Resistance
Chapter Eight: Awakening
Penelope Clearwater was the mediwitch that Professor McGonagall had been talking about. Fred had seen her during their mission to St. Mungo's, but had not recognized Penelope beneath the traditional twisty cap. She stood in the middle of the War Room, faced with the somewhat blank gazes of the younger Order members, twisting her hands around each other nervously. Hermione felt a little sorry for her; she was standing in front of them, an unintentional reminder of a prodigal son, who had never gotten the chance to return to the family fold. Ron and Fred were watching her with cool expressions, as if observing her under a microscope.
"Minerva," Tonks spoke neutrally, carefully selecting her words. Her glance drifted to Remus, knowing he had to have given McGonagall some kind of signed documentation for Penelope to have even been able to enter the house. Lupin shifted uneasily in his chair. "You know we have to be very careful to whom this house is revealed." Even now, as they were working on networking with two other safehouses, exact locations still remained unknown. Professor McGonagall met Tonks' gaze head on, and Penelope looked from one to the other, stricken and anxious.
"I've always had confidence in Minerva's judgment," Remus said, even so looking somewhat uncertainly at Penelope. "I did not know who the mediwitch was, only that Minerva felt she could be trusted."
"Miss Clearwater was Head Girl, Nymphadora," McGonagall pointed out calmly. "I had no reason to distrust her then, and I see no reason to distrust her now."
"She's been working at St. Mungo's," Tonks countered. "A place now controlled by Death Eaters. Why is she still there? If the Death Eaters became aware of her former affiliation with Percy Weasley, maybe they've been hoping she would lead them to some of us." Hermione felt Harry start a little in the chair next to hers, and deduced that he had actually not thought of that.
"Please," Penelope broke in, before McGonagall could answer Tonks. "I - I - the Death Eaters needed mediwitches and healers. When - when they came - I - I didn't know what to do. Many of them were injured, so - so I just - I stayed at work, kept coming to work, like I always did. Every day, more of the staff went missing. Whether they were - were removed, or left on their own, I have no idea, but - but I didn't know what else to do. Everything had changed so fast."
"You've been helping save Death Eaters' lives!" Fred said, glaring at her, and Hermione could tell he was thinking of George. Penelope's face crumpled, and Hermione's own expression must have softened, for she felt Ron nudge her from where he sat on her other side, looking at her with an oh no, you don't warning shake of his head.
"I know!" Penelope cried, holding up two placating hands. "I realized that, and I - I knew I couldn't do it anymore - especially after they - they took out the Long-Term Care ward. Those people never hurt anybody, would never hurt anybody, and - " Hermione's eyes flickered around the room, reflexively, looking for Neville, but she realized that he was not in the room. He must be up in the infirmary with Ginny, she thought. He had been spending a lot of his time there, and often helped with the more basic tasks of Ginny's care, like changing the bed linens or dosing her with the nutrient potion that kept her alive. "I've never been so glad to see a friendly face in my life," Penelope finished, smiling gratefully at Professor McGonagall.
"What about Percy?" Lupin asked evenly, chewing the end of a quill. Hermione could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a few notches, with Ron and Fred becoming instantly watchful. Mr. Weasley grew alert as well, from his position cosseted in a cushy chair, the vivid pink slashes having faded to nearly invisible. He had lost some of the range of motion in his shoulders from the scarring, but had made as good a recovery as could have been expected. He watched Penelope avidly, as if she might give away information on his son by some gesture or flicker of her eyes. Penelope shook her head, and glanced quickly at Mr. Weasley, her expression apologetic. Hermione saw the older man slump every so slightly.
"I'm - I'm sorry," she said, and her hands were clasped beseechingly. "I - Percy and I - I haven't talked to him in months, not since we broke up. He was always so busy, and- " Fred snorted, and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. "He hasn't had any contact with me. I don't think the Death Eaters know that we - knew that we were-" Her eyes filled with tears, as she stumbled to a clumsy halt.
Hermione let out a small sigh. She may not have agreed with Percy's actions against his family, but she understood his motivations. She thought that she had more in common with Percy than any of the other Weasleys. But she knew - or had had Harry and Ron to show her - when to discard the rules. Percy had had no such luxury - or had been more resistant to change - and had clung to the rules, the status quo, public opinion, even as they all sank beneath him. She sighed again. She understood Percy, could have been Percy, if not for…
She felt his fingers twiddling next to hers, the side of his hand brushing the side of hers in that nonchalant, oops-didn't-mean-to-touch-you kind of way. She tucked her lip between her teeth, and could not look at him, as his ever so slight touch sent chills up her arm and heat into her face. She nudged him gently in side, ever mindful of his just-healed ribs. Stop it. We're supposed to be paying attention! His fingers withdrew, and she instantly missed them, marveling that it had only been three days since Neville interrupted their just-barely kiss in the bedroom. There had been much time spent hunched around the wireless, or moving pins around on the maps that lined the walls. Some of the Order had gone out on fact-finding or supply-gathering missions. Hermione herself had accompanied Ron and Fred into four of the closest Muggle villages, disguised of course, to determine if there had been any unusual activity there lately. There had simply been no opportunity in the last three days to discuss what had almost happened - or to repeat it.
A couple of times, Hermione had wondered if it had even happened. More than once, she wondered if the sudden revelations of feelings had spooked both of them like nervous horses. Most of the time, though, she felt the tension and anticipation pooling in her stomach like molten metal, longing for - craving - their next moment.
