Here With Me
Disclaimer: My utmost admiration for the inimitable J K Rowling requires me to be most clear in the fact that I own
none of this and humbly offer my thanks for her absolutely magical world so far removed from work, kids (well, I share
it with mine but on a much different level…) and never-ending laundry. I always come back renewed. And I
don't make a cent.
Special Thanks Department: To Mina for the beta of these original chapters - without you, I never would have posted here on Portkey.
A/N: To anyone who might be reading this story for the first time, welcome. Please excuse this lengthy authors note, but it's here because some of the nicest, most unselfish and supportive writers and readers are also here at Portkey. You've found the best place on the net for HP fiction.
To all of you who wrote me after the recent incident with a truly nasty reviewer brought me to take this story down, all I can say is thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I owe each and every one of you so much.
I am that most awful breed of writer; deepus insecurus. You rarely ever see us; our natural habitat is alone with our keyboards, preferably after midnight. The invention of the laptop is the only reason we actually experience sunshine, but its cousin in technology, the internet, has been a mixed blessing for the species. We hop out like hopeful bunnies and post, and your reviews, positive or negative but constructive, make us thump our feet in joy. Take a shot at us, and we run like Bambi from the flames.
It hurt to delete this story; it had over 500 reviews attached and they were my first ever, so they meant a lot to me. It hurt even more, though, that someone could say such nasty and unreal things about me personally and my other story without ever even reading it. I felt singled out and eviscerated in the most awful way, and I thought the answer was to erase all my tracks and make like I'd never hopped out of the forest. That was my plan anyway.
So many of you pointed out something I'd never thought of at all; if I took down my stories and ran for the woods the jerk who attacked me or others like him/her might feel emboldened enough to pick on other writers here with the same effect. I know now that several other writers were victims of the same person - and being far more resilient than I stayed put. No matter how much I'd feel like licking my wounds in private, I really couldn't bear it if my behavior meant that kind of thing became any more commonplace at Portkey.
Several of you even quoted Dumbledore and Harry to me - a couple of you even my "own" Harry - about facing dark times and making decisions. I'm no Harry, I'm afraid, but it seems deeply hypocritical to work so hard to write something and not take it to heart.
So, anyway… I've decided to repost this story again and put up its final chapters here as well, and to leave Magic Never Dies up indefinitely for anyone that wants to read it. The least I can do for all the amazing kindness and encouragement you guys have shown me - I owe you far more than that.
I loved working on MND, but it took a lot out of me. I write chapter by chapter, making it up as I go along, so I had general sense of where I was going but it often surprised me as much as anyone where it went. I am a bit burnt out at the moment and content to leave Harry and Hermione in peace while I work on some original stuff. But if any ideas should come to me and I have the time to write them I will post them here first. GOF is coming to DVD soon, so I am more than likely doomed to feel the need to try again. I am in the process of archiving my stuff, and if you asked for the info it will be emailed to you. I am truly looking forward to finally getting the chance to read many of your stories as well.
Once again - you are the best, an island of hope in a rapidly scumming-over pond. If all the kindness you guys have shown me is born of delusion, than to be delusional is a higher form of consciousness devoutly to be wished for. Thank you so much. I'll shut up now and let you just read.
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Here with Me is set in Harry's sixth year, rendered AU by HBP. There are three preceding chapters first posted as Goodbye Privet Drive. They'll be reposted when Dell returns my old laptop, but Here With Me stands without them. Enjoy or skewer at will. I'll post them one a day til it's back up and then the ending chapters, so if you notice anything truly dreadful let me know and I can work on it as it goes back up. Thanks! ~ Lynney
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Chapter One
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The Great Hall hummed faintly under its stormy enchanted ceiling, mirroring the overcast conditions outside the castle. Hogwarts' usually cool fall temperatures had given way to a last gasp of summertime and the air felt heavy with the latent electricity of an imminent thunderstorm. Across the vast room students from all four houses were caught up in the usual turmoil of the first weeks of a new school year; wide-eyed, panicky first years clumped together and conversing in hushed tones, returning students adjusting to new schedules and expectations, the resumption of old friendships and rivalries.
