Resistance
Chapter Nine: Betrayal
Hermione sat in the War Room, her brow furrowed in concentration, an errant lock of hair slipping from the restraining clip so that it fell forward and clung to her cheek. She brushed it away with some irritation, and trained her new wand back on the smashed watch laying on the smooth wooden surface of the desk in front of her. If she could have focused the intensity emanating from her eyes, she could have probably blown the watch to bits, but that was not her goal.
She laid her wand down with a click on the desk, and sighed, sitting back in the chair for a moment. She massaged her temples with the fingertips of both hands. It just wasn't going to work. I think a strong Cloaking spell woven into the formation of the portkey will be enough to keep people from tracing it. But if I don't know how they traced it, I'm not going to be able to test it to see if it even works! She picked up the wand again, and pulling it up from the watch face, as if she were pulling out a memory for a pensieve, she carefully extracted the components of the portkey spell. There were three: a traveling spell, a triggering spell, and a rather complicated audio spell, by which the song selected was maintained in the portkey's "memory" and which in turn activated the triggering spell, making it moderately more involved than a traditional portkey. The spells hovered softly above the watch, floating in soft, translucent clouds of varying colors. She propped her chin up on one hand, and regarded the spells for a moment. They blurred before her eyes, and her head nodded abruptly, before she jerked herself back upright. She jumped up and began to pace the room, trying to blink away the bleariness. She had not been sleeping well.
Maybe Harry could…she thought, but immediately discarded that notion. For her to be able to properly figure out how to trace it, someone would have to portkey to a place that she didn't know about beforehand. Since Harry couldn't set the portkeys himself, that would force him to ask people to do it for him, and Hermione didn't fancy embarrassing him unnecessarily. That, and he's spent an awful lot of time in the infirmary over the last two days, came the unbidden thought, and she immediately winced, looking guiltily over her shoulder, even though she was alone in the room.
So now the real reason comes out. Like you're fooling anyone, Practical Hermione said snidely, obviously still disgruntled over having fallen from the forefront of Hermione's mind.
I'm not jealous of Harry and Ginny. That's just…ridiculous.
Nobody ever said ridiculous and true were mutually exclusive. Hermione's brows lowered into a glare, and she thrust the three spells back into the portkey with more violence than was actually needed. Still, the image of him holding Ginny's hand, stroking her hair, calling her `love', and speaking to her in that full-of-emotion, oh-so-gentle voice - it was seared unwillingly into her mind, much like the kiss in the Gryffindor common room over a year ago.
It seemed like a lifetime since then.
So you want Harry to talk to you like that? Well, maybe he will when you're completely out of your head, raving about dead people, as a result of some terrible new curse. Would it be worth it? Irritated, Hermione picked up her defunct watch by one end of the leather band, and threw it across the room. It hit the map of England with a thunk, and slid to the floor.
"Oy! I know you're brilliant and all, Hermione, but I still don't think that will repair your watch," came Fred's voice from the doorway. Hermione looked up toward him, startled and blushing. "Unless you're just `venting' again? I've heard about your penchant for breaking things." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
"Honestly, Fred!" Hermione said stiffly, sitting quickly and shifting in her chair uncomfortably, even as part of her was glad to see some classic Weasley-twin ribbing going on. The new, more subdued Fred simultaneously made Hermione both uneasy and relieved. She could definitely relate to and work with this more business-like, contemplative Fred. But, at the same time, she was well aware that he wasn't the Fred she'd always known, and her heart broke a little for what was lost.
"Speaking of breaking things," he said, turning a chair around and straddling it backwards. There was a rolled-up section of parchment squashed under one arm. "No more you and Ron?" He tilted the corners of his mouth upward to show he meant no offense, but his eyes were serious, searching hers.
"I really don't want to talk about this," she muttered, averting her eyes. Fred lifted both hands, as if to ward her off.
"I - I don't want to meddle in your affairs, Hermione. As delicious as it would be to get some ammunition on Ron, I really just wanted to check and see if it had anything to do with Dad getting hurt, because I - " He stopped, as Hermione was already shaking her head.
"No, no. Ron was upset, but he didn't blame me - not really. There was no need for him to, when I'll always blame myself," she tried to speak light-heartedly, but didn't really achieve it.
"Hermione, you know you don't need to - " But Hermione was waving one hand at him, a little tiredly, as if to say don't worry about it.
"Anyway, that's not why we broke up," Hermione said, leaning forward in the chair and scrunching up her shoulders. "It was - it was inevitable, I think. And I think I've known it for awhile now. It just - with everything that's happened, I - I hated to do that to him. I kept thinking, maybe once it all settles down…"
"Using the chaos of the situation seems like a pretty poor excuse for staying with someone," Fred remarked, and Hermione snapped her head up to look at him. "Hey, I'm saying you did the right thing. He doesn't need you to stay with him because you feel sorry for him." Hermione slumped, burying her face in both hands.
"How is he?" she mumbled through her fingers. She peered back up at Fred, whose gaze seemed distant.
"'Bout the same, I reckon," he said, shrugging. "It's just another thing on a long list of things that he doesn't want to process. Can't say I blame him much." He looked at Hermione's stricken face, and smiled. "Don't worry about him, Hermione. He's a Weasley, and we're made of pretty stern stuff. He'll be all right." Hermione wondered if Fred was trying to convince her or himself. "Anyway," he said presently. "That's not why I came to find you."
Hermione picked up her quill and crossed her legs, cocking her head at him in an inquisitive fashion and willing away the fatigue. "What do you need?" she asked, deducing that he was approaching her about a task. If something had been wrong, they wouldn't have had the somewhat unsettling conversation about Ron.
"It's about Remus," Fred began.
"It's going to be the full moon soon," Hermione interjected, nodding knowingly. He extracted the parchment that she had seen earlier, and unfurled it for her inspection.
"I've shown this to Tonks, and she thinks it's a good idea. She wanted me to see if you'd help with some of the spellwork."
"Me? But Tonks is - "
"She reckons you're the best spellcaster here. At least when it comes to innovating." Flushing under his praise, Hermione leaned forward to examine the parchment. On it was a layout of the house, as well as the cliff on which it sat. There appeared to be a series of caves set into the cliffs down on the beach level. "What do you think?"
