Chapter 2: St. Mungo's Infirmary Blues
Harry Potter woke up slowly, his eyes fluttering open and then closing again before he could actually see anything. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry and his skin felt as though he had the world's worst sunburn. Harry groaned softly as he began to stir. He tried to rub his eyes, but found he couldn't move his arms; his entire body, in fact, was completely immobile. 'What happened to me?' he asked himself hazily. 'Where am I?'
Opening his eyes again to get a better, if somewhat fuzzy, view of things, Harry was surprised to find a group of people wearing pale white masks surrounding him in a semi-circle. They seemed to stare at him with unblinking eyes, dour expressions etched on what little he could see of their faces. Harry was lying in a small, well-lit room, strapped to a very uncomfortable bed and appeared to be wrapped in bandages from his neck down to his ankles. Standing just above his line of sight was a tall man with deep scars marring his face. The figure glanced down at him grimly and, before Harry could react, attached a large metal clamp to his right arm, which sent a sharp agonizing jolt throughout his upper body. He did his best to muffle the cry of anguish that automatically came from his mouth.
"He's awake," a woman's voice growled angrily from behind her mask. "You said he would still be asleep. He'll need a sedative potion…"
"Not now," the scarred man snapped. "It's almost finished."
Whatever was 'almost finished' was hurting Harry so badly he was put in mind of the Cruciatus Curse. As he tried to mentally block out the pain, he wondered what exactly had happened to him. Had he been captured by Death Eaters? And if so, why hadn't they killed him already? 'They're saving me for Voldemort,' Harry thought, paranoia seizing him completely. 'Just like Snape said the night Dumbledore died. Voldemort wants to kill me himself.'
One thing was sure. Harry had never been the type to just lie around, waiting for a Dark Lord to murder him. Steeling himself against the pain, he began to rise from his bed, bandages tearing away in his wake. His eyes searched the room frantically for his wand, hoping that whoever had taken him had been careless enough to leave it close by.
"Whoa there, Harry," a familiar voice cautioned him as a firm hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down onto the bed. "You're in no condition to be walking around right now." Harry continued to thrash about restlessly. "Harry, stop. You're going to be alright. It's just me, Bill."
Harry blinked several times and examined the face of the man in front of him, his vision slowly coming into focus. "Bill?" he asked, his voice a throaty croak. "Bill Weasley?"
The oldest Weasley brother smiled winningly. "It's the red hair. Gives me away every time."
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, confusion etched clearly on his face. "Where is 'here'? What happened to me?"
"You're at St. Mungo's, Harry," Bill explained patiently. "You've suffered what looks to be accidental spell damage. We were kind of hoping you could fill us in on some of the details, but…well, disorientation is natural. As for why I'm here, I'm somewhat of an expert on the kind of spell that went wonky…"
At this point, one of the masked women who had been standing behind Bill loudly cleared her throat. Her short, clipped voice reminded him somewhat of Professor McGonagall and she seemed less than pleased to have an outsider examining her patient. "If you'll just lie still and allow Mr. Weasley to complete his treatment of your more, ahem, unique injuries, we can resume our normal healing regimen, Mr. Potter."
Harry frowned. "What normal healing regi…ow!" A convulsive wave of agony shook his body suddenly and he fell flat on his back, his face contorting into a mask of pain.
"That just means that it's working," Bill assured him sympathetically. "It will all be over in a moment." Everything in his body screamed out that he was lying, that the suffering was unbearable and never-ending, but eventually it did fade away, leaving only a faint burning sensation in its wake. "There, the pain should be gone by now. You are feeling better, aren't you?"
Aside from his experiences with the Unforgivable Curses and the time he spent in Hogwarts' hospital wing drinking Skele-Gro with no bones in his arm, Harry wasn't sure he had ever felt worse. Still, he attempted to nod his head 'yes' for Bill's sake. The oldest Weasley sibling smiled down at him warmly. "Come on, Harry. It can't be that bad. Not after you've faced down dementors, a Hungarian horntail and Dolores Umbridge. Sure, you might have gotten singed a bit…"
"Singed a bit?!" one of the women behind him squawked indignantly as she removed the white surgical mask from her face. "That's putting it very mildly, Mr. Weasley. These burns are extremely severe and unlikely to heal easily. I would ask that you not give our patient false hope for a speedy recovery."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Bill replied cheekily. "I just thought that reminding your patient that he's been through worse might boost his morale a bit. I believe you charming ladies call that 'bedside manner'."