Harry and Ron had just finished their first Quidditch practice with the new season's potential replacement players. The always challenging task of beginning to fit together the raw strengths and weaknesses of a new team had caused practice to run long and mentally knackered Ron, the new Gryffindor Captain. Harry had just been happy to find that Dolores Umbridge's lifetime ban had been officially lifted and he could play for Gryffindor again. Mounting the Firebolt, despite its powerful memories of Sirius, had been the best thing that had happened to Harry in months. The two had had to race to shower and change in time to make dinner, both starving and desperate not to miss their evening meal. Now Harry was on the hunt for Hermione, having promised to give her his notes from History of Magic, which she had missed talking a tearfully homesick Gryffindor first year down out of the Owlery. So far, she was nowhere to be found.
He dropped into his usual seat at the Gryffindor table across from Ron, who was already attacking his dinner with mindless gusto. He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, surveying the hall hopefully for Hermione's presence at one of the other tables. No prefect business with Hannah Abbott over at Hufflepuff. Not comparing Arithmancy assignments anywhere at Ravenclaw, though Luna Lovegood gave him a characteristically absentminded little wave. No point even checking out the Slytherins, although old ferret boy was looking somewhat out of sorts over there on the end by himself. And what were Crabbe and Goyle so disgustingly cheerful about?
"You haven't seen Hermione, have you?" he asked Ron.
Ron grunted "Nawrfhi?" Harry roughly translated "Nope, why?" from the mouthful of Shepherds Pie.
"She really wanted the notes from History of Magic before she went to the library tonight. She's got that Educational Decree Reversal Committee thing to go to."
Ron kept chewing and looked at him skeptically. "Why would she want your notes? Wouldn't she want to get them off someone who was actually paying attention?"
"And they would be…" Okay, so Harry's feeble attempts were usually interspersed with their games of enchanted hangman; he didn't even remember Ron bringing parchment to most of Binns' bore fests. He'd actually attempted to pay attention today to please Hermione; he'd found it far easier than usual without her actually there in class. Perhaps it was almost losing her in the Department of Mysteries last year, but Harry had suddenly come to realize that Hermione was completely enchanting when she was utterly absorbed in something. Unfortunately Binns was so unrelentingly boring even she had slowly become aware of Harry's new penchant for getting lost in the swirling shades of brown and blond and gold that made up her mane of unruly hair. He had a permanent bruise on his left side exactly the size and shape of Hermione's right elbow.
"D'nno, mate. You've got a point. Don't worry though, she'll turn up."
Harry looked at his still empty plate, mind wandering. So where was Hermione? He scanned the Gryffindor table again as he took a sip of pumpkin juice. Parvati, Lavender, Neville, Seamus, Dean, all intently chatting about the first week of classes. Ginny… Where was Ginny?
A shadow fell across his plate, followed by a sharp crack. Which turned out to be the near simultaneous sounds of Goyles' elbow connecting soundly with the back of Harry's head and Harry's teeth connecting soundly with the - thankfully now nearly empty - glass. Which in turn connected soundly with the table and promptly shattered.
"Oops. Sorry Potthead. My bad." Goyle sniggered. Crabbe guffawed and Goyle pushed him on toward the door. "Clumsy oaf, look what you made me do! How's Potty going to snog his mudblood with a bloody lip?"
Harry could feel a lump starting to tighten at the base of his neck and tasted blood. He stood up and turned toward the two Slytherins' retreating figures as they passed through the door to the entrance hall, too surprised to even fully register his own anger for a moment. What the hell was THAT? That was a classic Malfoy move, the name Malfoy was a trembling snarl on his lips. A quick check, however, revealed Malfoy to be still seated at the Slytherin table, head bent over a book. Yeah, right. But since when did Crabbe and Goyle venture out on their own? He glanced back at Ron to find his best friend similarly thrown. Ron reached across the table to hand him a napkin.
"Wipe up, Harry. You alright?"
"Yeah," Harry dabbed gently at his lower lip to staunch the flow he felt dribbling slowly down his chin. It stung, his head now ached, and something was itching, scratching at the back of his neck. He sunk back down in his seat.