Harry's knee hit hers casually, and she felt him shift a little in the chair next to her, angling himself so he could watch her without being noticed. She saw Luna's vague blue gaze drift over them lazily, neither stopping nor looking interested in any way, and wondered if Luna could sense the simmering something between herself and Harry. Those dreamy blue eyes concealed much more than they revealed, Hermione was sure. Harry was leaning back in his chair, with his arm across the back of her chair. He was not touching her, but Hermione could feel the warmth of his nearness as if he were radiating heat.
She blinked her eyes deliberately, as if trying to focus, and leaned forward, elbows on knees. Professor McGonagall was speaking.
"I believe that we are placing undue focus on the wrong Weasley," she said firmly, with an apologetic glance at the family's patriarch. "It is not for anything relating to Percy Weasley, but rather Ginny Weasley, that I decided to bring Miss Clearwater here." Hermione felt the boys on either side of her tense, and Harry's casual touching games were forgotten by both of them.
"You said her status hadn't changed," Ron said, in a tone that nearly sounded accusing.
"It had not, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said sympathetically, "until this morning. I obtained Remus's letter, and departed for St. Mungo's as soon as I noted the new behaviors."
"I - I - she seemed to be resting as always," Mr. Weasley stammered, looking at McGonagall with eyes that begged to be told that his daughter was all right.
"She's started to move," McGonagall said shortly, watching Arthur with stricken eyes. Most of the room did a double take, jerking their collective gazes up to stare at McGonagall in surprise.
"She's - she's waking up?" Fred asked, with a hopeful tone in his voice. The former professor pressed her lips together and shook her head.
"I didn't say that, Mr. Weasley. I said that she's starting to move. Mr. Longbottom noted it first this morning, and I saw it as well. One hand was twitching, she was trying to cry out, and her eyes were moving, while closed, almost as if she were dreaming. Given the unknown nature of the curse that hit her, I thought that there was no time to lose. Also, while I can perform field medicine adequately, as a stop-gap method, I have not been trained sufficiently to be able to help to the fullest capacity. Miss Clearwater has, and was at the top of her training class, I believe. I've described Miss Weasley's case to her, and she was able to collect some things and bring them with her from St. Mungo's."
Penelope's eyes danced over the worried, tense, suspicious, haggard faces in the War Room.
"Could I see her now, Professor?" she asked, with a quiet dignity that Hermione instinctively liked. She watched Professor McGonagall touch Penelope lightly on the shoulder, and show her the staircase leading up.
"Right this way, Miss Clearwater," she said, and nodded to the rest of the Order. "If you'll excuse me…" Ron and Fred stood up hastily, scraping their wooden chairs loudly across the floor, their belligerent stances making it clear that they weren't letting the former Ravenclaw anywhere near their sister without their watchful attendance. Hermione thought that McGonagall was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Mr. Weasley sat in his chair, looking fatigued, and seemed to be content to let his sons monitor the situation. Hermione's eyes misted, as she watched him, and unconsciously, her hand went to her wand, feeling the delicately etched patina of wood beneath her fingers. She shifted in her chair, and appeared to be preparing to stand, as Remus and Tonks followed the others up the stairs.
"Hermione?" came a voice in her ear, so suddenly that Hermione jumped, turning to find Harry's face very close to hers. She recoiled from him instinctively, her face burning, and replied shakily,
"What?" Her voice came out with more asperity than she meant for it to. He looked hesitant, and she felt terrible.
"I thought - I wanted - wondered … if we could talk? Outside maybe?" There was a lovely little patio out behind the house, from which one had the vista of rocky shores dropping steeply into the ocean. Nearby was a newly tilled plot of ground, where they intended to plant a garden - magically enhanced and protected, of course - in case it became too difficult or dangerous to obtain supplies elsewhere.
"Sure, Harry," she replied quietly, barely able to hear her own voice above the surge of blood pounding in her ears. As she stood, she caught sight of Mr. Weasley again, and froze, looking torn. "Mr. Weasley, do you need us to - ?" she began, but Luna interrupted her. Hermione looked over with mild irritation, having forgotten that the blond was even in the room.
"I'll stay with him, in case he needs anything," she said in her blandest, dreamiest voice. Hermione flashed her a grateful look, as they exited, intensely aware of Harry's hand lightly resting on the small of her back.
~~**~~
The breeze was whipping in from the ocean vigorously, tossing Hermione's curls around haphazardly, and ruffling Harry's interminably messy hair. The sun was warm, and only a few clouds scudded across the sky. A beautiful day, Hermione mused, realizing with some astonishment that June had faded into July without her noticing. Not faded, she corrected, but exploded or collapsed, or whatever calamitous word would be more appropriate.
She darted an uncertain glance at Harry, who misinterpreted the anxiety in her eyes.
"If you'd rather not…" he said, hesitantly, somehow looking as fragile and breakable as spun glass. She melted instantly.
"Harry, I would like nothing more than to figure out just what the hell is going on with us," she said matter of factly. Harry looked over his shoulder again, the windows set into the house, which rather reminded one of interested, prying eyes.
