someone was shaking her shoulder softly. Hermione opened bleary eyes, and then shut them tightly against the bright light streaming in through the open door from the corridor. Ron's concerned face was almost at her eye level, where she slept on the top bunk above him. She blinked at him in confusion, her eyes struggling to adjust, and then she suddenly thought Harry! and sat up quickly.
"What's wrong?" she asked in an urgent whisper. Fred shifted restlessly in his bunk across the room.
"It's time to go," was Ron's simple reply. "Are you finished packing?" Hermione nodded. She had completed what little packing there was to be done in a stony silence last night, while she and Ron had tried to ignore each other completely.
"I finished last night. What time is it? Why are we leaving now?"
"It's a little after two," Ron answered. "They want to go ahead and leave while it's dark, since we'll have to Apparate out of the back alley."
"Is the house ready?" Hermione asked, referring to the one Tonks had mentioned in Cornwall. Ron nodded, his silhouette backlit against the light in the hall.
"They warded it yesterday while - " he stopped, clearly seeing that as a still sore subject between them. " - after they found Neville and Luna," he amended. "Remus is the Secret Keeper. I reckon he'll give us coordinates or something, so we know where to Apparate."
"Do I have time for a shower?" she asked, climbing down from the bunk, and flinching a little as her bare feet touched the cold floor. He nodded briefly, but didn't meet her eyes. She gave him an annoyed look, remaining within his field of vision until he finally flicked his eyes toward her, in a look of commingled frustration and resignation.
"Hermione - " he sighed, sounding annoyed and sad. She pursed her lips together tightly, and held up one hand for him to stop.
"Don't worry about it, Ron. I guess I'd better hurry." She went to the trunk in the corner of the room, and gathered some toiletries and articles of clothing, crushing them together in her arms carelessly. She swished out of the door airily, letting it close decisively behind her without quite slamming. She paused on the other side of the door, her body arced toward it, listening intently. She heard the mattress rustle slightly as Ron sat back down on his bunk. He heaved a gusty sigh. Hermione could imagine his stance, hunched forward, elbows on knees, head in hands. A moment later, there were footsteps, shuffling, the murmur of voices. He'd awakened Fred.
Dammit, Ron! She thought with irritation. What's wrong with us? Why can't you be happy that I saved Harry? Does it matter how I did it? Why can't you talk to me? Even as she wondered, she knew the answer. Ron knew the answer. He had said it himself. It's always about Harry with you! Harry was their best mate, their salvation, their bridge to each other, and the barrier that kept them apart. She felt the beginnings of a headache stirring in her temples, and gathered her shower things more securely under her arm. I don't have time to think about this right now, she told herself authoritatively, and hurried into the loo.
She took a hurried shower, her eyes generally fixed unseeingly toward the corner of the stall, as she mechanically lathered her hair and body. She hastily toweled her hair off, and threw it up into a sloppy topknot, slightly annoyed that she had not thought to bring Harry's wand with her. Who even had it now anyway? Surely it would at least perform a drying charm on her hair! She dressed quickly, wadding up her towels, and ran to replace them in her trunk and shrink everything down for travel. As she sprinted down the hallway, she could hear murmurs and bustlings in the War Room, and her eyes drifted unwittingly to Harry's door.
How was he going to travel? How was he even doing this morning? She felt instantly guilty. She should have gone to check on him. Instead she had gotten all rumpled and out of sorts thinking about her problems with Ron. There are more important things to be worrying over… she began, and heard Ron's angry voice assert once again: It's always about Harry with you! She shook her head a little, as she proceeded into the room, and repacked her things into her trunk. Ron and Fred had already removed their things from the room, and were nowhere to be seen. She reached toward her pocket for her wand, remembering an instant too late that it was gone. Someone was going to have to shrink her damn trunk for her.
"Need some help?" came a voice, and she turned to see Arthur Weasley poking his head hesitantly around the open door. She shrugged self-deprecatingly and nodded a little.
"I don't - "
"Have your wand," he finished for her. "A bit of bad luck, that," he agreed. With a wave of his wand and a muttered spell, her trunk had been reduced to the size of a pencil case. She smiled gratefully and tucked it into the knapsack that she had used on her mission yesterday. As she picked it up, she remembered that the strap was broken, and looked askance at the tear. Mr. Weasley cast a Reparo on it, without her even having to ask.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," she murmured softly, feeling somehow undone by even this simple act of kindness.
"Think nothing of it, Hermione," he answered in kind. "I - I've been meaning to ask you…that is, I wondered how you're holding up?" He rubbed the back of his head somewhat ruefully, looking at his shoes. Hermione could see where Ron had gotten his reluctance to talk about all things emotional.
"How'm I holding up?" she repeated, looking a little stunned at his question. She swallowed hard. This is the man who has lost three sons and his wife in one day - not to mention countless friends and colleagues at the Ministry, less than a week ago! And he wants to know how I'm doing?
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, stammering a little. "I've overstepped. I - I shouldn't have asked you, but - "
"No, no, Mr. Weasley," Hermione hastened to reassure him. "I - it's just that - I should be asking you that question."