"You want to put Remus in here during his change?" Hermione queried. She pulled the blueprint closer, her eyes darting back and forth to different sections, alight with excitement. "That looks doable, provided these caves are high enough above the waterline."
"High tide only gets within about 10 meters of the entrance," Fred replied.
"I'm not sure about having a tunnel leading up to the house," Hermione stated, her eyes traveling from the diagram of the caves up to where the house sat atop the cliff. "That's two places to ward against a werewolf. We're making the job twice as hard."
"Not if that tunnel can be used as an escape route," Fred pointed out. Something like panic flared up in Hermione's eyes briefly.
"This place is Unplottable. And under a Fidelius charm. They're not going to find us here, Fred!"
"Hey, hey!" Fred said softly. "I didn't say they were. It's just a contingency plan. With the anti-Apparation wards extending all the way to the beach, I figured this would be a good way to get past them quickly and secretly. And - with your medallions - we'd just need one person to make it past the wards, and we could all join him - or her - just like that." He snapped his fingers, and Hermione smiled in spite of herself.
"You're right, of course," she murmured softly, while inwardly chastising herself for acting like a silly, frightened child.
"I hope you don't mind, Hermione," Fred added in a conversational tone. "But I took my medallion apart, just to see all the spell components, and - " he shook his head, whistling in admiration. "And it is a piece of work, let me tell you. If you ever want a job at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, then we - " A shudder seemed to pass over his face, and the blank look she'd seen at the Shop was back. She reached out and squeezed his hand, her face sympathetic.
"Thanks, Fred," she said quietly. "The fact that you'd be willing to hire a stickler-for-the-rules bookworm means a lot to me. I might hold you to it one day!"
"I might hold you to that," Fred replied in kind, and his mood seemed to pass. "What say we go down to the caves, and check them out first-hand? We ought to go ahead and start forming the tunnel. There isn't a lot of time left. What is it?" A odd sort of look had flitted across Hermione's face, a desperate, concentrating look, as if she had remembered something important, but, just as quickly, lost it again.
"I thought - when you said that about offering me the job…" she sat silently for a moment longer, but then shook her head. "No, it's gone. Maybe I'll think of it later." Hermione stood, grabbed her wand, and moved quickly across the room to retrieve her watch. She fastened it back on her wrist. Her mind was already moving at a million kilometers per hour, and sleep seemed nearly that far away.
"We'll need some pretty heavy-duty Silencios too," Hermione said, as Fred held the back door for her, and they headed for the narrow, windy path that meandered back and forth across the rocky cliff face down to the flat stretch of rocky beach and the water's edge. "It would do us no good for villagers nearby to report hearing a wolf at the seashore, and bringing all the Death Eaters in this half of Britain down on our heads."
~~**~~
She found Harry in the garret several hours later. The china had been repaired and repacked in the crates, and he was sitting beneath the window, gazing out at the vast, ever-changing surface of the ocean. He was staring intently, as if he could plumb the hidden depths of that expanse by sheer will alone, and appeared to be very far away. He did not seem to hear Hermione's entrance.
If Hermione had her guess, she'd say that he was thinking about the way things used to be….when the three of them were alone and terrified, sleeping propped against each other in dirty back rooms of abandoned, derelict buildings, hunting for bits of Voldemort's soul. They had wondered then if it could possibly get any worse.
If it could get any worse… Her lips compressed together in sympathy, as she regarded him quietly. At least then, they'd had a direction, a mission, a reason for getting up in the morning. At least then, he'd been powerful and determined, his nobility and strength of character shining from his face like a beacon. At least then, she and Ron had had the pretense of happiness. At least then, the noisy, bustling, chaotic Weasley household had always welcomed them, even disheveled and exhausted, for breakfast and brief respite at the Burrow on Saturday mornings. Oh, Harry…she thought, and she must have sighed a little or scuffed the sole of her shoe against the floor, for he turned, starting for an instant, before he realized who was there.
"Hi, Hermione," he offered, trying to smile. She clasped her hands, and smiled at him, noticing with some horror when she looked down that her fingernails were caked with dirt. Dirt streaked down the front of her blouse as well. "Been making mud pies?" he asked, with a trace of his old humor, noticing the direction of her gaze and the mortified look on her face.
"I was digging a tunnel with Fred," she stammered. He quirked one eyebrow at her.
"Don't you have a way to do that," he gestured toward her wand, "without…you know … ?" He curved his fingers and mimed scrabbling in dirt with both hands.
"Part of the ceiling fell in on me at the beginning," she admitted, shrugging self-deprecatingly. "I told Fred to use his wand to scan for most stable route. He did after that, and everything went quite smoothly. The entrance is in the cellar, of course." She was babbling now. "I know I should have showered before coming to find you, but when you weren't in the infirmary…"
"Is Ginny okay?" he asked, interrupting her with sudden alarm.
"No, she's - she's - sedated again, which is doing as well as can be expected, I guess. It's just - you've spent so much time with her lately, that I figured you'd be there."
"Are you mad?" His tone was somewhat guarded, his head down, but he chanced a quick glance at her through his lashes.
Hermione considered the question. Was she angry? No. That was easy enough to determine. But she also didn't really think that was what Harry had meant. Was she jealous, really actually jealous? Did she think that Harry was playing her for a fool, that his affections were somehow divided between her and Ginny? No. She rather thought that she knew Harry better than most, perhaps better than any. He was not the type to string people along; it would never occur to him. Did she worry that perhaps Harry would see Ginny's cascade of flaming red hair, and realize that he'd made a terrible mistake? Or feel so sorry for her in all that she'd endured and lost that he'd be unable to tear himself away from her? Chagrin flickered across Hermione's face. Maybe.
"No," she said uncertainly, making it almost sound like a question. "She needs you. I understand that."
"But - ?" he prodded, after she remained silent for a long moment.
"Harry, you didn't see yourself in the Gryffindor common room that day - the day you kissed Ginny in front of God and everybody. It was - it was like you were lit from within, and the - the - the triumph for you, just to be normal, just to feel something every teenager feels, it - it was amazing … and beautiful. She was the girl you had to leave behind, the girl who's been cursed, lost her family, pleading with you to save her life again. I'm afraid - I - what if you realize you made a mistake, or you change your mind?"