"Could you - ?" he said, his face tinting red at even having to ask. Having to request people to do magic for him had not been easy, and he continued to struggle with the amount of humility it required from him. Maybe Snape was right and I really am as arrogant as he thought my father was, was something he'd said to her once, when she found him painstakingly levering a large rock out of the area they'd set aside for a garden, rather than asking someone to levitate it out of the way. He seemed stubbornly determined to at least attempt to pull his own weight, and had also taken up a majority of the cooking, something he'd become rather good at, due to his sojourn at the Dursleys'.
"Caecusco," Hermione said, without Harry having to say anything further. He looked at her with some measure of surprise, and she shrugged a little diffidently. "It's a new one."
"Figures," he said, casting an admiring look at her. She blushed a little.
"Anyone looking at us will just see an empty patio. I can't figure out how to get it to move, say if someone's running, so it's not much use tactically, but…" She trailed off into the deepening silence, broken only by the rush of waves and wind, and the mournful cries of shorebirds. Now that he was alone with her, facing her, he appeared to be at a loss regarding what to say.
"I'm - I've - " he started and then looked at her. She sat down, legs folded over each other, basking in the warmth of the gray stone of the patio, arms folded over her knees, and her eyebrows raised in expectation. "I've been trying to convince myself for three weeks that I'm not in love with you," he blurted very suddenly and comically, looking almost surprised at himself for saying it.
"Three - three weeks?" she stammered, looking nonplussed.
"Since graduation…" he said, and then paused, adding thoughtfully, "Actually, I think it's been more like a year, but I didn't realize what it was until three weeks ago."
"Even while Ron and - ?" she asked, and Harry looked ashamed of himself.
"I wasn't ever going to say anything," he said, hastening to reassure her, and she smiled at him. "I wouldn't have - I'm - I'm still not sure I should be saying anything…" Hermione expected that her face mirrored his. Her heart acted as if it intended to beat a path to freedom out of her chest.
"So how did you do? At convincing yourself, I mean." The look he gave her then was nearly enough to send Hermione into laughter, but she wisely realized that laughing might be the worst possible thing she could do at that moment. Something glittered in his eyes, and Hermione thought that perhaps her own inclinations weren't as secret as she'd thought.
"I'm afraid I failed miserably," he said, after a beat, sitting down beside her on the patio, facing the opposite direction. Hermione's hands were trembling, and she clasped them together tightly, trying to conceal it. "I know that the timing is horrid, I know that I have nothing - less than nothing, even - to offer you, I know that we're both in mortal peril, I know that our best friend is going to absolutely hate this, and - and I know that there are a million reasons why we should not even consider this." Hermione tilted large, luminous eyes toward him, and felt electricity shoot from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.
"But?" she prodded, hoping that her voice at least sounded steady. She wanted to stand back up, to be able to pace the length and breadth of the patio, as she was wont to do, but something in his magnetic gaze held her still.
"But I don't care." Hermione felt her world tilt dizzily, and she knew she wouldn't have been capable of standing at all. Those four words shot straight to her core, and she wasn't sure if she was going to melt or explode. He leaned closer to her, and gently took both of her hands in both of his. Hermione felt dizzy with euphoria. Who would have even imagined that the touch of his fingers on hers could send such thrills of desire racing up her arm and spreading throughout her body? Who would have thought that something so new and nebulous and unformed could even hope to survive and thrive in such a stunted environment as that in which they now found themselves? His eyes were still fastened on her face. "I know this is stupid, this is completely stupid. It's irresponsible for me to even be telling you this, Hermione," he murmured, and she looked up to see the flicker of uncertainty in the depths of his gaze.
"I've loved you for a long time, Harry, in spite of myself, even when I thought it was hopeless," she admitted simply, cutting him off, and he needed no other answer. "I think everyone was right, you know - about Bill and Fleur, and Professor Lupin and Tonks. There's little enough happiness in the world right now; maybe we could all do with a little more. We aren't guaranteed tomorrow. Bill wasn't. Don't you think Fleur is glad that she had the time she had with Bill? Whatever happens, I'll be grateful for what we got to share." Her eyes misted a little; she cast them down, and then looked up at him through the fringe of her lashes. She felt, rather than heard, him catch his breath. Then his fingers were beneath her chin, lifting her face to his, and then his lips were on hers.
And she was utterly lost. Practical Hermione was squelched with a vehemence that surprised her. She couldn't tell where she left off and Harry began. She felt like she'd be willing to cast away an entire future full of consequences for the ultimate beauty and perfection that was this moment. The entire wizarding world could just go to hell…
Finally, breathless, they both broke apart, gasping for air, and resting their foreheads together. Harry's hands were at her jawline, cupping her face, fingers threading into her hair.
"Harry, I - " she started to say, but was interrupted by sudden shouting and clamor from the house. They sprang away from each other, as Remus came to the back door, and looked briefly and rather frantically around for them. When he did not see them, he withdrew back into the house, but they were already exchanging alarmed glances and bolting for the door.
As they wrenched it open and plunged back inside, Fred, Ron, and Minerva McGonagall were rapidly descending the stairs, while Remus and Tonks already stood anxiously in the War Room. Luna was no longer sitting, but was standing just outside the room at the foot of the stairs, and it had been she, Hermione assumed, who had called everyone.
"Turn the Wireless up," Remus ordered, seeing Harry and Hermione hovering anxiously in the War Room doorway. Tonks was the closest, and immediately went to do so, while everyone piled into the room behind them.
"What's going on?" she heard Harry's concerned voice.
"The Wireless is working again," Luna said, her eyes, for once, appearing clear and sharp.