"Stupid gits, those two. Shouldn't have thought they'd have it in them without Malfoy leading the charge. What'd you do to get up their noses, Harry?" Dean asked as he resumed eating. Parvati kindly reparoed his glass and the rest of the Gryffindors at the table seemed to breathe a small, relieved sigh of house-points-lost averted and tucked back into their meals as well.
"Woke up this morning, I expect," Harry replied glumly, and reached back to rearrange the collar of his school shirt. What was that annoying… a small piece of parchment met his questing fingers.
He unfolded the scrap to find a crudely drawn wizard cartoon. Whatever else Crabbe and Goyle might be, they weren't artists. It took Harry several minutes of studying the scrap, turning it side to side and squinting, to suss out what they were getting at. The figure with what he had first taken for a Kneazle on its head was meant to be … Hermione? Her awkward posture revealed itself to be a result of being tied to what he was rather sure was meant to be a tree. A balloon repeatedly blew from her lips with the words "Hary! Hary!" scribbled across it. Merlin, couldn't those morons even spell his name right? Unless she was trying to say, Hurry? Or that she saw something Hairy? Or…
Harry pushed himself away from the table, making his way to the door as fast as his legs could carry him. He'd been looking for Hermione for the better part of a half hour… because effing Crabbe and Goyle had left her alone somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. And it was getting dark.
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Harry ran. Without thinking, without reflecting, without pausing for advice from Ron, (well, really, what was the point of that?) or anyone else (Hermione was the one he went to for advice, and she was the one who was missing…) Every part of his being screamed find her! He told no one where he was going, stopped for nothing, took nothing with him other than his wand. He shrugged off his robes somewhere around Hagrid's hut and left them puddled on a rock. The unusual heat had him sweating already and he well remembered how they had slowed him down on previous visits requiring forays through the underbrush. He plunged into the trees and ran without stopping until his adrenaline had carried him quite deep within the forest.
There he paused, doubled over and gasping for breath, and it occurred to him at last that the Forbidden Forest was a very big place…wheeze… and Crabbe and Goyle were very bad artists… heave… and it was unlikely that there was anything really distinguishable about the tree that Hermione was tied to in the cartoon. So… exactly HOW was he going to find her? He stood quite still, listening with all his might to the sounds around him. Even if he couldn't hear her, he might hear something that had seen her and could lead him to her. Like what, Harry? A Unicorn? Not too fond of boys, those. Friendly little bowtruckle? He still had a scar on his hand where one of those had bitten him during Care of Magical Creatures, and he didn't have a handy pocket full of - blech -- wood lice to bribe the little buggers with anyway. How about a Centaur? Now there's a wizard-loving creature likely to want to help you out… NOT.
"Bugger me." Harry knew somehow that he'd managed to do it again. Turned off his brain and clicked into Harry-mode. And now he'd just have to make the best of it and hope that Hermione would be grateful enough to be saved that she wouldn't hex him into next term just for trying to. Why did he keep on doing this? Talk about slow learners…
Assuming, of course, that she really needed saving and this wasn't just another trap to prove how stupid and predictable he really was…
"Harry Potter."
Uh, oh. Not good. Harry knew that voice, and it hadn't been particularly pleased with him the last time he heard it either.
"Bane." Harry slowly turned and instinctually bowed as he did before raising his eyes to meet the centaur's gaze. Well, it works with Hippogriffs, and they can be right moody creatures when they want to be, he reasoned. Bane was still big, black and very angry. The chestnut red centaur Magorian stood on his right; a quite dark gray one Harry had not seen before, seemingly younger than the other two, took Bane's left.
Bane furiously stamped a powerful hind leg, his hoof making a dull whumping sound on the forest floor. "We warned you, Harry Potter. Your kind are not welcome here. And yet you come again. You are not a foal to be coddled any longer. You have surely reached your manhood now."
And now I'm gonna die a virgin…
"I only came to free someone who is held here against her will. I only want to help her and I'll go…"
"We do not care about that. If you would but look to the stars as we do you would not bother with these useless quests. The foolish superiority of all wizards washes through your veins. It is time it was washed OUT!"