Harry reached up suddenly, and grabbed Hermione around both elbows, pulling her down to the ground beside him. His expression was fierce.
"She's not the girl I had to leave behind. She's the girl I chose to leave behind. I didn't want to put her in danger if I didn't have to. I don't want to put you in danger either, but I - but I - " he brought one hand up to cup the angle of her jaw line. He shook his head slightly, with the air of one admitting a weakness. "I need you too much. That day in the common room, I was - I was pretending to be normal, and I - I enjoyed it while it lasted. But I'm not normal, Hermione. I never was, and I certainly never will be again, not anymore. I saved Ginny's life once, and I'll do anything necessary to help her again, but I - I'm not in love with her. I'm not sure that I ever was."
They sat silently for a while, sitting beneath the window with their legs folded, knees toward each other. Somehow, Hermione's arms were in Harry's lap, and he was running his fingers up and down and over and across the skin of her fingertips, knuckles, wrists, and forearms.
"What - what's happened to Ginny, it has gotten me thinking though," Harry ventured hesitantly after a moment. Oh, no, Hermione thought, and she put two slender fingers against Harry's lips.
"I don't want to hear it, Harry," she said gently, noticeably surprising him. "You're going to say something about how it was your fault, how the Death Eater targeted her - probably on Voldemort's orders - just because she was the last known person with whom you'd been publicly in a relationship. You're thinking that it's all your fault that she was hit. You're thinking it's all your fault that you somehow let slip the knowledge of your feelings for me, even though you were being tortured. You're thinking that if the Death Eaters will do that to someone like Ginny…then what does that mean they'd do to me, if they ever took me?" Harry was staring at her, all the color drained from his face, highlighting the deep shadows beneath his vivid eyes. She wondered idly how much sleep he'd been getting lately. "Have I got it about right?" He didn't respond, and she added, even more softly, "That's how he found out about me, isn't it? How he knew to make those Muggle girls look like me? Though I shudder to think of all the hair and `bits' of people he must have filed away, in case he ever needs them for Polyjuice." She shuddered a little, trying to speak lightly, though it didn't quite fly. Harry smiled a little, more in appreciation of the effort, she thought, than anything else.
"He cast the Nightmare curse on me. A couple of times - at least, I guess that's what it was." Harry spoke in a wooden voice, with staring, vacant eyes. "He never left it on me for long. He didn't want me mad; he wanted me perfectly sane and absolutely clear on what he was doing to me. But he was in there." A sort of disgusted spasm passed across his face. "He was in my mind the whole time…just trolling … to see what he could find. And he found the nightmare - that - that I was the reason you'd been killed." Hermione blinked, and she was startled to feel dampness on her cheeks. She wound her hands more tightly through his, so that the four of them were tangled together in his lap. His words made more sense now. He knew there was nothing worse he could do to me.
"And - and Ginny?" she croaked, effortfully. Harry lifted both shoulders in a heavy, slow shrug that visibly enacted the weight of the world that figuratively sat on them. Ancient sorrows seemed to swim forlornly in the pools of his eyes.
"She - I guess she was a stab in the dark. A lucky guess. Thank God I didn't take up with anybody seventh year. I might - I might have known something like this would happen."
"Well, at least I don't have to worry about your throwing me aside out of some misguided sense of responsibility and noble selflessness," Hermione spoke lightly again, but her eyes echoed the weighty sentiments of his own.
"Hermione, I - " he spoke quickly, as if to counter her previous statement.
"He already knows, Harry," she said, speaking lightly, even though a knell of dread began pumping heavily in her chest with the rhythm of her heart. She clasped his hands tighter to disguise their shaking. Coward! Her inner voice taunted. Was she a Gryffindor or not? "He already knows how you feel about me. He's going to come after me, just as he's kept coming after you. You can't change that now. Even by casting me aside." Harry trembled, and she reached out to wrap her arms around him. He swore quite rudely under his breath, but his voice was wobbly and lost.
"Hermione!" And in the word was abject shock and devastation, as he obviously acknowledged her cool assessment as correct. "And there's nothing - nothing - I can do about it. I can't protect you. I can't even protect myself. For the love of all that is holy, Hermione, I'm sorry." The apology poured out of him, a rush of babbling words flowing through and around her, soothing somehow in their very inanity.
She brushed his damp, dark hair back from his temples, and shushed him softly, crooning something low and wordless that did not need to be defined. One hand was on his cheek, fingertips in his hair, and her other hand crooked around his neck. Their foreheads were nearly touching.
"I said something to you the other day, about making the most of the time we were given. D'you remember?" She infused her voice with a sprightliness that she did not really feel. Harry nodded, his head bumping lightly against hers. She did not move away from him. "I want to do that - make the most of my time with - with you… so I'm - I'm going to tell Ron," she blurted suddenly.
He looked up at her then, with alarmed eyes.
"He doesn't deserve to be kept in the dark, Harry," she said, speaking rapidly to override the forthcoming protests. "It's not going to be easy, but it's better this way. And I - I don't like the idea of our sneaking around, hiding in closets, or something. I - I don't want him to think we're - we're betraying him."
"He's going to think that anyway," Harry pointed out pragmatically, in a rather dull voice. "It doesn't matter when he finds out, he's still going to feel betrayed."
"Then what do you suggest we do?" she asked, icicles fringing the edges of her voice. "Keep it a secret from him - until when?"
"Is it really better to tell him now, when he's lost nearly everything, his home, his family, his way of life? Just so you won't feel guilty?" Hermione's mouth opened soundlessly, and she blinked at him, stunned by his accusation.
"And - and you think we should lie to him…just so he won't feel badly about it?" she finally said, intentionally mimicking his sentence structure. Harry seemed to deflate, his head sinking away from hers, hunching toward his chest.
"I didn't say that," he replied, in a muffled voice. Hermione sighed.
"We're talking in circles here, Harry. What is it you want?" Every bone in his body went rigid, and he looked sharply up at her again, with blazing eyes.