"Oh, yes, well…" he stuck his hands into the pockets of his rumpled slacks. Hermione wondered if he'd perhaps slept in the chair by Ginny's bed. He pressed his lips together tightly, and his eyes became shiny with tears. "Molly - Molly and I - we - we knew… when we signed up with the Order, what it might - not that it makes it easier, but it - it - we knew the possibilities…The boys though…now - my boys, that's something I can't - I - and Percy - we don't even know where - if - " he was rambling, and Hermione got the distinct impression that he'd even forgotten she was there. His eyes snapped up to her suddenly, and he looked a little embarrassed. "But that's enough about me. I came to ask about you. I know Ron - Ron said some things last night… I don't want to excuse him, but you're his best friend and he does worry about you - and I just wondered - " Hermione found it quite interesting that he had used the term "best friend" and not "girlfriend". He withdrew his hands from his pockets, and looked at her intently. "I know I'm not your father, Hermione. But if you ever need anyone to talk to…about anything…well, I've some experience with fatherly talks, you know, and - "
He stopped speaking abruptly, as Hermione moved over to hug him tightly, tears brimming in her eyes. He hesitated just a moment before putting his arms around her, and patting her softly on the back, saying something that sounded like, "There, there."
After a moment, she stepped away, sniffing loudly, and wiping the wetness from her cheeks with her hands.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," she said. "That - that really means a lot to me."
"All right then," he whispered, trying to sound casual, but his eyes gave him away. He winked at her and chucked her chin, before slipping back down the hallway. Hermione backed up towards Ron's bunk, sitting down on it automatically, her eyes distantly staring. Daddy, she thought wistfully, picturing her father in her mind's eye, even though she hadn't called him that in years. Has it only been a year? Has it already been a year? It didn't seem possible. Harry was looking at her, with such a sorrowful, guilty expression. And then they'd virtually collided with each other, both crying, both swearing that they would make it right.
Well, we've done a bang up job with that, haven't we? Hermione thought derisively. Harry's lost his magic, and I've no wand, and we're in hiding from Voldemort, whose followers outnumber us significantly, and…
She stood abruptly, as if by standing she could turn off the stream of negative thoughts that rushed and swirled through her mind. She shouldered her knapsack, schooling her features into that determined, defiant expression that she often wore when attacking some kind of Arithmancy problem that refused to be solved. Resolutely, she strode through the door, and nearly knocked down Tonks.
"Whoa, sorry, Hermione," Tonks said, catching herself on the doorframe, and smiling a little sheepishly. She quickly and efficiently shrunk down the mattresses and bedsteads, depositing them into a duffel bag. A clanking noise issued forth as they collided with the other beds. "You ready to go?" Hermione nodded, and followed Tonks down the hall, amazed at how bare and abandoned the Shop already looked. The door that had once been a closet was hanging open, and Hermione could see a large, carved out, cavernous looking, empty space. This must have been where they put the vault, she realized.
When they passed Harry and Ginny's room, the door was open and the room was dark and completely empty. An odd sort of yearning washed through Hermione, making her unsteady on her feet.
"Where's Harry?" The words tumbled through her lips before she could bite them back, her desperation driving her to the question, heedless of pride or appearances.
"Minerva's taken him - and Ginny - on to Cornwall. She had to Side-along them… made two trips. Arthur's going to go with Fred, Neville, and Luna, and then Remus and I will go with you and Ron. Can you carry this?" Tonks handed her the duffel bag, which was heavy, but not unmanageably so, and strode into the War Room. Hermione followed.
The War Room was completely empty, walls bare, devoid of even the colored pins that had been tacked onto the maps in various places. Tonks shouldered a pack that made it look as if she were headed for a mountain-climbing expedition, and Remus had one of similar size. Hermione looked around the room in awe. She was still more familiar with the Muggle method of moving, and this, the realization that every stick of furniture was in someone's backpack, was stunning, to say the least. It also brought home the fact that they would not be able to acquire much through "normal" means, and would need every single piece of furniture that they could carry.
"Hello, Neville…Luna," Hermione said politely to her two schoolmates. It seemed like she hadn't seen them in years, rather than weeks. They both looked decidedly worse for the wear, their full night of sleep notwithstanding. Neville's face was pale and strained, one eye beginning to turn a beautiful purple-blue. Luna looked as vague as always, though her hair was lank and tangled as though she'd forgotten she had any. Her butterbeer cork necklace had been broken, and she was carrying the half-filled strand the way a child would drag a beloved teddy bear behind. Her wand was tucked behind her ear.
They both muttered unimportant replies, and Hermione felt the silence grow long and awkward. She had never been great at social niceties, and the chasm between them felt so vast. Hadn't they been in the D.A. alongside her? They had helped defend Hogwarts after Malfoy let the Death Eaters in. She had just seen them at graduation. Why then did she feel so separated? Perhaps the distance isn't between me and them, but between me and everybody. She sighed.
"What've you got?" she asked Fred with sincere curiosity, turning to him rather abruptly. He had his knapsack from the day before, as did Ron, but Fred was also holding a large laundry bag that appeared to be bulging slightly, occasionally emitting a noise or glowing ever so slightly.