"We are familiar with the term," the matronly woman replied in a frosty voice. "As for having been through worse, Mr. Potter, just what exactly were you doing using a Persian sacred fire charm?"
Harry looked flummoxed. He barely remembered anything about the last few hours and memories were only floating into his brain in bits and pieces. There was something about a locket…
Bill came to his rescue. "It's quite a common charm, actually, in certain parts of the world. I've used it myself many times, sometimes just to start a campfire." The healers eyed him incredulously. "Wouldn't want it to go out too easily, you know. It comes in so handy in the field, in fact, that I showed Harry how to do it during the Quidditch World Cup a few years back. Didn't I, Harry?" Bill asked, his eyebrows rising dramatically, as if they were instructing him to play along.
"Yeah," Harry answered, his voice faint and raspy. "Yeah, I remember that. That was…brilliant, Bill. It really came in handy."
Bill Weasley looked to be suppressing a laugh. "I thought that it might." He then looked pointedly at the healers surrounding him. "Now if you ladies would be so kind, I'd like to determine whether or not Harry is still in need of my services. Alone, please." He then gave them a look that was somehow both friendly and intimidating. The elderly woman who had been giving Bill such a hard time departed with an icy glare. The other healers quickly followed her out.
"You gave us quite a scare there, Harry," Bill said seriously as he removed the metallic clamp that had caused Harry so much pain only moments ago, examined it closely, then tossed it aside as if it were nothing.
"I was a little scared myself," Harry admitted sheepishly as he gingerly placed his glasses on his face. "For a minute there I thought I'd been captured by Death Eaters."
Bill winced at the thought. "Look, I don't know what you were up to last night, but I know that if you were using a sacred fire charm, it must have been something dangerous."
Harry frowned. "I thought you said…"
"I lied," Bill interrupted forcefully. "The atash spells are deadly. A lot of the ancient tombs I've unearthed have sacred fire charms protecting them. It usually takes weeks just to get past them and we always have special equipment standing by, in case someone gets hurt." Bill let out a long sigh. "Do you know who usually uses an atash fire charm, Harry?" Harry shook his head 'no' as best he could. "Dark wizards. They prefer them to standard fire spells because they were designed to cleanse impurities from metal and stone. Only Death Eaters use them on wizards like us. People they see as traitors and…of 'bad' blood lines." Bill hung his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, Bill. I…I didn't know." Harry thought back to the Half-Blood Prince book he had relied on so heavily last year. He had used the spells Snape had written without knowing who had created them or what that magic was meant to do. 'Never again,' Harry swore to himself. 'I'll never use a spell if I don't know what it's used for and why.'
Bill rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "I'm sure my parents would be giving you a stern lecture about the responsible use of magic about now, but I'm not them." He looked down at Harry with a playful smirk on his face. "Look, I'll make you a deal. If I get Mum and Dad off your back and tell them you're alright without giving you the mickey, will you swear to me that you'll be more careful in future?" Harry nodded, grateful that he wouldn't have to endure a long-winded lecture from Arthur or Molly Weasley.
"Good man. And please, for all of our sakes, take my little brother or Hermione along with you next time. They've nearly gone mad these last few hours from not knowing what's going on with you." Bill paused to listen to something just beyond the curtain surrounding Harry's hospital bed. He then turned around to face Harry with a small grimace. "I think they're taking it out on each other a bit." He pulled back the curtain to reveal Ron and Hermione in the middle of a heated argument. Harry had no idea how he hadn't heard them bickering before, until he realized that the healers must have used a silencing charm to protect him from outside noise. Hearing his two best friends' angry voices carrying across the room, he couldn't help but think that the healers of St. Mungo's had made a wise choice.