"What is it I want?" he echoed her question incredulously, and Hermione instinctively knew that she'd said the wrong thing. "What I want is to get my hands on a time-turner, and undo everything that's happened in the last month. What I want is to forget that my friends' lives have been shattered - or ended! - because a madman's quest for vengeance and absolute power involves me. What I want is to have my magic back at least long enough for one clear, point-blank shot at Voldemort. What I want is to have told you how I felt about you, when I first realized what it was, or that I had realized it before - before Ron did." He swallowed, and appeared to be gathering his composure around him like a cloak. "What I want," he said softly, pausing to run his tongue over dry lips, "is to take you down to the beach and snog away the worried, sad shadows from your eyes."
Instinctively, her gaze darted away from his, but almost immediately dragged reluctantly back. Her eyes pooled with tears. She didn't have to speak; they were thinking the same thing. If only… A tear welled up above the edge of her lower lid, and dribbled down her cheek. She rolled her eyes at herself, and reached up to dash it away, but Harry beat her to it. He brushed the tear aside with his thumb, and left sparks in his wake. She tilted her head quickly to kiss him; her lips landed on the side of his wrist.
"You better tell him," Harry said abruptly, in a rather hoarse voice. "He won't hit you." Hermione looked at him reprovingly.
"Harry…" she chided, but he gave her a look as if to say, What? You think he wouldn't hit me? What dream world do you live in? She conceded his point without words, and said, "I'll try to talk to him after dinner." She paused, looking at him doubtfully. "You might not want to sleep in the same room with him tonight." Harry gave her a See! I was right! look, but his eyes were evasive. She met his gaze questioningly.
"Actually, I haven't slept down there in … about a week, I reckon," he mumbled, sounding embarrassed. Hermione looked at him, startled.
"Where have you been sleeping?"
"In that last bedroom…the empty one. Tonks put a Silencio on it for me, and I - I've just been - " he stopped, as Hermione's eyes welled up again, this time with furious tears.
"You've been having nightmares, haven't you? Haven't you?" His stony silence was all the answer she needed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you would act like this!" Harry shot back. "The nightmares are nothing new, Hermione, trust me. I've been dealing with them on my own for a long time."
"But, Harry, if there's any way I can help you, you know I - "
"How have you been sleeping, Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly, almost rudely. She waved her hand loftily, as if brushing aside his question.
"I'm sleeping fine, Harry. We're not talking about me, we're - "
"You're not sleeping at all, are you? I know how much time you spend down in the War Room. How you're the last one down there at night, and the first one there in the morning." He speared her with an accusing look.
"I've always been an early - "
"Did you think I wouldn't notice these?" he asked, his voice now very gentle, as he rubbed his thumbs on the thin, soft, shadowy skin beneath her eyes. "You want to help everybody, but you won't let anybody help you." She felt herself turn to putty under the influence of that soft voice, loving gaze, and caressing touch. She closed her eyes momentarily, as if pausing to concede to the inevitable.
"How can I lay any other burdens on you, Harry?" she asked plaintively. "You've already been through so much - are still going through so much - and I don't want to heap my issues on top of that. Not that you're one to talk about asking people for help!" Harry quirked one side of his mouth up into a half smile, and appeared mesmerized by the rough wooden planks of the floor.
"I didn't want to burden you either. I feel like enough of a burden as it is," he admitted. She watched his face pensively for a moment, and decided to speak honestly.
"I don't want to go to sleep, Harry. I don't find any rest in it at all. Sleep is time wasted, when I could be figuring something out. Besides, I see him, when I sleep. Killing that girl - me - over and over again. And the lost, broken look on your face... I don't think I'll ever forget it." Her brown eyes had a haunted look.
"Why haven't you asked Penelope for a Sleeping Draught?" he asked gently. "I've gotten one for myself on more than one occasion."
"You and Ginny need them so much more than I do - and who knows when we'll no longer be able to regularly replenish our potion stocks?"
"You really think you're worth that much less?" he asked, concern rumpling his scar up on his forehead.
"What? No, of course not!" She harrumphed a little. "What a ridiculous question!" She knew that she sounded particularly like Prefect Hermione, and was rewarded with a smile from Harry. She smiled back, though it went a little crooked and watery towards the end.
He leaned toward her then, and kissed her gently and lingeringly on the lips. She meshed into his embrace, as his arms went around her, and the sense of warmth and belonging nearly overwhelmed her. When they broke the kiss, he cupped her face in his hands, and met her somber gaze with one of his own.
"Go get a Sleeping Draught from Penelope," he ordered softly. "You need rest - dreamless rest. I don't want anything to happen to that brilliant brain of yours." He smiled then, and Hermione felt ridiculously happy that she could - even now - inspire a smile from him. She kissed him again.
"I will, Harry, if you'll promise that you'll talk to me. Neither of us is doing the other any good by keeping everything inside." The light in his eyes faded, and she could tell that he was less than thrilled with her admonition, but instead of arguing, he just nodded.
"And I'll talk to Ron," he finally said, somewhat reluctantly, as if the words had been dragged from him. Hermione strove to keep her eyes from sparkling with relief, but didn't think she'd managed it.
"I thought you were worried about his reaction," she said absently. Harry shrugged, and said in a tone that was only mostly bitter,
"I'm the Squib Who Escaped. What else could he really do to me?" Hermione's features became sorrowful, and she could see the regret glinting in Harry's eyes.
"Harry, don't say tha -"
"What? The truth? That I'm a Squib?" He raised his eyebrows at her, and she realized that the coolly mocking demeanor was back.
"Harry, you don't know that it's permanent! If there's a way to fix this, I swear to you, I'll find it." He regarded her solemnly for a moment, and then snorted, the barest puff of air out through his nostrils.
"I want to believe that, Hermione." He finally said, almost reluctantly. She leaned closer to him then, and pulled them both to their feet, standing so closing that they were nearly breathing in each other's mouths. She kissed him again, a deeper kiss this time, one that she hoped conveyed all of her hopes and fears and longing and desire for him. She felt his hands clasp themselves behind her back, and felt the tense lines of his body relax against hers.
She leaned her forehead against his for just a moment, as they strove to return to normal breathing patterns.
"Then believe it, Harry. When have I ever failed at anything I've put my mind to?"