"The entire stock of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," Fred said, holding up the bag. "I figured we can use at least some of it."
"You've emptied the store," Hermione breathed. She thought of the darkness powder, as well as the other defense items they'd started stocking before Hermione's sixth year. Yes, those things could be useful.
"Can't let the genius of the Weasley twins go to Death Eaters, can we - ?" Fred joked, turning his head to the left, almost automatically, before freezing and stopping the motion jerkily, as if remembering something. Of course…George was not there. Hermione swallowed hard, and mustered a tight-lipped smile at the usually incorrigible Weasley. Ron was standing in a corner, alone, withdrawn, his hands in his pockets. His head had been down, as if he were studying his shoes intently, but had come up to regard Fred, at his last comment. Hermione looked at Ron with teary eyes, her forehead crinkling apologetically, and mouthed the words,
"I'm sorry." He nodded and mouthed back,
"I'm sorry too." She drifted across the room toward him, and leaned into a one-armed hug, closing her eyes, as her head touched his chest. "I don't want to fight with you, Hermione," he whispered. "Especially when - when things are - when - "
"When everything's gone to blazes?" she finished, looking up at him with tear-studded lashes, stuck together in starry, wet clumps. He brushed some of the dampness from her cheek with a thumb, and she half-laughed, in an embarrassed way. "I feel as if all I've done for days is cry," she said.
"That's not all you've done," Ron remarked sarcastically, and Hermione took a half-step away from him, her eyebrows furrowing with hurt. "Hermione!" he hastened to say. "I'm not angry anymore. I'm - I'm not even sure I should've been angry to begin with. You saved him, and I'm glad. Okay? Just - just promise me, you'll always be careful." She nodded at him, craning her head back to look him in the face.
"I promise," she said simply, and he leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips. She was surprised, because Ron was not one to engage in public displays with her, always seeming to view her as somehow above that kind of nonsense. Neither had the past year afforded many opportunities to do so privately. Harry had always-
Hermione stiffened suddenly, and stepped back from Ron, adjusting the strap of her bag, and looking toward the others, refusing to answer her own inner questions about why Ron's kiss made her feel uncomfortable and guilty.
"Are you two ready?" Tonks asked, with a hint of amusement in her tone, though her eyes were quite serious. Hermione nodded, flushing slightly and not looking at Ron.
"You've got to read the coordinates," Remus said, holding out a piece of paper, similar to the one they'd had to read to enter Grimmauld Place. After they'd all looked at it, Remus lit it with his wand, and in silence, they all watched the paper burn, until it sifted from the werewolf's fingers in ashes.
Hermione was amazed by the emotion she felt on leaving this place. Always leaving, she thought glumly. She'd left Hogwarts, left Grimmauld Place, left home - and all in violent, abrupt ways, it seemed. She looked at the gutted, desolate empty places of the Shop, and felt the same way. Ron had come up beside her, and was regarding her solemnly, seeming to read and understand how she felt. As the group of them, headed up the stairs, lagging well behind Neville, Luna, Fred and Mr. Weasley, who would Apparate first, Ron gently took her hand in his.
Her heart thumped once and quite painfully in her chest, and she struggled to keep her breathing even. She strove against the instinct to worm her hand out of his grasp. God, I love him so much, she thought desperately, not even clearly sure to which "him" her pronoun referred. I love them so much. What am I going to do?
~~**~~
The house in Cornwall was beautiful, though it looked slightly unkempt from the outside. It was a rather rambling stone house of indeterminate age that stood all by itself near the edge of a rocky face that plunged steeply into the ocean. The soothing ebb and flow of rushing ocean colliding with placid land was constantly audible. A rutty, twisted lane ran off into the distance, where a handful of lights could be seen gathered into a clump of a village. Hermione inhaled, taking in the tangy flavor of the sea air. This is nice, she thought, or would be if…
They trooped into the vestibule of the house, where those who had Apparated just before them were standing, looking around rather uncertainly. Remus immediately began working on arming the wards, having dropped his bag on the front porch unceremoniously. McGonagall came down the stairs, wiping at her hands with a damp cloth.
"The bedrooms are all upstairs," Tonks said perfunctorily. "There's room for four or five beds per room. Could you set those up?" She looked at Hermione, who still had the duffel bag with the bedsteads in it sitting on her shoulder.
"Sure," Hermione agreed, adjusting the weight of the bag and heading up the stairs. She could still hear Tonks' voice indistinctly, as she delegated tasks to the other Order members, and whatever she told Ron to do elicited a loud groan from Ron and a chortle from Fred. A smile glimmered across Hermione's face momentarily, as she put her hand on the first doorknob, opening it soundlessly.
She stood uncertainly in the doorway. This room was large, well-appointed, and full of light from two good-sized windows. It was also already furnished. Five beds lined the same wall, facing two armoires and what Hermione assumed was a potions cupboard. Harry and Ginny were in two of the beds. She had stumbled into what would be their infirmary. Her eyes drifted unwillingly to the other three beds, wondering who would eventually occupy them.