"Me?!" Hermione asked in disbelief. "It may have temporarily escaped your notice, Ronald Weasley, but I'm a girl. What would the Dursleys think if I was the one sharing a room with Harry?"
"Since when do you care what the Dursleys think?" Ron demanded, his voice rising slightly in confusion. "Yesterday you hexed Dudley just for giving you a friendly pat on the back."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "'A friendly pat on the'…? Ron, he groped me!"
Ron threw his arms in the air dramatically. "First a bloke doesn't notice you're a girl and he gets yelled at, then another bloke does notice and he ends up taking a stunner to the head. There's no winning with you, is there?"
"You're impossible!" Hermione declared, crossing her arms as she took several steps away from Ron.
"And you've gone spare!" Ron replied heatedly. Hermione sent an angry glare his way and then turned her head away from him to face the opposite side of the room. After a moment of sulking, Ron did the same to her.
"I would offer to leave, but I think the healers might frown on that," Harry interjected softly.
Bill withdrew slightly, choosing to stand in the corner of the room with his arms folded as Ron and Hermione came rushing at their best friend. "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed cheerfully. "Are you alright? Were the treatments awful? I'll bet they were. How's your breathing? Is it normal? Because they said it might be labored for a while from smoke inhalation but I told them I didn't smell any smoke when we found you…"
"Might want to let him get a word in once and a while, Hermione," Ron interrupted her with a small smile. "I think he can breathe well enough to talk." Hermione responded by scowling at Ron, but did seem to back off a bit.
"I'm fine, mostly," Harry answered, his tone wary. "It only hurts when I…well, when I do anything actually." He cast a hopeful glance over at Bill. "Seeing as I've practically been mummified, though, it's hard to do very much."
Bill recognized a cue for him to enter the conversation when he heard it. "Most of the bandages should come off within a day or so, depending on what the healers think of your progress." Harry gave his gauze wrappings a dirty look. Somehow he sensed that it was going to be more than just a few days before he could get out of here. Bill reached inside of his cloak and removed a bottle filled with an orange-yellow liquid. "Here. Drink this once every four hours or until it makes you pass out. It should speed the healing process up a bit."
Harry lifted the bottle, opened it and held the top to his nose. It smelled a bit like firewhiskey mixed with turpentine. He sent Bill Weasley a questioning glance. "It's Ahura Akbar potion. The Egyptians have used it to counteract the effects of the atash spells for centuries." Harry took a large swig of the potion, only to spit it out in disgust. "Of course, they also use it to remove paint." A sour expression came over Harry's face and Bill laughed sympathetically. "Buck up, Harry. Most people who've been on the receiving end of sacred fire have ended up a sight worse than you. My predecessor at Gringott's lost an arm investigating an old Magi's tomb in the Siwa Oasis. You're really quite lucky to be alive."
Harry smiled humorlessly. "Yes, that's what I am. Lucky."
Hermione's brow furrowed and her face began to redden. "Careful, mate," Ron warned in a stage whisper. "Hermione's remembering why she's cross with you." Ron's face took on a thoughtful expression. "Too bad she never forgets when it's me she's mad at."
Hermione's wrath temporarily focused on Ron. "This is serious, Ron. Harry could have gotten himself killed!"
"I didn't though, did I?" Harry replied, his voice recognizably chilly despite his hoarseness. "I got along just fine by myself."
"Yes, Harry, you did splendidly," Hermione responded sarcastically. "You used an almost illegal spell which backfired on you and now you're laid up in St. Mungo's with second-degree burns while a horde of reporters are outside hounding everyone about what happened when none of us have the slightest clue! So I suppose congratulations are in order! Bravo, Harry. Well done!"
Harry gave Hermione a nonplussed look. "I destroyed the locket."
Hermione suddenly became very quiet. Ron's mouth fell open in shock. As one, their eyes darted to Bill Weasley, who was not slow to take the hint. "I'll just step outside a bit and let everyone know how you're doing. Mum and Dad have been worrying themselves sick." Harry gave him an appreciative nod as he backed slowly out of the room.