~~**~~
They parted at the stairs, as Harry continued down to find Ron, and Hermione backtracked to the infirmary. Someone was moving around inside, and she hoped that Penelope would be alone in there. Harry's words of comfort notwithstanding, she did not want the entire house to be aware that she needed a Draught to be able to sleep. Rationally, she knew no one would think less of her, but somehow her self-sufficient pride would not be able to stomach it.
She paused for a moment with a hand on the knob, to gather her composure, which had been somewhat more than frayed by her shared kisses with Harry. It's just a potion. A silly sleeping potion that a second-year could concoct! With one sudden movement, she twisted the knob violently and lurched into the room.
Ginny lay motionless in the nearest bed to the door. Neville was at the open window, leaning on the sill, and peering out. When Hermione entered abruptly, he startled violently and comically, twisting and flattening himself against the window.
"It's just me, Neville," she said in an amused tone. Color stained Neville's round face.
"You scared me," he muttered. "What are you playing at, just bounding into a room like that? Bound to set anybody off."
"Sure, Neville," Hermione said companionably, smiling at him. She'd always liked Neville, for all his forgetfulness and bumbling ways. "Where's Penelope? I wanted to speak with her about - about something," she trailed off vaguely.
"I think she stepped out to get a bite to eat," Neville offered. "I told her I'd keep an eye on Ginny for her." Hermione's eyes drifted over to the prone Weasley in the only occupied bed.
"How's she doing?" the older girl asked softly, even though she'd just been by there not too long ago. Neville shrugged, his eyes also fixed on Ginny.
"Whenever Penelope tries to wake her up, we're treated to another of those screaming fits," Neville said. "But when she's sedated, she's living those nightmares. Harry's presence does seem to help though." An odd emotion passed suddenly across his face, and Hermione watched him in wonder. He's jealous of Harry's connection with Ginny, she thought suddenly.
"It's going to be all right, Neville," she said soothingly, patting him on the shoulder. "When Ginny comes out of it, I'll be sure and tell her how well you looked after her." Neville stared at her suddenly, looking more and more uncomfortable as dawning awareness shone on his face. "Neville, it's okay, really. I won't tell anyone - if that's what you're worried about - and I - "
"What the hell are you trying to say, Harry?" Ron's angry voice suddenly seemed to be in the very room with them. Neville's eyes widened with something like panic. Hermione did a slow circuit of the room, eyes toward the eaves.
"Where the hell did that come from?" she asked, curiously, moving toward the corner of the room nearest the window. Neville moved to intercept her, looking very somber.
"Acoustics can be weird in old houses like this one," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe a downstairs window is open too or something. You think we should find out what's going on?" He eyed her knowingly, and she wondered if he was remembering how he'd blundered in on her and Harry almost-kissing.
"I think I know what's going on," Hermione said with some chagrin, after a moment of hesitation. "I'll go. Maybe I can keep this from coming to blows."
"Do you need me to- ?" Neville began, gesturing in the direction of the door.
"No thank you. This is our mess. I should go help them clean it up," she said, with a self-deprecating smile. As she moved toward the door, her foot caught the corner of a small stool, on which an uncapped bottle of mineral water sat. Neville lunged for it, but missed, as it landed on the floor and rolled a short distance, the sloshing water refracting back glittering facets of the sunlight. "Oh, Neville, I'm sorry, I - " she made a move toward where the bottle had landed, but Neville waved her off.
"Go on," Neville said, not unkindly. "I'll clean it up." She blinked in the direction of the bottle's landing place, and watched Neville fumble around on the floor for a distracted moment.
She turned and headed for the door at a rapid clip, one hand rubbing absently at one temple. Nervous, she told herself, you're getting nervous and distracted and paranoid. She thought of her overreaction to Fred's statement earlier that they needed an escape route. Maybe it's because you haven't slept, a voice that sounded remarkably like Harry's reminded her. She told herself that she would defuse the situation between her boys, and then find Penelope Clearwater. She tried to banish all thought of Neville's awkwardness and her own klutziness from her mind. But a thought remained and would not be squelched.
How come nothing spilled out of that water bottle?
~~**~~
Hermione heard no outbursts as she descended the stairs, but when she entered the War Room, Harry was leaning on the window sill, staring through the glass with his jaw jutting defiantly. Ron was on the other side of the room, with all the hallmarks of a towering temper except for steaming whistling from his ears.
"I'm surprised you haven't brought the entire Order running in here, with the way you're shouting, Ron," she said acerbically, once both of them had acknowledged her presence.
"I haven't been shouting at all, Hermione," Ron retorted. "But could you blame me if I was?" Hermione glanced quickly at the windows. They were closed. Her brow crinkled in puzzlement.
"But - " she began, but stopped almost as quickly. Harry looked across the room curiously at her hesitation.
"You're supposed to be sleeping," he stated quietly.
"I haven't found Penelope," she responded, feeling a flash of annoyance at him for worrying about that now.
"Is it true?" Ron interjected, whirling toward her. "Is what he said - is it true?" Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She dropped her gaze to the floor, but not in enough time to avoid seeing Ron's face suffuse with a mixture of anger, triumph at being right, and despair. Her inner Slytherins shrieked at her, Coward, coward! "That's why - why you wanted to end it then? To be with him?" Hermione's eyes slid shut, as she felt as if every organ in her body had suddenly twisted in pain. She forced herself to look back at him with some measure of calm.
"No, Ron, that's not why. That was because of us. It had nothing to do with Harry."
"Didn't it?" He challenged, in a tone that fell a little short of completely belligerent. "Merlin, Hermione! It hasn't even been three weeks yet."
Hermione's eyes flickered cautiously toward Harry. He was still half-sitting in the window sill, staring outside, though the inflexible set of his body betrayed that he was listening intently to everything that was being said.
"Ron, it's been over between us for a lot longer than that, and you know it. If we hadn't been hunting horcruxes - if we'd had a normal seventh year - maybe we would've been all right. But maybe not. Did you not realize that we kept putting our relationship on the back burner - the last thing on our to-do list - and we were both okay with that? That's not the sign of a healthy, flourishing relationship!"
"So - " Ron swallowed noisily, and his eyes were suspiciously wet. "So, all of the sudden, you're in love with Harry?" Hermione's entire body quivered, as if she were physically quelling her instinct to run from the room.