Shaking her head as if to dispel such morbid thoughts, she turned her gaze to Harry, who was quite still, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Hermione didn't think she could ever have felt so gratified to hear someone breathing, drawing in air at the restful pace of deep slumber. She pulled the duffel bag off of her shoulder, and was dimly aware of it hitting the floor with a quiet thud. The metal bedsteads within it clanked in protest. There was a wooden stool positioned near the potions cupboard, and Hermione dragged it behind her, as she moved to Harry's bedside.
She sat heavily on the stool, propping her elbows on her knees, and clasping her hands beneath her chin. She sighed, watching Harry sleep for a moment, before restlessness drove her from her sitting position. She felt jumpy, distracted, nervous, like there was something she needed to accomplish in a limited amount of time, and she couldn't find the wherewithal to begin it. She paced around the room, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and thought furiously.
I need a wand. She was as good as useless without one…especially if her magic continued to be as unreliable and rudimentary as it seemed to be with Harry's wand. No Death Eater was going to stand still long enough for her to cast Stupefy enough times to actually bring him down. If I had my wand I could replace my medallion, make Harry one…Neville, Ginny, and Luna as well, and I could start working on those portkeys. Maybe I could figure out how to make them untraceable. I reckon we've brought our library, she thought idly, her gaze going out the window. The ocean was a dark void, an utter lack of light extending to the horizon. It would be nice to walk on the beach sometime, she mused, have the waves lapping at your feet, feel the wind in your hair… if only…
There were too many if onlies. If only the war hadn't driven everything that was decent and normal and comfortable away from them. If only there had not already been so much loss - and the promise of more - and not even the time or space to deal with it properly. If the threat of Voldemort had not been so real and all-consuming, maybe she and Ron could have had a normal relationship. If they'd had a normal relationship, devoid of the horcrux hunting and mortal peril, maybe she wouldn't be - maybe he wouldn't have said - maybe…
She sighed angrily, and swore under her breath, feeling suddenly sad and tired. She wanted her mother. Her mother, with her chestnut hair pulled neatly back from her face into a barrette, her mother, with her calm, knowing eyes, and the soothing smile that could instantly calm Hermione's frantic, panicky nature. She would know what to do, she thought. Ron's drawn, dazed face floated into her mind, his broken voice choking over the recounting of the last moments of his mother. Then she thought of Harry, his wary eyes regarding her as if she were something loathsome. Is this the game where… we've done that one already. She leaned on the windowsill, feeling the comforting coolness of the glass against her face.
"Hermione?" the questioning voice caused her to whirl from the window, bracing herself behind her with both hands on the windowsill. Her eyes flew to Harry's bed quickly, before she realized that he was still asleep and had not been the one who'd spoken. Ron was standing in the doorway, leaning over the threshold, with his hand on the knob. Her hands fluttered distractedly around her hair before settling at her sides, and she knew she must have looked as flustered and at loose ends as she felt. His eyes were measuring her carefully, and then drifted down to the duffel bag she'd discarded on the floor.
"The beds? Right! Sorry," she blurted in short staccato burst, grabbing the bag and nearly sprinting from the room. They went to the next room down, which was empty, and Hermione began pulling out and placing the miniature beds, after which Ron enlarged them.
"Tonks forgot that you could set them up, but couldn't make them normal-sized," Ron had explained as they entered the room. She had smiled a little self-consciously at him, but had not made a reply. Wordlessly, moving almost as a unit, they moved to the next bedroom.
"How's Harry?" Ron finally asked blandly.
"You saw for yourself how he was," Hermione said, a trifle snappishly, almost immediately wincing at her own tone. "Sorry," she apologized again. "I just - "
"Hermione, it's okay," Ron said, shrugging one shoulder sheepishly. "Everyone certainly has the right to be a little - "
"Addled?" she replied, smiling at him a little.
"Yeah," he said, smiling back…a real one that seemed to reach his eyes. Hermione was suddenly and forcefully reminded of why she did love him - the question of whether or not she was in love with him remaining thankfully unexplored for the time being.
After the fourth room, they had run out of beds, and made their way back down the corridor to the lower level of the house, where all was still bustling. Neville and Luna were in the kitchen, cooking some kind of soup, under the rather absent-minded supervision of Mr. Weasley, who was leaning out of the kitchen window, speaking with Remus and Tonks. The latter two were checking the strength of the wards, zapping the protective spells with various hexes. Hermione wondered about the inherent wisdom of eating anything that Luna Lovegood had helped prepare. She did not see either Professor McGonagall or Fred, and wondered if they were in the infirmary with Harry and Ginny, but then saw that the house extended further beyond the living room, and wondered if that's where the library and new War Room would be.
At length, her suppositions were confirmed, when the two absent Order members entered the kitchen from the back of the house.
"I think we've got it all worked out," Fred said in a serious tone, looking at Ron. Ron seemed to be speaking to his brother without words, and nodded gravely after a moment. He moved over to murmur something to his father, who leaned out the window again, and informed Remus of something that she did not quite catch.
"What's going on, Ron?" Hermione asked in an urgent whisper, watching in bemusement as Ron became distinctly uncomfortable. "Ron?" she persisted.
"The Order's going to raid St. Mungo's," he finally muttered, after obviously realizing that he would not get her to break eye contact until he answered her.