The Wireless tended to be nothing but dead air, which didn't really surprise anyone. The service had been sporadic at best, reports from people on the run or in hiding, like they were, who could broadcast for only a short time before being traced and pursued. But recently, Voldemort had been using the airwaves himself, spewing forth foul propaganda, vilifying everyone from Muggles, to the magical offspring of Muggles, from the Fighters for the Light in general, to Harry Potter in particular.
They had been surprised when Voldemort had first mentioned Harry's elusion of his clutches on the public airwaves. Remus had commented that he'd expected the Dark Lord to deny it, thinking that the admission that Harry had escaped would denote a weakness on his part.
Instead, the new ruler of the entire British wizarding world had gloried in it, depicting himself as an innocent victim of Harry's machinations, citing Harry's ruthless, single-minded escape attempt, in which he killed four people. Hermione recalled wondering if Voldemort was referring to the four Muggles that he himself had killed, parading them before Harry one by one, disguised as his best friend. He referenced Harry's support for - or rather, lack of prejudice against - Muggles, wondering why he would defend those who had burned wizards and witches at the stake not that long ago.
"He's trying to divide us, keep us squabbling amongst ourselves, rather than partaking of a new order, an order in which leadership falls to those who to whom it rightfully belongs, those elite who are capable of so much more than mere Muggles could ever dream! He must be stopped, and those who are so misguided to harbor and protect him will be ground into dust under our feet, as we work to achieve our ultimate goal!"
At first, Hermione could not believe that anyone would fall for such blatant bias, but Harry's prior words sprang to her mind. I've seen how fast the wizarding world can turn on a person. They'll wish they'd turned me over to Voldemort when they had a chance. Her fear for Harry had spiraled to new heights. Could some regular, everyday wizard be the one incited to hunt Harry down and turn him in, falsely believing it to be in the wizarding world's best interests? We can't fight everyone in Britain, Hermione remembered thinking glumly.
As Tonks twisted the knob, the low murmur in the rear of the room that must have initially caught Luna's attention became a clear, distinct voice. It was not the high, half-mad voice of Lord Voldemort, but the precise, cultured tones of a practiced speaker.
"First High Lord Voldemort, Minister of Magic, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, and Supreme Master of the Wizarding World has an important announcement."
"Arrogant git," Fred muttered, under his breath. Then came the snaky, shrill tones they all recognized.
"I wish to announce an upcoming event, which will be held to celebrate our illustrious and decisive victory over those who would water down the magical power of wizardkind with the befouled and impure blood of Muggles - "
"Yeah, like you?" Ron snorted angrily.
"Shhh!" said Hermione.
"Our victory is unprecedented and complete. Only a few remain who are foolish enough to resist us, and their fates have already been sealed by their own hands. Some of these idealistic and stubborn fools have been apprehended, and will be executed at the rally. Their deaths will state clearly and loudly that the new order is firmly in control and cannot be overturned!" His voice crescendoed through the end of that sentence. The Order members looked at each other anxiously. To whom was Voldemort referring? "The rally will take place in front of the Ministry building on - "
"July 31," Harry said dully, startling them by speaking in perfect unison with the Wireless. His eyes were blank and sad, and to Hermione, he now appeared very different from the smiling boy who had kissed her in the sunlight, with fingers of wind in their hair.
"Oh, Harry," she said, in a muted whisper, reaching for his hand without even thinking about it. His fingers were icy cold, and when her skin touched his, he stiffened suddenly, grinding out a groan between gritted teeth. His knees buckled, and he grabbed for a chair in an effort to stay upright. His other hand flew up to his scar.
"He's going to kill them!" he said suddenly, in a hoarse, wild voice that did not at all sound like his. "He's going to kill them all!"
"Who, Harry?" Hermione said, positioning herself in front of his face, trying to get him to look into her eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"Little Hangleton, Godric's Hollow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Little Whinging…" Harry began to recite a virtual atlas of names, starting with ones that were obviously significant to Voldemort, but continuing to random whimsical English village names. Hermione lost count after eighteen such places were listed.
"Muggle villages?" Ron asked, his eyes fixed on his friend's staring face. Hermione nodded bleakly.
"He wants to draw Harry out," Remus said suddenly, looking as weathered and old as the worn face of an ancient building. His appearance worried Hermione, since he still had over a week until the time of the full moon, but the look in his eyes told her that his weariness stemmed only from his concern for James' son. "His loss of Harry bothers him more than he lets anyone realize. It rankles him, eats at him, consumes him. It's all he can think about."
"How - how did he know all that - all that just now?" Ron asked curiously, still watching Harry, as if he had not heard Remus at all. Harry jumped a little, and seemed to have returned from whatever faraway place he had visited.
"Did you feel Voldemort in your mind?" Tonks asked, sounding concerned. Harry shook his head, tiredly. Hermione had dropped his hand, but was still standing quite near him, watching him with compassionate eyes.
"I didn't really feel him. I just - I just knew. Like there was a list of those places in my head."
"How is that even possible? If Harry doesn't have any more magic - ?" Ron began.
"Even Muggles have been known to have telepathic abilities from time to time," Fred pointed out.
"Can Voldemort determine the location of the safehouse from Harry's mind?" Tonks asked, and Remus was shaking his head before she even finished her question.
"I don't see how. As the Secret Keeper, only I could give it away."