"No," she replied, her words falling heavily into the tense silence. "No, not all of the sudden. I just - I just didn't recognize it for what it was." Ron's face seemed brittle enough to break. He looked over at Harry.
"And you?" he asked. There was a long silence, before Harry realized that Ron was addressing him. He turned away from the window, facing them, his hands splayed uncomfortably behind him on the window sill.
"I've loved her since last summer," Harry said quietly, looking at Ron, not Hermione. "But she was off-limits. She was with you."
"You sure didn't waste any time making a play for her, as soon as she was free," Ron snapped bitterly. "And what chance would I have, once the Boy Who Lived had declared his feelings?"
Hermione said, "Oh, Ron, don't!" in a kind of angry sigh. Harry went rigid, and slowly walked across the room until he was standing very close to Ron.
"I am in love with Hermione, and she is in love with me. And it is one of the last good things I have left. My friendship with you is another. I know that none of this is easy or fair, but I don't want this to come between us." Ron backed away from him, until he came in contact with a chair and sat down abruptly.
"I knew," he said slowly. "I knew when the first thing out of your mouth," here he glanced at Hermione, "after we broke up was concern for how Harry would handle our break-up. It was written all over your face in here the night the broadcast about the rally came on. I just - I didn't want to believe that it was true." Ron propped his head up in both hands, looking dazed and bewildered. Hermione thought of Fred's words. It's just another thing in a long list of things that he doesn't want to process.
"Ron?" she said tentatively, clearing her throat to keep her voice from breaking. "Ron, I'm so sorry."
"Don't," he said tiredly, not looking at either of them. "Just… don't. I can't stop you from being together. Somewhere deep inside, I really want you two to be happy, just - just - " not with each other rang in the room, though the phrase remained unspoken. "I'm sorry. I can't do this," he said abruptly, standing suddenly and striding from the room. Hermione and Harry were left to gaze awkwardly at each other in a room than had suddenly become very large and very empty.
~~**~~
"Remus! Remus, come on!" Tonks called, her voice drifting from the gaping maw of the cellar. "We've got to have time to test the wards. It's already past sunset."
"He's coming," Hermione heard Professor McGonagall's soft brogue relay, and felt her insides twist in nervousness. She stood poised on the balls of her feet, in the kitchen, facing the cellar door, waiting for Remus to go down into the tunnel. Fred and Mr. Weasley would ward the far end, while she and Tonks were responsible for the end closest to the house. She looked at Neville and Luna, sharing the kitchen with her in the same kind of frightened anticipation, and smiled slightly. Harry was in the infirmary with Ginny, as were Penelope and Professor McGonagall.
The front door banged open suddenly, and Ron strode into the kitchen, throwing down a package wrapped in waxed paper and twine.
"Oh, you got it! Good!" Hermione breathed, before noting his stiff stance and dwindling away into painful awkwardness. Ron avoided looking at her completely.
"Rare as bloody possible," he said noncommittally, looking out the window over the sink at the purple twilight. Neville and Luna's gazes flickered back and forth between them, with barely disguised curiosity, and the silence grew so tense and strained that Hermione finally snatched the bundle of meat from where Ron had dropped it on the counter.
"I'll take this to Tonks," she said, in a brittle voice, and disappeared down the stairs to the cellar.
"I'll come with you," Neville remarked, off-handedly, and followed her down.
The cellar had a cool packed-earth floor, and was lined floor to ceiling with shelves. Various and sundry boxes, jars, and packing crates lined these. Hermione recognized a few as being brought from the Shop, but many looked ancient enough to have belonged to the same McGonagall forebears that owned the china plates. At the far end of the dimly lit room was a wide metallic lid, somewhat like a manhole cover, propped open. Hermione could see the white-blue glow of wandlight emanating faintly from the hole in the floor.
"Tonks," she called out. "Ron's back from the butcher's."
"Bring it down," came Tonks' faint voice. "Is Remus coming yet?"
Hermione looked uncertainly back over her shoulder. There were footfalls in the kitchen above their heads, and she could hear Ron talking to someone.
"I think so," she called down, and started down the ladder - really just metal rungs stuck into the wall at random intervals - after handing the damp, squelchy package to Neville.
"Wow!" Neville uttered, after they had both reached the bottom, eying the wide, cool, earthen passageway, sloping ever downward toward the sea. "You and Fred did this alone? Impressive!"
"Well, we had our wands," Hermione demurred uncomfortably, thinking of Harry. So far, they had come no closer in determining how to restore his magic to him. Tonks came striding up to them then, taking the meat from Neville, untying it, and placing it near a ratty and worn pile of old blankets that looked as if they belonged in the dustbin.
"I think we've gotten the far end warded up tight. Fred and Arthur were testing it on the other side, and they're going to stay out on the beach tonight… just to make sure that - that everything's okay," Tonks informed them, speaking in her official Auror voice. Hermione couldn't help but notice the shadow of worry in her eyes. The moon-change was never easy for Remus, and if their wards failed, if he somehow got out to the village or even into the house…well, it just did not bear thinking about.
"Are we ready?" came a voice from behind Neville and Hermione, and Tonks' eyes flitted beyond them and lit up.
"I think so. Are you okay?" she asked, her voice brimming with concern. Remus nodded, his eyes never leaving those of the woman he loved.
"I've got the Wolfsbane potion that Hermione and Penelope were so kind as to brew up for me. It should take the edge off the worst of the effects. Did you put up the Silencios?" he asked, and Tonks nodded. "Good," he said in response to her gesture. He looked briefly at Hermione and Neville. "Then you'd better go and get the wards up, and get out of here." He looked pale, but drew himself up, obviously trying to put the best possible face on things. "Who's stationed at the cellar tonight?"
"I am," Tonks said, stalwartly, as if expecting him to argue. He opened his mouth, as if he would dispute her presence, but said only,
"Nymphadora," in such a tender tone that Hermione felt as if she were intruding on a very intimate moment, and grew quite uncomfortable. "If anything … goes wrong, I trust you'll do what needs to be done." His eyes were grave, but Tonks met his gaze head on.
"Yes," she said simply, though her voice was clogged and watery. Remus leaned forward then, and kissed her gently on the lips, before backing up a few paces.