"That's brilliant! If we can get into their apothecary, we can - " Hermione began, stopping when Ron's eyes shifted uneasily from hers again.
Oh, right. No wand, the realization flooded Hermione's mind, and she simply lost the desire to continue talking. Feeling her eyes fill with tears again, this time born of pure frustration, she turned suddenly to face the living room, feeling like a child, angry, useless, and embarrassed.
"Hermione, someone would have to stay with Harry and Ginny anyway. You'll be needed here," Mr. Weasley added, in a soothingly cheerful voice, from behind her.
"Of course," she stammered in a hoarse, disappointed voice, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand. Ron was looking at her with an odd, furtive expression. Was that - was it pity? Hermione felt her chin begin to lift, almost of its own accord. There are other things to worry about, Hermione! She berated herself stridently. People are dead, we're in a war, and you're worried about being left out?
"This place is as sound as a drum," Remus said in a satisfied voice, as he and Tonks came back inside. By unspoken consent, the Order drifted toward the back of the house, for the new War Room, ostensibly to discuss the upcoming raid. Hermione lingered behind to remove the large pot of soup from the heat, and trailed along behind the others.
The War Room was large, and had the contents of the Shop library lining the walls. The maps and pins had been newly hung on the walls, and the tables and chairs were set up in a meeting-of-the-minds, conference kind of way. Hermione stood listlessly in the doorway, unsure as to whether she was needed, required, or even wanted to be at this meeting at all. The others had settled into chairs, and Tonks pulled a clipboard from the nearest shelf, and consulted it studiously.
"We're going to need teams at St. Mungo's and Gringotts," she said thoughtfully, after a moment.
"Wait a minute… Gringotts?" Fred asked, before Hermione could do it.
"We need to empty out everyone else's vaults," Remus explained. "From what Hermione's told us," he nodded at her, "the goblins are willing to cooperate with us. If we can get some of that changed into Muggle money as well, we'll be able to move about more effectively… more invisibly, as it were."
"As for St. Mungo's," McGonagall spoke up, "absolutely anything that we can lay hands on would be of use…any potions, medical equipment…even a healer, if there's one who we can trust to be sympathetic to our cause. Harry's going to be fine…at least, physically, but if there is any kind of cutting edge research on restoring magical ability… And Ginny…" she trailed off, shooting an uncharacteristically uncertain glance at Arthur Weasley.
"I know that you've done everything you know to do, Minerva," Mr. Weasley replied, and Professor McGonagall's mouth pursed up into a tighter bow of frustration.
"The problem is, Arthur, that what I know to do simply isn't enough! If only we'd been able to locate Poppy."
"Well, surely we can find someone," Ron put in, leaning forward earnestly and gesturing with his hands. "I mean, the Death Eaters can't very well kill all the healers, can they? There's got to be more of us than there are of them, right? I mean, once everyone's gotten over their fright…there are more good people than evil," his eyes seemed distant, and Hermione could only guess at the death he saw there. "Even now, right?"
"That's something I don't understand," Hermione spoke up suddenly from the doorway. "How are there so many Death Eaters? If there were this many before… I mean, they could have taken over any time they wanted. Where did they all come from?"
"Voldemort has been recruiting on the continent," Tonks put in.
"But with enough numbers to completely overwhelm us?" Hermione countered. "Every Death Eater I heard spoke English. And to strike all those places at once…I just don't understand."
"Perhaps that was what did it," Neville spoke, stammering slightly as all the attention centered on him. "By striking so many places at once, he could catch everyone off their guard."
Hermione didn't reply, but her forehead was creased in deep, worried thought. There has to be a reason, she mused.
"Remus and I will go to Gringotts. Everyone should give us their vault keys. We can only hope that the goblins will continue to help us in every way that they can," Tonks said.
"You'll have to be careful," Hermione said. "Death Eaters were pulling people aside for no reason at all. You ought to glamour yourselves up - not that that's a problem for you, Tonks - and maybe cast the Distraction charm on yourselves too."
"That's a good idea, Hermione," Remus said, and Hermione felt momentarily better.
"I want Ron, Luna, Neville, and Arthur to go to the Quibbler offices," Tonks continued. "We've got to see if there's any equipment we can use, perhaps anonymous owls that couldn't be traced to us. It would be good if we can find out any news as well - we've been kind of cut off so far. If this movement is going to work at all, we've got to be able to communicate with others who want to act as well. That leaves Fred and Minerva for St. Mungo's."
"Please!" Neville said abruptly, interrupting Tonks. "Please, can I go to the hospital as well?" Tonks had frozen, and appeared on the verge of turning him down, before she realized why he was asking. She smiled at him slightly, and murmured,
"Of course, Neville." She looked around at the rest of the Order, as if to ascertain their state of mind, and slapped both hands on her thighs. "Well, it will be light soon. Let's eat, get a little rest, and we can set out as soon as things begin to open for normal business. We ought to split into our mission groups over breakfast, and go over specific plans." Tonks looked very serious, clearly in her Auror element.