As Bill closed the door behind him, Ron looked like he was about to burst with enthusiasm. "Bloody hell, Harry! You actually destroyed a…."
Bill's slightly muffled voice interrupted him. "And just what are you doing listening at the door, little sister?" All three of them quickly turned to hear what was going on outside.
Ginny Weasley's voice sounded huffy even through the hospital wall. "Someone had to find out what was happening. You weren't going to come back and tell us anything."
"That's what I'm getting ready to do now," Bill retorted reproachfully. "You know, you should really come with me. I think Harry wants to be alone."
"But he's not alone, is he?" Ginny replied cattily. "Ron and Hermione are in there. If they can learn what's going on with him, why can't I?"
Her brother's voice seemed sad somehow. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ginny." Harry could hear Bill's footsteps as he walked down the hall. They were not followed by Ginny's.
Harry felt a twinge of pain close to his heart. He had decided not to tell Ginny about the horcruxes in order to keep her safe ('which was the same reason I broke up with her,' Harry reflected glumly). Now that he knew more about what destroying them would be like, that it was incredibly dangerous and eerily similar to what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, he knew he had no choice. Ginny couldn't know about the horcruxes.
Ron shot Harry a sympathetic glance. "You want me to handle it?" he asked simply. Harry nodded and gave his best mate a grateful look. Ron stepped outside to confront Ginny as Hermione moved closer to Harry, taking a seat directly by his side.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione began fretfully. "You know that I'm only angry because I'm worried about you, don't you? Ron and I were so frightened of what might have happened. Everyone was. If you had…if anything…and so soon after Dumbledore…" Her eyes began to tear up slightly as she looked down at him with a tender expression on her face.
Harry began to reply, but was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Weasleys shouting. "I'm his girlfriend, Ron. I have the right to see him!"
"I'm sorry, Ginny. Not now."
"I am so sick of hearing 'not now.' 'Later.' 'Wait.' I don't want to wait any more, Ron. All I want is to help Harry!"
"Harry doesn't want your help. He wants you safe. And so do I."
Hermione put her right hand in Harry's own, bandaged and weak though it was, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He squeezed back and gave her a brave smile. "She's worried, too, Harry. She just has her own way of showing it."
Harry was slightly irritated by her way of showing it, but hid it well. "I know." Rather than paying attention to what Ron and Ginny were saying outside the room, however, his eyes lingered on Hermione. Both of his best friends had done a lot of growing up over the last year ('physically, at least,' Harry thought, as he remembered some of their more childish exchanges over the last year) and while he noted Ron's improved physique with only passing interest, it was his female best friend who really caught his attention. The muggle clothing she wore this summer at Privet Drive, while modest, left little doubt that Hermione had become a very attractive young woman. Harry could certainly understand what Ron saw in her. Now if only Ron understood what Ron saw in her…
Ginny's shrill ranting cut through his somewhat inappropriate thoughts. "Of course I don't understand! Why do you get to stay with Harry, while I'm constantly pushed away? He doesn't want the two of you to be killed either!"
"That's different," Ron answered her, his patience with her clearly wearing thin. "Hermione and I have always helped Harry. We're a team."
He could almost visualize Ginny sticking her nose in the air. "Some team," she scoffed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked, his voice even.
"What's your contribution to the group, Ron?" Ginny demanded. "Hermione's good with books and research, but all you're good for is getting yourself hurt or in trouble."
"That's…not…" Ron sputtered angrily. "You don't know anything about me, Ginny."
Harry and Hermione both blanched at the exchange. "Oh, don't I?" Ginny retorted. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't you been sidelined by a chess game, a dog, poisoned mead and a flying brain? You're never there when Harry really needs you. Face it, Ron, you're absolutely useless!"
Deafening silence followed. Harry was sure that the unpleasant look on his face matched Hermione's chagrined expression. Harry tried not to think of how Ron must be feeling.
"I…I'm sorry, Ron," Ginny's voice cut in softly. "I didn't mean that, you know I didn't. It's just…whatever it is you three are doing, I can help you. If you'd just let me."
"Harry's made his decision," Ron answered her, his voice low.