"Remus!" Tonks barked suddenly, and held out her hand. He looked at her questioningly. "I - I need your medallion," she rasped, almost apologetically. He smiled slightly, and lowered his gaze toward the ground.
"Of course," he responded, and removed the chain from around his neck, placing it in her palm in a coiled mound of metal. "Go on then. There's not much time left," he said, continuing to back down the tunnel, until he was lost to sight around the curve of the wall, as it bent and twisted, serpentine, through the belly of the cliff.
Tonks stood motionless for a moment, her hands in the back pockets of her faded jeans, staring at the spot where Remus had disappeared. Then she sighed, and seemed to shake herself back to the task at hand, because she said briskly.
"Let's get these wards up." She and Hermione turned immediately to the task at hand, the wards having been predetermined, and precisely planned out beforehand, with Neville helping out as the occasion arose. He was considerably more adept with his wand than Hermione remembered, and she assumed that this kind of real-world pressure, as opposed to the manufactured pressure of a classroom, helped him to be at his best. They worked carefully, but quickly, conducting their last test of the wards at almost the same time that Ron called down the cellar steps,
"Moon's up!"
The wards were up about three or four meters from the ladder, and would prevent Remus from proceeding beyond that point. Tonks was planning on keeping watch at the opening in the cellar that led down to the tunnel. The three of them exchanged a couple of well, this is it! glances, and headed for the ladder.
~~**~~
"How's he doing?" Hermione remarked sleepily to Tonks, as the Auror hefted herself back through the trapdoor into the cellar. Tonks shrugged, looking as tired as Hermione felt.
"Couldn't see him; he must be further down the tunnel. That's the drawback to Silencios too. We can't even use our ears to figure out where he is. He's been up toward this end at some point though. The wall's all gashed up." Tonks' face was pensive and worried, as she lowered a troubled gaze onto the trapdoor, clearly thinking about who was beyond it.
"At least we know the wards are holding, then," Hermione said reassuringly, pillowing her chin on her folded arms, where she sat on the cellar stairs.
"True," Tonks conceded. "We do know that." She looked above Hermione's head suddenly, and said, "Hiya, Harry." Hermione turned to look up the stairs, concern immediately stamping itself on her face.
"Harry, what are you doing up?" she asked, as he clomped down the steps slowly, seating himself beside her near the bottom.
"Woke up and couldn't go back to sleep," he hedged. "Why are you up?" he asked, before she could accuse him of having another nightmare.
"I told Tonks I'd stay with her and keep watch," she said simply.
"And I told her she didn't have to," Tonks replied promptly, watching with interest as Harry laced his fingers through Hermione's with feigned casualness. They still didn't put their fledgling relationship on display very often, and never in front of Ron, but somehow the news of it had made its way around the safehouse. What Hermione hoped nobody knew - especially Ron - was that, as of late, she'd been spending her nights in Harry's bed. So far, it had progressed no further than just that - sleeping - but both had discovered that much of their mutual difficulty sleeping disappeared when they were together.
"I wanted to," Hermione countered. "I can't imagine how hard it must be to - to know - to know that - " she stumbled to a stop, and nodded toward the heavy metal trapdoor. Tonks smiled at her, without actually moving her lips; her eyes just crinkled slightly at the corners. Hermione could feel Harry's gaze on her.
Maybe I do know some of what Tonks is going through, she thought, recalling watching Harry in that cell in the Riddle house.
"How's Remus?" Harry asked Tonks, after a moment. The Auror shrugged.
"We don't really know. The Silencio is keeping us from - " she jerked suddenly toward the trapdoor, tension outlined in every muscle and joint.
"Tonks?" Harry and Hermione said together.
"Did you hear that?" Tonks said quietly, standing to her feet, and drawing her wand, backing toward the stairs. Hermione drew her wand as well, and stepped down to the bottom of the flight of stairs, so that she was in front of Harry.
"Hear what?" Hermione hissed. Her palms felt clammy against the smooth wood of her wand. It was all well and good to flee a werewolf when you had all of Hogwarts grounds to run through and plenty of places to hide, but meeting up with one in a dark cellar was something else altogether.
"It sounded like something brushing against the rungs of - " Tonks never got to finish what she was going to say, because something bumped violently against the trapdoor, causing it to bounce upward and then back down with a clang. They all jumped, and a startled shriek escaped Hermione's lips.
Another clang. The trapdoor bent in the middle. And now Hermione could hear it, the metallic whisper of claws against ladder rungs.
"Harry," she whispered, out of the side of her mouth, never removing her eyes or her wand from the trapdoor. "Go. Get. Help."
The trapdoor bounced up and down again. Another blow or two like that, and the entire thing would buckle, Hermione thought. Tonks tried to throw a Colloportus, but the frame of the trapdoor was already too distorted to hold it.
"Damn!" Tonks swore, and Hermione could have sworn that she saw a stream of tears on Tonks' face, reflected in the glint of light from the attempted spell. Harry hadn't even made it out of the kitchen, before she and Tonks were barreling up the stairs just behind him.
Clang. Hermione could hear a low, feral snarl, and felt her blood run cold. They slammed the cellar door shut and sealed it.
"That's not going to hold him for long!" Tonks said, trying to cast some off the cuff wards at the door. Her wand was trembling violently. Hermione looked over her shoulder, but Harry had vanished from the kitchen doorway. She could vaguely hear incoherent shouting, and knew that he was trying to rouse the others.
The cellar door rattled wildly on its hinges, each time seeming to protrude a bit farther from the frame. The Sealing spell was clearly being tested to its limits.
"What about Stupefy?" Harry asked, coming back into the kitchen. Hermione and Tonks both shook their heads. There were thundering footfalls on the stairs that led to the sleeping quarters of the house.
"No ordinary Stupefy's going to fell a werewolf, Harry," Hermione replied. "If it could, they wouldn't be such a threat." Tonks was still trying to ward the door, but the constant jittery movement of the door was making it difficult. She was murmuring something under her breath that sounding vaguely like,
"Oh God, Remus. Oh God, Remus."
Professor McGonagall entered the kitchen doorway, with Luna and Neville tumbling in behind, just in time to hear the loud crackling sound of crunching wood. Curved white tips of claws appeared through the painted wood of the cellar door. Neville's eyes were wide and entranced, fixed on the beleaguered door.