Hermione felt her shoulders sag, and she turned up the stairs while the others made their way into the kitchen. She really did not feel like eating soup for breakfast, and her stomach was churning with frustration and helplessness anyway. Without even consciously thinking, she found herself in the infirmary again.
Harry was awake.
She could tell by the more rigidly held lines of his body beneath the sheet, as well as the way his head was turned markedly away from the door toward the window. His body tensed as she opened the door, but he did not turn toward her.
"Good morning," she ventured, sounding a little timid.
"Is it?" he asked dully, and she hesitated, unsure whether he was asking if it was good, or if it was morning.
"Are you hungry?" she finally asked, and he shook his head, still looking out the window. "They've got some stew or something downstairs. I think Luna's made it though." There was a quavering, nervous laugh in her voice that Harry did not respond to.
"No, I'm fine. Thank you." The inanity of the conversation made Hermione want to cry, or maybe throw something across the room. Her best friend had been present in the cell at the Riddle house, had been present in the Quidditch field and the Shop. Where had he gone now? Had what he'd been through finally been too much now that the shock had worn off?
"Um… they're - the Order is getting ready to - to go on a mission," she stuttered, cursing herself for acting like an uncertain little ninny in front of Harry, whom she'd certainly seen moody before. He turned toward her then, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
"What for?" he asked.
"They're going to St. Mungo's," she replied, her eyes flickering toward Ginny, and his gaze following hers.
"Right," he said, in a voice so low that the word was nearly a sigh. She watched him watch Ginny for a moment, and wondered if he regretted any of the choices he'd made. After a moment, he looked at her again, his searing eyes seeming to penetrate to the very core of her soul. She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Why aren't you down there?" he finally asked.
"No wand," she said shortly, and, as if those two words had released some kind of pressure valve, all of Hermione's uncertainty and frustration spewed forth. "It's gone and now I can't do anything. I can't help on the mission, I can't replace the medallions, I can't try to make more voice-activated portkeys. I just feel so stupid and so - "
"Useless?" Harry supplied, and the bitterness in his voice stunned her. Too late, she realized to whom she'd been talking, to whom she'd been disclosing her irritation and annoyance at not being able to perform magic. Damn. Her forehead creased anxiously over her large, brown eyes.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry." The evident sincerity in her apology made the tension in Harry's face abate a little.
"So am I," he remarked, still with a trace of rancor in his tone. The silence seemed to last eons, and Hermione groped for something to say. Seeing as how well what I just said went over, she sniped at herself.
"Everyone's so glad to have you back," she finally said.
"Why?" he blurted suddenly, the force of anger in his tone making her take a step back unconsciously. "I can't do anything. I can't help fight." He glowered at her a little, before adding, "Even though I have a wand." Her face must have melted a little in sorrow and regret, for he held up one hand as if to wave off his last comment. "I'm the Boy Who Lived - well, great! And for what? To what end?" What purpose does my life have now? I haven't defeated Voldemort. We're both still alive! He looked distantly out of the window again. "He'll find me and kill me eventually. I can't fight him."
"Harry, we haven't even begun to research methods to restore your magic. There could very well be a - " Hermione tried to say.
"And while I'm waiting, hiding? Who is he killing? How many Muggle towns are being torched and gutted? Oh, but at least, I'm alive!" There was blistering agony in his voice, and it tore at Hermione.
"But - but m - morale - " she stammered, hating herself for feeling so weak and small and helpless in the face of Harry's emotion.
"How long will Harry-as-a-symbol be worth anything at all? Until everyone finds out I'm a Squib!" He answered his own question. "I've seen how fast the Wizarding World can turn on a person, Hermione. They'll wish they'd served me up to Voldemort while they had the chance. Maybe he would have gone easier on them."
"You know…you know he wouldn't. Mercy and compassion are not even in his vocabulary, Harry," she said sadly, struggling to regain her lost composure. He flashed her a dark look that clearly said, Yeah, found that out firsthand. Then he said,
"Arrogance and ruthlessness are. And you know what that means. He's not going to stop until he finds me again. I'm just - just a liability now… putting everyone around me in danger."
"You always did that anyway," Hermione quipped, and then flinched as Harry jerked his gaze up to hers. Well, that was appropriate. When are you going to learn that it takes a special kind of nerve to get away with stuff like that? Ron has it. You don't, she chastised herself. "If - if you every want to talk about - about anything…" she said, hastening to smooth over her ill-thought comment.
"I don't want to talk about it," he interrupted her smoothly, his face a mask. "I don't want to think about it. But I see that room every time I close my eyes…" The façade had dropped, and the haunted look on his face pierced Hermione painfully. She moved toward him abruptly, her hand outstretched toward his, but checked her movement, somehow feeling that he wouldn't welcome her touch right now.
"I - I'll ask Professor McGonagall if it's all right that I give you a Sleeping Draught," she said softly, biting her lips together and looking at her feet. How in the world could Bitter Harry scare her so badly? In fifth year, she wouldn't have hesitated to give him a piece of her mind. This is different, she told herself sagely. What happened is different. He is different… And how you feel about him is different.