"But if Harry has no magic, then he can't do Occlumency to block Voldemort out," Fred put in. Hermione felt the quiet tension radiating from Harry, an instant before it manifested itself.
"I am standing right here!" He shouted suddenly, causing everyone in the room to exchange shamefaced glances. There were several embarrassed apologies proffered, but Harry waved them away.
"What happens if I turn myself in?" he asked suddenly, and Hermione sucked in air audibly.
"Harry, what are you trying to say?" Remus asked, looking bewildered and worried.
"I'm not trying to say anything. I'm asking a perfectly clear question. If I turn myself in to Voldemort, what do you think he'd do next?"
"Harry, no!" It was a low, broken murmur from Hermione, who slipped her hand back into his. Color ran high in her cheeks like a defiant banner, as Ron's eyes flicked from Harry's face down to their joined hands and up to Hermione's face.
"He's going to kill you, Harry," Tonks finally said, after the silence in the room had stretched nearly to the breaking point. "He's been waiting to kill you for 18 years, since before you were born. You've managed to make him fail how many times now? It's gone beyond the wording of a prophecy. Now it's personal, Harry."
"What - what about the people he has? If I gave myself up, would he let them go? Would he spare the villages? If he's only doing it to draw me out, as you said?" Harry looked at Remus, who shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"Harry, this is Voldemort you're talking about." It was Hermione who spoke, not Remus. "He might say anything to get you, but he won't mean it. Promises, honor - it all means nothing to him. Your death is not going to turn him into a benevolent leader. It will merely open the floodgates of hell, once the last obstacle on his path to power is removed!" Her words rang passionately into the room, but Harry rounded on her, almost angrily.
"What obstacle? I'm no obstacle to anyone! He saw to that himself. Tonks is right. It's personal now. He doesn't need to kill me; he wants to kill me so he can say he did. Why not just give him what he wants?"
"But - but Harry - upstairs, that day, you said - " Hermione tried, speaking in a quiet voice, as if he were the only other person in the room with her. He knew to what she was referring. I can't even die. He met her gaze head-on, and said softly,
"Maybe I was wrong. If he's willing to kill so many - just to get to me - why do I deserve to live more than the thousands of Muggles that he plans to murder?"
"But, mate, the prophecy - " Ron said, as if he wanted to somehow intercede in this highly charged moment between Harry and Hermione that he didn't quite understand.
"The prophecy is rot, Ron!" Harry replied hotly. "Voldemort could live quite happily without me being any kind of hindrance to him! I'm no match for him now - if I ever was. Don't any of you get it? There's nothing I can do anymore!" He sighed and his shoulders slumped. Hermione's hand was still twined tightly with his. "But maybe I could save those Muggles."
"I'd like to have Miss Clearwater look at you, Mr. Potter," McGonagall spoke up suddenly, having been silent throughout this entire discussion, while evidently thinking furiously. Harry glanced at her almost sullenly, the unspoken whatever for? stamped clearly on his face. "Now this is just a theory, but if you are still getting information from Voldemort, then it suggests that your magical structure - the genetic differences that make you magical, rather than Muggle - is still intact. Voldemort's magic causes the information to be transferred. And - " Harry and Ron were still staring blankly at her, but there were calculating looks on the faces of the others, as they tried to pin down exactly what the professor was saying. It was Hermione who came up with it first.
"Harry can't transfer any information to Voldemort because he has no magic to facilitate the exchange!" she exclaimed. "It's like a one-way street. Professor, if his magical structure is still functional, do you think that means - ?" she asked.
"I think it could, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied.
"Will somebody please tell me what is going on - in complete sentences?" Harry ground out in total frustration. By way of answer, Hermione began to shuffle him toward the infirmary, chattering rapidly in his ear the entire time.
"If what makes you magical is still intact, then that means all that's missing is the actual magic flowing through you."
"Oh, is that all?" Harry said sarcastically, but Hermione ignored him.
"It's like a car with no petrol. Or - or a battery without a charge. All that's needed is the fuel, and the object in question will work perfectly again. Just like it worked perfectly when Voldemort's magic flowed from him to you through your scar. I don't think Voldemort intended for that to happen - or even knew that it could - but you still saw those village names, didn't you?"
Harry struggled to keep his face impassive, though he could not keep a glint of hope from lighting briefly within his eyes.
"Magic would be a lot harder to come by, wouldn't it?" he said flatly. Hermione's eyebrows scrunched down low and flat over her sharp eyes.
"Yes, I must admit, I don't know exactly how we'd get - I mean, there's not exactly a surplus of spare magic lying about, is there?"
When they arrived at the top of the stairs, they almost collided with Penelope Clearwater, who was wringing her hands nervously.
"Penelope, what on earth is the matter?" Hermione asked, concern lacing her voice.
"It's Ginny," she said. "She's waking up."
~~**~~
Most of the Order sat in the hallway outside the infirmary, waiting for news of Ginny. McGonagall had entered to assist Penelope, and Neville had been summarily ejected, although the remaining Weasleys were allowed in.
"She's already been through a lot, and there's so much more she's going to have to deal with, now that she's awake. This is probably not going to be pleasant, and she doesn't need all of you hovering over her," McGonagall had said, politely, but firmly, as she closed the door in all of their faces.