All three centaurs raised their bows, arrows at the ready. Before he had really taken in the immediacy of his peril, Harry heard the singing twang of three bowstrings. He dropped to the ground, hearing the deadly swift hiss of the arrows pass over his head, then broke left and ran hard, hoping the younger centaur might take longer to re…
Nope. The arrow pierced his right bicep, passed through, and buried its head in his side. He immediately felt strangely lopsided, grew increasingly aware of how much he used both arms for balance and how hard it was to stay upright, dodge tree branches and leap over rocks and logs with only one free to steady him. They were damned fast, centaurs, but he was smaller, more maneuverable. The back legs that gave them their propulsion also required more space to move. He stayed away from clearings, crashing into the depths of the forest and aiming for cover. He needed to stop running to wrestle his wand from his right jeans pocket with his left hand, but he sensed if he stopped even for a moment now it might be his last. Arrows whistled around him or thonked into tree trunks but for the most part it was an eerily quiet pursuit, his footfalls and the hoof beats of the three centaurs were muffled by the thick loam of the forest floor. It seemed to go on for hours but could only have been minutes at most. Long minutes. Even as he ran for his life, Harry kept looking desperately through the trees for some sign of Hermione. What would you do if you DID find her, idiot boy? Lead the centaurs to her? You'd have to run in the opposite direction. But if I could reach help, Hagrid, the school, if I could just tell someone where she is…
Harry staggered and failed to clear the trunk of a large tree fallen to the forest floor. He felt something in his ankle give out with a sideways twist and fell hard, carrying all his forward momentum into the ground. He lay stricken, the breath knocked out of him, face buried in the decaying leaves that gathered at the far side.
The centaurs soared easily over the log and the still figure so close behind it, galloping on in hot pursuit.
It was some time before Harry made any attempt to move. Everything hurt. His split lip - the scene in the Great Hall seemed a lifetime ago, surely it should have healed by now? - had opened again and he could taste the blood once more. His head throbbed. His arm and shoulder were unmentionable, the pain a fierce burning sensation even when he remained completely still. And now his left leg, his ankle. Bloody, bloody HELL.
"Stupid git." he mumbled blearily, trying to force himself into a sitting position. It was starting to grow dark. If the centaurs came back there was nothing for it now, anyway. He made a fumbling attempt to finally free his wand.
"Now that," said a soft, sibilant voice, "is usually my line."
He knew that voice.
Malfoy. Malfoy? Oh, like this wasn't going badly enough… Okay, this HAD to be a dream. A really pathetic bad dream. Malfoy will just kick me in the stones as I lie here and I'll wake up on the floor of the boy's dormitory screaming but essentially alive. Right? Please?
"Oh, just kill me now," Harry snarled. "Get it the hell over with. What a freaking nightmare…" He expected to hear something like "Oh, I haven't even begun what I'm going to do to you yet, Potter," or "It's time to take you to the Dark Lord now, Potter," or even "Avada Kedavra, Potter!" He was totally not expecting:
"I sincerely hope your feeble brain can appreciate this, Potter, because I'm going to be The Boy Who's Totally Screwed if I save you now. Understand this. You will do everything I say. There will be no whimpering. There will be no feebly rising up to hex me when you finally manage to get that wand out of your pocket. There will be no dying on me, or I WILL do unmentionable things to your corpse. Got it?"
The Boy Who's Totally Screwed If I Save You? Save me for what? So Voldemort can finish me? Thanks, friend. Piss off.
Harry was tired. Harry was confused. Harry was bleeding a lot.
Unmentionable things to my corpse? What the hell was that all about? Like I'd care? Whoa… what was that? That rumbling sound… not hoof beats again. No way.
"Listen, Malfoy, no offense, but I gotta run," Harry staggered to his knees and tried to pull himself upright against the log. The sound came again, louder now. He suddenly realized Malfoy wasn't moving to stop him. Wasn't hexing, jinxing, full-body-binding or petrificus totalus-ing. His wand was held loosely in his hand, not cocked and ready to let fly. And what was that look for? Harry didn't see anything the least bit amusing about any of this.
He pushed off from the log in the direction he thought vaguely should lead back to the castle. He managed three floundering strides and fell to the forest floor again. The thunder of hooves was louder now. Or wait. Was that just… thunder?
Must be. Because that was definitely rain. Brilliant.
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