It was a testament to Harry's desperation that he did not argue with her suggestion of a Sleeping Draught, but nodded and sighed, turning his face back toward the window, as she slipped from the room. Despair and hopelessness hung over that room with an almost tangible pall, she thought, as she closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, momentarily crumpling, with her face in one hand. She wasn't sure if she should flee from it or welcome it.
~~**~~
Hermione flitted about the house aimlessly, after the Order departed. She tried to sit in the War Room, books piled
about her, researching ways to defy possible portkey tracers. The problem was, she mused thoughtfully, that they
didn't even know how Voldemort had traced it. It was hard to stop something when you didn't have the faintest
idea how it had occurred in the first place.
In any case, Hermione found her concentration severely impaired. The Order was out of contact. She didn't know how long they would be gone. And Harry was under the effects of a sleeping potion, and even if he hadn't been - well, he had made it clear that he didn't want to talk to anyone, not even her - or perhaps, especially not her. She wasn't sure which.
Her mind kept drifting, her paranoid imagination suddenly concocting fevered stories of the entire Order meeting their demise. I'll be alone again, she thought, remembering how it had felt to hide in the Forbidden Forest, the only one left alive, watching Death Eaters patrol the front gates of Hogwarts. I've never been so glad to see Remus in my life. She thought about her and Harry, effectively trapped, defenseless, stranded all alone in this old house out in the middle of nowhere. She shivered, the early afternoon sun streaming in the window even seeming ominous. Reflexively, she reached for Harry's wand that Tonks had found and retrieved for her before they'd left. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, she thought, twirling it between her fingers and looking at it critically.
She thought of Harry again, and stood suddenly, as if intent on peeking in and making sure he was all right, but she sat down again, just as abruptly. She was twitchy, drumming one set of fingers on the arm of the chair, and twirling the wand between the others.
She jumped violently, all but flinging the wand across the room, when the front door opened. Remus and Tonks had returned. Hermione tried to hide her burning face, by busying herself with retrieving the wand from under the table, as they came into the room. Straightening up and tucking Harry's wand in her pocket, she eyed them carefully.
They were both beaming.
"I'm dumping Remus to marry that goblin!" Tonks announced, one of the first unadulterated smiles that Hermione had seen in days spreading beautifully across her face. This news did not appear to bother Remus much.
"I gather you were successful," Hermione assumed, unable to not smile at the looks on their faces. "Death Eaters had no idea you were there, then?"
"Oh, they knew," Lupin replied, growing momentarily serious. "After we had visited the vaults, the goblin assisting us - his name was Klavrut - was about to lead us back into the lobby, when he was intercepted. He then said it was too dangerous to exit that way, and sent us off for a ride in the carts - "
" - not my favorite part! - " Tonks interjected.
" - while he changed some of the money into Muggle currency for us. Then he took us down to some of the lower tunnels, and let us out a secret back entrance. I don't think any human has ever been out that way before," Lupin's face was full of wonder at the actions of the goblins.
"I should hope not!" Tonks put in. "We had to walk bent in half for almost half a kilometer!"
"Anyone else back yet?" Lupin asked, and Hermione shook her head.
"You're the first," she replied simply. They hefted their bag between them, as they started down into the cellar off the kitchen, to put the vaults down there next to Harry's, Hermione assumed. She could hear their voices still talking animatedly about their good fortune, echoing from the dark, steep stairs.
"Oy! Some help here!" came a Weasley bellow, and Hermione's heart catapulted into her throat. She ran into the vestibule, as Fred and Professor McGonagall came into the house, levitating a barely conscious Neville between them. Loud thumping on the cellar stairs informed Hermione that Lupin and Tonks had heard the cry as well.
"What happened?" she asked, her eyes wide, as they began to levitate her former classmate up to the infirmary.
"All hell broke loose," Fred told her grimly. "We'd gotten some useful files - information on potential contacts - and made it into the apothecary undetected - thanks to Harry's cloak - and had absconded with quite a number of useful potions and ingredients, when some aide stumbled in on us, and freaked out. We stunned her, but the noise she made - oy!" He shook his head, as they deposited Neville in an empty bed, and Professor McGonagall began to anxiously scan him with her wand. "Death Eaters came from every bloody direction. We got split up, lost Neville, spent the better part of two hours skulking around the hospital looking for him, dodging patrols." Hermione tried to imagine Professor McGonagall `skulking' anywhere, and couldn't quite achieve it. "We finally found him, Stunned, outside the ward where his parents are - er…were…" Fred trailed off, sadly.
"Oh, no!" Hermione cried softly, one hand moving to her mouth. She tried not to notice Harry's pale,
pinched face in the next bed over, listening intently to every word. "The Death Eaters - they - they -
?"
"You think they were going to let a bunch of crazies who aren't useful or functional - and who weren't even loyal when they were functional - live? They AK'd that entire ward first thing - or that's what one of the mediwitches said." Hermione's brow was knit in disbelief.
"Pro - Professor Lockhart?" she asked stupidly. Fred nodded grimly.
"All of `em." Hermione shook her head, vaguely aware of Harry's turning toward Ginny, trying to ignore the people bustling around Neville's bed. She knew that he was blaming himself again. If he'd never been born, maybe, Hermione figured he was thinking. Silly git. She wanted nothing more than to move over to his side, enfold him in her arms, lay her head on his shoulder, and assure him that everything was going to be okay - whether that was actually true or not.