And so they were sitting. Remus and Tonks were sitting at the top of the stairs, almost exactly where Hermione had seen her after Mr. Weasley had been injured. Remus was leaning against the wall, looking peaked, and Tonks was leaning against him. They were silent. Neville and Luna sat in the hallway on opposite sides, their feet toward each other. Neville, in particular, looked edgy and worried. Luna leaned her head back against the wall, picking absently at a loose thread on her sleeve without looking, her eyes instead tracing a crack in the ceiling plaster.
Harry and Hermione sat farther down, on the far side of the infirmary door, side by side, their bent knees concealing the fact that they were holding hands again. They were whispering quietly together, but it wasn't the inconsequential small talk of lovers.
"You're a realist, Hermione - in - in most things," he added, thinking of S.P.E.W. "You've got to realize that there's no way to `replace' magic in someone that's had it drained from them."
"You don't know that, Harry. What Voldemort's done to you is rare, and even attempting to reverse it is rarer still. You can't say it won't work, because we haven't tried yet."
"And just where are you going to get the spare magic?" Harry raised his eyebrows sarcastically, and for a moment, Hermione couldn't stand him. She didn't like this caustic, bitter, coolly mocking Harry. She never had, any of the times he had manifested himself. "You said yourself there wasn't any lying about."
"Of course there's not going to be any tied up in a flour sack somewhere!" she hissed, feeling herself grow annoyed. "But there are plenty of people around with magic in them."
"You're going to mug a Death Eater for his magic?" Harry said, apparently keen on mocking this idea as well, but something about it gave him pause. "You know - actually, that's not a bad idea."
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione's forehead creased, and she looked more sorrowful than angry. "It doesn't work that way. We can't just take someone's magic."
"Voldemort did!" Harry interposed quickly.
"Well, I mean, you can. But that's - that's Dark magic. We don't know how to do it - we could - we could kill you in the process. And we - we just shouldn't do that. It - it's - " She stumbled to a stop, begging him with her eyes to understand.
"It's what keeps us from becoming Death Eaters," Harry finished for her, speaking in a dull, disappointed voice. They lapsed into silence, Hermione rubbing her thumb gently against his.
"It doesn't mean there's no hope, Harry," she ventured, after a moment. "There could still be a way - if - if a willing transfer were to occur, then - " Harry scoffed at the notion before she could finish.
"Willing? Who in their right mind would voluntarily give up their magic to - " He turned sharply to look at her, awareness dawning in his eyes. She tried vainly not to look guilty. "No, Hermione. Not gonna happen. You will not give up your magic for me. I - I won't allow it." There was a rebellious flash in Hermione's eyes, and she briefly considered taking him to task for his high-handed attitude, but this was neither the time nor place for it.
"Have you even considered - ?" she began, but he held up one hand, cutting her off.
"No! I won't consider it. It has never entered my head. And you'll be wasting your time, if you continue to pursue this, because I won't be any part of it."
"Harry, if you're - if there's really something special that - if you're really destined to defeat Voldemort, then - then this could be everyone's only hope. If you're really the Chosen One, like everyone said, then - "
"I'm not destined to defeat him," Harry corrected wearily. "Just destined to fight him," he paused to think for a moment, then added, "Maybe not even that anymore. Maybe the only part of the prophecy that still applies is the bit about being killed."
"Harry, stop it!" Hermione had gone back to angry again, and she saw the confusion on Harry's face. Inwardly, she cursed herself. Why had she picked now to acknowledge love? It wasn't causing her anything but complete emotional turmoil. "If I can talk to McGonagall, maybe we can - "
"You'd be wasting your breath!" Harry said, in an implacably stubborn voice. "Has it ever occurred to you, Hermione, that you're more important to me than anything, even my own life? That I may have been dubbed the Chosen One, but you're the one that I chose, that I love." His voice was so low that she could barely hear it. "If anything happens to you, I couldn't - I couldn't live with myself." The words were such an eerie echo of what Ron had said in the Shop that Hermione could barely stand to hear them.
"Maybe I couldn't stand to live without you, either," Hermione said sharply. "What makes you more important than I am?" A glimmer of a smile belied the acerbic note in the voice.
"Nothing. I'm just a selfish prat," Harry said, in like manner, and they mutually agreed, without actually speaking, to drop the subject for the time being. He leaned toward her, and she sighed as their heads touched. His hand felt clammy in hers, and she squeezed his fingers more tightly.
"I wonder how Ginny's doing?" Hermione said conversationally, after a moment, looking toward the infirmary door. Almost as if she'd invited it with her question, a loud clamor and several shouting voices rang from within the infirmary. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances, and Tonks had already jumped to her feet. They could hear Ron yelling something that sounded like,
"What did you do to her!?" followed by an indistinct reply from - Hermione assumed - Penelope Clearwater.
The infirmary door opened, and the light shone in a beam out into the dim corridor, with a McGonagall shaped silhouette in the midst of it. When the door had been opened, the shrill, hysterical screaming could be clearly heard.
It was Ginny, and her frantic pleas chilled Hermione's blood.
"I want my mother. Where is she? Where is she? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?"
"Mr. Potter, can you come with me please?" McGonagall looked more drawn and old than Hermione had ever seen her. Even backlit as she was against the illumination of the infirmary, Hermione could see the lines etched even more deeply around her eyes and mouth.
"Professor, what - what's the matter? What can I do?" By now everyone in the hall had come to his or her feet, and Hermione was startled at the amount of emotion in Harry's face.