"Ron's Apparated down to get Fred and Mr. Weasley," Luna said helpfully, her eyes darkly bright in the pale moonlight streaming through the kitchen window.
Penelope's probably sealed herself and Ginny into the infirmary, Hermione thought, and her eyes drifted unwillingly toward Harry, who had moved when the others entered the kitchen, and was now in between her and the far wall of the kitchen, on which rested the window, sink, and length of counter.
"You shouldn't be here, Harry. You can't - " she began, but faltered. A Stupefy might be nothing more than a Stinging hex to a werewolf, but it was better than nothing at all, which is what Harry had.
"I'm not leaving you," he said stonily. The cellar door quivered and shook, as if it were made of gelatin rather than wood. The low snarl became a roar of rage and challenge, sliding up the octaves into a blood-curdling howl. Hermione thanked Merlin that Silencing spells were part of the ward package that had been present on the safehouse since day one.
"Wands at the ready!" Mr. Weasley called out, entering the kitchen, with Fred and Ron close behind him. "Petrificus on my mark." Wands came up, and faces set like flint with determination.
The door knob rattled loose from its casing, and hit the floor loudly, rolling drunkenly across the kitchen tile, with a metallic swirling sound. Hermione rather imagined that she could see the brilliant flash of razor-sharp incisors through the hole where the door knob had been. The growling was louder now. One hinge tore free from the wooden doorframe.
"Steady as she goes," Mr. Weasley said in a calming voice. Hermione tried subtly to move in front of Harry, but then a motion on her other side caught her eye. Neville's trembling sweaty hand clenched around his wand, as he aimed it toward the door.
He's going to cast early! Hermione thought, panicked. It's our first broom lesson all over again! She knew they would need every spare particle of magic from each wand if they could even hope to down Remus.
"Neville, no!" she shouted, at the same time that a blast of light shot out of his wand.
There was a tumult of light and sound. A loud crackling issued forth as the door seemed to fold in on itself like tissue paper. Tonks was prostrate on the floor, blood trickling from a laceration somewhere in her hair. Neville, Luna, and Ron were tumbled in the corner like discarded toy soldiers. Mr. Weasley had been hurled across the room, where he had made loud contact with the cabinets beneath the sink, caving in both doors and causing the pipes to spew a fine mist of water across the tile floor. Professor McGonagall had been driven to her knees near the pile of humanity that was the younger Order members, and was slowly trying to get up, looking suddenly every one of her years.
A rank smell of warm and sweaty animal filled the kitchen, permeating both Hermione's nostrils and her awareness. Claws clacked and slid ominously on the wet tile, as that which had once been Remus Lupin mounted the last stair and entered the kitchen, picking its way carefully through the ruins of the cellar door.
Hermione realized suddenly that she and Harry alone were left standing, and Harry was in between her and the werewolf. It swung its massive muzzle toward them, sniffing the air almost delicately. A low snarl gurgled up from the belly of the beast in anticipation, and rattled around the corners of the kitchen. Mr. Weasley groaned and moved slightly, trying to roust himself from the wet splinters of the cabinet doors.
Harry looked up at the werewolf looming over him, spreading his arms wide to block the creature from going after Hermione.
"Harry, no!" Hermione's voice cracked, becoming no more than a pleading whisper. She raised her wand. There was a clatter of wood, as someone to her left struggled to find his or her wand again. She closed her eyes in desperation, and felt something surge within her, a thrum of power, a bubbling up of an intense potion. She found herself wishing in vain that Harry had his magic back, figuring that somehow his power would be more than the sum of everyone else's. If Harry could still do magic, she would not be as utterly petrified as she was at this very moment, staring down the vile maw of a monster. The raw desire of it, seemingly boiled down to its very essence, burned her insides like acid. She was going to explode with the force of it. What the hell is going on?
The werewolf raised one powerful paw, tipped with cruelly curved claws. It was going to knock Harry out of the way, would probably break his neck. Harry held up both hands to ward it off. Oh, God, Harry… Hermione thought.
"Stupefy!" Hermione shouted, so loudly and shrilly that she thought she might have stripped the very lining from her throat. A brilliant beam shot from the tip of her wand, at the same time as corresponding rays of light erupted from the palms of both of Harry's hands.
The werewolf hovered in mid-air for the briefest fraction of a second, before being propelled down the stairs, where it landed with a sick-sounding thwack on the hard-packed dirt of the cellar floor. Harry leaned over the ruined threshold, peering down the stairs at the prone, crumpled figure in the dimness. He was visibly wavering on his feet. He turned back to Hermione, looking shell-shocked.
"He's breathing," he announced. His knees buckled beneath him, and Hermione quickly ducked under his arm, struggling to keep him upright. In the corner, Luna and Ron managed to disentangle themselves. Neville, apparently, was out cold.
"Harry," Hermione gasped breathlessly. "What on earth was that?"
"I don't know," Harry stammered, looking dazed and at a loss. "I - it - it didn't feel like it came from me. I - I controlled where it went, but I don't know where it came from."
"Try your wand!" she said eagerly, pulling out the wand that he still carried in his back pocket out of habit - and maybe a little denial. She handed it to him expectantly.
"Lumos!" he said suddenly, clearly trying to muster up a confidence that he didn't really feel.
Nothing happened.
"I don't understand," Ron said, addressing them both for the first time in a few days, as he moved in front of them, trying to extricate his dad from under the sink. Luna was helping McGonagall to her feet. "If your magic isn't back, then what the hell just happened." Harry was shaking his head.
"It didn't come from me, didn't start with me." He speared Hermione with a sudden wide-eyed look. "It came from you."
TBC
Argh! That got really long, but I decided not to leave you with a cliffhanger in the middle of the werewolf attack. Aren't I nice?
I had real trouble with this chapter. I liked the end, but it was the beginning and middle that gave me problems. It's very transitional, and I'm having all the "I know where I want to be, but how do I get there fro m here?" issues.
There was a lot of set up in this chapter, even some that may not be very noticeable, but definitely set up for the solution to Harry's problem, as well as the solution to Ginny's problem. And there was important Neville plot in here as well.
Please leave a review on your way out. I'm rather uncertain about this chapter, and would love some feedback!
Thanks!
lorien
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