"Is he going to be okay?" she asked Professor McGonagall. The older witch looked tired, her face seemed much more lined that Hermione ever remembered it being, but she nodded.
"He was hit with a Stunner, but that coupled with dueling Death Eaters, and the shock of his parents… I'm going to give him a Sleeping Draught. Harry, do you need - ?" She turned to him, but he bit out a negative response before she could even finish her sentence.
"The mediwitch Fred spoke with," McGonagall said. "I'll want your permission, but I'd like to ask her to come here, perhaps assist us?" She seemed to be speaking to nobody in particular, and Hermione lifted uncertain eyes to Remus and Tonks, who were loitering in the doorway. Tonks shrugged, and asked,
"Did you get her file?" The question was never answered.
There was suddenly tremendous commotion from downstairs. Feet clattered along the floor, and Hermione heard Tonks' muffled cry, as the Auror peered down the stairs. Someone was crying, and Ron was yelling something she couldn't understand, and… she froze, as the clamor moved up toward them.
Arthur Weasley was covered in blood, levitated by Ron, who was clearly struggling, and nearly completely obscuring Luna from sight. Ron was completely coated in the stuff, it was splattered across his clothes and matted in his hair. Hermione's eyes ran over him frantically, searching for a wound. Remus gently took over Luna's position, and helped Ron transport him the remainder of the way across the room.
"Dear heaven, what happened?" McGonagall said in shock, as she quickly moved out of the way for Mr. Weasley to be placed in a bed.
"We - we - " Ron was in some kind of shock as well, and appeared nearly incapable of speaking. Luna stepped in.
"There was almost nothing at the Quibbler. The Death Eaters had already gutted it completely." She said this in a very detached way, as if it had had nothing at all to do with her father. "So - so Mr. Weasley - he wanted to stop in at Ollivander's on the way back, and see if - see if - " Her jaw was trembling, and to Hermione's horror, every eye in the room drifted to her.
"Someone saw us - reported us - " Ron said, speaking as if a force other than himself was prodding him to speak. His eyes were wide and distant. "We were ambushed by an entire squad of Death Eaters. The leader - he - he pointed his wand at Dad. He never said a word!" Hermione stiffened, and sensed, rather than saw, Harry come to full attention in his bed. The Trio exchanged dark, knowing glances. Sectumsempra…Hermione thought, Snape. She remembered how shocked she had been when Harry had disclosed to her the truth regarding the former owner of his Potions book.
"If - if Luna hadn't - she conjured up some kind of sticky shield - looked like a web… we - we got out the back door. He - he - " Ron put both hands over his face for a moment, as if he could scrub away the memory of what had just happened. Professor McGonagall had been working feverishly over Mr. Weasley, obviously listening, as both Weasley boys moved to hover anxiously over their father. Hermione's eyes shot to Harry's face, which was pale and strained, and watching the blood-stained bed, as if he could save Mr. Weasley's life by the mere power of his gaze.
Hermione didn't even want to know what she looked like, though she could well guess: wild-eyed and horror-struck and guilty, guilty, guilty. Harry looked at her suddenly, and she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy there. Welcome to my life, it seemed to say.
"Come on, Arthur, come on!" McGonagall was muttering under her breath, probably without even realizing it. Her thin, old hands were almost a blur, as she barked orders to Remus, who unhesitatingly and without question, retrieved desired components from the potions cupboard.
Luna stepped over to Hermione's side, and handed her a bag, whispering in her ear,
"He got these for you. They're all the same wood as your old wand. He figured - he figured you could find which one worked best for you." Luna's face was worried and sad, but the wide blue eyes were kind and non-judgmental. Hermione looked into the bag, and saw the gleaming dark wood of probably a dozen wands. She felt a tremor run convulsively over her body, and she began shaking her head, backing toward the door, as she dropped the bag of wands. It clattered loudly, even in the bustling room.
"No….no…." she said, holding up her hands, as if to ward somebody off. "I did - oh my God, it's my - it's all my - " She couldn't even get words out; her jaw was clattering open and closed, as if it had a life of it's own. Her knees were wobbly, and she felt nausea and light-headedness swell up to claim her.
"Arthur!" The word was a sharp cry from Professor McGonagall.
"Hermione!" This was a low, concerned exclamation from Tonks. Hermione was shaking her head again, reflexively, unthinkingly. She was through the doorway, out into the hall. She could see Harry trying to get out of his bed, and Remus reprimanding him. Harry threw the covers back mutinously.
My fault, my fault, my fault. She thought of the hesitant words of comfort that Mr. Weasley had offered her earlier that day. She could still feel his arms around her, smell the comforting, familiar smell of his jacket. Her ears were ringing, and she could taste bile in her mouth. She knew she was going to throw up.
She fled.
TBC
I wanted to have more of Hermione falling apart in here, but any ensuing conversations would have made this chapter way long. I had a little trouble with it, because it is kind of transition-y, but I hope y'all liked it anyway.
You may leave a review on the way out, if you like.
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