"Don't touch me! Where am I? My eyes are open, but why am I not awake? Why am I not awake? Where's Harry? Harry! Harry, help me, please." The shriek went up so high, that Hermione flinched, and Luna buried her face in her hands. Tonks clutched at Remus's arm, and murmured something untelligible, probably Dear Merlin. "What have you done with my mother? Where's Harry?"
"Mr. Potter, please," McGonagall said urgently. "Miss Clearwater doesn't want to sedate her - and I agree - without knowing more about what she's recovering from. Please, you may be able to calm her."
"But -" her family. Hermione could tell that the words trembled, unspoken, on Harry's lips. Ginny's hoarse wails continued unabated in the background, and Hermione could now hear the hushed reassurances from her father and her brothers, falling unheeded in the small periods of silence. "All right, Professor," he finally said, letting the rest of his doubts go unvoiced. He cast an unreadable look at Hermione, over his shoulder, and she trailed behind him to the doorway. As he crossed the threshold, he called out gently,
"Ginny, it's all right. I'm right here. And - and Fred and Ron and your dad are here as well." Ginny was sitting up in bed, her eyes were wide and blank, staring at nothing, though she looked toward the door at Harry's voice. She put her hands over her ears, and shook her head wildly, tears streaming down her face.
"No, no, they're dead. They're all dead. I keep seeing it - I keep seeing it, over and over again." Hermione saw Harry cast a helpless look at Penelope Clearwater, who was scanning Ginny with her wand, a look of fear and worry on her pretty face. Penelope nodded at him, and her attitude seemed to be say something, say anything!
"They're not dead, Ginny. They're here. And I'm here. It's okay." A tremble rushed through Ginny's slight frame, and she stuck her arm out at her side, her fingers groping for his touch. Hermione watched in the doorway, transfixed, and knew the exact moment that Harry realized that Ginny was blind. A sort of spasm trembled across his shoulders. Ginny's face relaxed the moment Harry's fingers touched hers, and Hermione realized suddenly and inexplicably that she was jealous.
"Harry, Harry, can you make it stop? Can't you make it stop?" Ginny's voice was pleading. The Weasleys sat motionless, stunned into utter silence at the raving, hysterical mess that was their youngest member. Tears trickled down Mr. Weasley's otherwise unmoving face, and he reached out for Ginny's other hand, only to have her recoil away from his touch, shuddering towards Harry.
"Tell me what's wrong, and I'll stop it, Ginny," Harry said seriously, and Hermione's heard cracked a little. His voice was so gentle. He was holding her hand, patting it softly with his other one. Ginny looked up in his general direction, but did not flinch at the harsh light pouring its essence down on her bed.
"Where's Mum? I need my mum. Where is she?" The plaintiveness in Ginny's voice was heartrending. Hermione saw Harry's spine go rigid. Penelope surreptitiously wiped a tear from her cheek, and McGonagall seemed to have forgotten that she had an avid audience peering in the open door.
"Ginny…" Harry's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat roughly. "Ginny, love, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. She's - she's - " But Ginny was wailing again, before Harry could finish his sentence. Her hands went back over her ears, and Hermione could not help wondering what she was hearing that no one else could hear.
"Make him stop, Harry. Make him stop! He says he killed her. He says she's dead. Make him stop saying that!"
"Ginny," Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed, still holding her hand. "Make who stop?" Ginny pierced him suddenly with such a sharp, seeing look that Hermione felt chills run up her back.
"You Know Who, Harry," Ginny said in a sing-song tone, beginning to rock back and forth in the bed. Harry and Ron shot alarmed looks toward the door, and Hermione heard both Lupin and Tonks draw their wands.
"Voldemort?" Harry blurted, and several people in the room jumped, even though most, by now, had become accustomed to hearing his name, if not saying it. "Voldemort's in your head?"
"Don't say his name. Don't say his name," Ginny rocked more violently. "He's in the Chamber. He's in the Chamber. Just like before. But you can make him stop, Harry. Please. Please, make him stop."
"The Chamber of Secrets? Ginny, you're not in the Chamber. You're not at Hogwarts. You're safe. You're safe now." Harry was speaking in clipped, concise sentences, enunciating his words as one might with a small child, or someone linguistically challenged.
"Just like before, just like before," Ginny crooned, rocking back and forth, gripping Harry's hand tightly. A sob bubbled out of Mr. Weasley, and startled everyone. Hermione saw Ron nudge Fred sharply, and the remaining twin helped Mr. Weasley off of the empty adjacent bed, and escorted him from the room, with a murmured,
"C'mon, Dad."
"There's blood on my robes," Ginny said softly, like a child wondering at a budding flower or the first snow of winter. "He says he killed them. He says he killed them." Ron stood abruptly, almost as if he were propelled from his chair, but he didn't leave, standing instead at the foot of Ginny's bed, his lanky body all points and angles, with his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets.
"You're the mediwitch," he all but spat at Penelope. "What the hell's wrong with her?" Penelope took a small step backward, recoiling away from the grieving and angry brother.
"Mr. Weasley," warned McGonagall, but her voice was but a shadow of its usual austere self.
"I've - I've only heard about spells like this. I've never seen one in action. They're new. Very Dark. They - " she shook her head. "They're Nightmare Curses. They'll probably join the Unforgivable list. The blindness is almost psychosomatic, possibly reversible, and definitely the least of our problems right now. It comes from being repeatedly and unendingly exposed to one's nightmares. But I - I don't - I don't understand - "
"She's been seeing nightmares for over a week?" Ron said in a horrified whisper.
"What don't you understand, Penelope?" Tonks prodded gently from the doorway.
"They have to be keyed to one person specifically. You have to know the person you're going to attack." The former Ravenclaw shook her head. "If - if the spell was meant for Ginny, that could be the reason that her mother was killed. The curse would have been incompatible with her." Her eyes drifted over to the girl, rocking in her bed, wet-cheeked, clutching Harry as if he were a lifeline. "But I don't understand why anyone would specifically target Ginny. That curse takes just as much malice as any Crucio."
Hermione knew. And she felt like her heart would explode into splinters, and those painfully sharp shards would dig their way through her flesh in an effort to escape her miserable sadness.
"It was because of me," Harry said suddenly, his voice dropping into the stillness. He looked up at Hermione, and his feelings shone on his face plainly enough for anyone to see, if anyone had really been paying attention. She flushed under his scrutiny, realizing that he knew she knew. "Because we - we used to be involved."
"But, Harry, that was ages ago," Ron spoke up, mystified.
"Maybe Voldemort doesn't know that," Harry said heavily, prompting Ginny to warn him again not to say that name. He paused to hush her gently, running one hand down the length of her shiny, red hair. Hermione felt her insides shrivel up, even as she hated herself for holding simple touches against a traumatized girl so in need of them. "By the time we went looking for - for - " his eyes darted furtively around the room, and he didn't finish his sentence. "I had already pretty much mastered Occlumency. He had no way to know that - that we weren't - that I … anymore," he finished lamely and almost incoherently.
"I know you'll make him stop, Harry. I always knew you could. Please, Harry. I'm so tired of being in the Chamber. Won't you take me away from the Chamber?" He was sitting on the edge of her bed, very close to her, but her gaze was distant, looking through him, past him, rather than at him.
"Of course, Ginny. Of course, I'll take you away." He put his hand to his forehead, above the bridge of his nose, and looked so tired and worn that Hermione just wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let him go.
"Ginny? It's Ron, it's your brother," Ron began, his voice erupting from him almost desperately, even as Penelope laid a warning hand on his arm.
"NO!" Ginny shrieked, cowering behind Harry. Hermione could see the indentations that her fingers were leaving in his shirt. "No, you're not Ron. Ron's dead. He said so. He killed them all. Their bodies shall lie in the Chamber forever. Forever. Forever. Forever!" Her voice rose with each successive repetition of the word, and Ron stumbled back toward the doorway, nearly bowling over Hermione, who saved him from falling gracelessly out into the corridor. Ginny was striking out blindly, flailing arms with fingers hooked into curved claws. Harry was intercepting the blows, speaking rapidly in words that Hermione could not catch, trying to calm her down.
"Please," Harry said, with a shaky voice that betrayed him. When he turned toward Penelope, Hermione could clearly see the shine in his eyes. "Please, can't you just give her something?" Penelope and McGonagall exchanged glances, and the recently arrived mediwitch nodded, her lips pressed tightly together in sympathy.
"You'll probably have to give it to her," Penelope said, handing Harry a clear vial with a Sleeping Draught in it. Harry cradled Ginny back in his arms, holding the vial aloft so that her thrashing movement did not spill the liquid.
"Ginny? Ginny, love, I've got a potion for you. It's going to make you feel better. Can you open your mouth for me? There's a girl," he crooned, as she obeyed him, and placidly drank the potion.
"You're - you're still going to take me away from here, right, Harry? Away from the Chamber? I'm so tired of being here." The last sentence was a breathy, barely audible sigh, as the potion quickly began to take hold.
"Away from the Chamber. I promise," he said softly, even though she could no longer hear him. He handed the empty vial back to Penelope, and eased Ginny down onto the mattress, gently extracting his arm out from underneath her. He stood uncertainly, and ran one hand through his messy hair. Hermione noticed that the hand in question was trembling violently.
"You'll - you'll come get me, if she needs me?" Harry asked Penelope, almost managing to make it sound like a request instead of a command.
"Of course, Harry," she said, in a voice of quiet assurance. He moved toward the door, with the hunched posture of someone much older.
"Penelope," Hermione said suddenly. "How did you - how did you wake her up?"
"It was a combination of a couple of potions and an Enervate charm. Her twitching looked like a textbook case of a Nightmare Curse, so I risked it. Waking her up just proved it."
"How do you stop it?" Harry blurted, the words tumbling woodenly from his lips like someone else had directed him to speak.
"I don't know, Harry," Penelope said apologetically, shaking her head. "We at least interrupted the flow of nightmares just now, and that had to have helped. But if we can't stop them permanently, then - " She hesitated, and her eyes flickered uncertainly over to Ron.
"Then?" the other redhead prodded.
"Then Ginny will go mad."
TBC
Hmmm… well, I sort of liked the last part. I don't want anyone to think that Harry has any feelings for Ginny, beyond concern for a close friend and guilt that he had somehow caused this situation. He's also going to do whatever he can to help facilitate her recovery. Hermione's insecurity about it will cause some conflict, but there's not going to be any actual H/G. I've said this in other fics, but I do like the Weasleys (the fact that I've killed a lot of them notwithstanding), and I don't intend to Ginny- or Ron-bash.
Anyway, I hope you liked it, and that you will let me know that you did. Always love getting reviews. You may leave one on your way out if you like.
lorien
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