"He's being stubborn," Ginny came back with a definite pout to her tone. "If he could only see that there are other people willing to do whatever they can to help him win this war. That it's not just you two who have something to offer."
Ron chuckled bitterly. "And you're what? Offering him your ability to snog? No offense, Gin, I'm sure Harry would be thrilled, but I don't think You-Know-Who will be as impressed."
"You're one to talk!" Ginny screeched. "I'm sure you're snogging Hermione all over that ruddy muggle neighbourhood, instead of…doing whatever it is you're supposed to be doing!"
"That's none of your business!" Ron yelled back.
Before the two of them could really launch into each other, an authoritative female voice rang through the hallway. Harry quickly recognized it as belonging to the same busybody healer who had been harassing Bill. "Mr. Weasley, I must ask you to keep your voice down! This is a hospital, not a Strange Siblings concert. As for you, Miss Weasley, I have asked you many times not to loiter around Mr. Potter's room. He needs bed rest, not young girls squealing outside for his autograph."
"I was not squealing for his bloody autograph," Ginny replied angrily. "For Merlin's sake, I'm his…"
"I don't care if you're his identical twin sister," the elderly healer interrupted. "Cause another disturbance and you will be removed from this floor. Forcibly, if necessary."
"She was just leaving," Ron assured her in an overly genial tone. Ginny continued to protest through frantic whispers, but as they moved away from his room, Harry had a hard time keeping track of their conversation. After a few moments, he turned once again to Hermione, who paced the floor next to his bed with an anguished expression on her face.
Guessing at the cause of her pain as best he could, Harry spoke to her in a very soothing voice. "Ron will be fine, Hermione. I'm sure he's been insulted by Ginny loads of times before. He's probably already over it."
Hermione gave him a weak smile. "It's not Ron I'm worried about, Harry. It's you." She sat next to him once again, although she clutched her hands together in her lap so tightly that her fingertips turned pale. "I thought that we could search for the horcruxes," she lowered her voice conspiratorially as she said what Harry now thought of as 'the secret word', "without anyone else interfering, just the three of us. But it isn't going to work that way, is it? You're too important to our world, Harry. People want to know what's happening in your life. It's almost as if you belong to them. Does that sound crazy?"
"No. In a way, it makes sense. I am 'the Chosen One' after all." Harry looked thoughtful. "It's funny. I've never really belonged to anyone before. Now I belong to everyone. So why do I feel more alone than ever?" he asked in a quiet, reflective voice, so low that he wasn't certain Hermione could hear him.
"I suppose it's natural," Hermione answered him, her voice soft and sympathetic. "People who have the weight of the world on their shoulders tend to bear it alone. I don't know how Professor Dumbledore did it." Her eyes dimmed with sadness at the thought of their departed Headmaster. "But Harry, you know that Ron and I aren't going to leave you, don't you? And I'm sure Ginny would stand by you, too, if you'd let her."
Doubt seeped into Harry's mind. Would Ron and Hermione really stay with him through everything that was coming? They hadn't believed him when he said that Malfoy was a Death Eater and had generally been unhelpful all last year. Hermione had constantly scolded him for using the spells from the Half-Blood Prince book, although Harry was now willing to concede that she was right on that one, while Ron, when not being 'sidelined by poisoned mead' as Ginny had put it, had been preoccupied with snogging Lavender Brown.
And now his two best friends had taken to snogging each other. Thankfully, he hadn't been privy to any of their make-out sessions, but Harry had often found himself alone, searching through books on the founders of Hogwarts while Ron and Hermione went to Florean Fortescue's (presumably Ron's idea of a great date) or Flourish and Blott's (Hermione's version of the same). He was determined to be supportive of his friends' new relationship, and if that meant doing some research on his own (or ignoring the fact that Ron came back from Florean Fortescue's with chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry in his hair), then that was what he would do. He could soldier on by himself.
As for Ginny, well… "Ginny's better off where she is, Hermione," Harry assured her. "She'd only be in more danger if she were around me." Harry's mind wandered to the last time Ginny had encountered a horcrux: Tom Riddle's diary in her first year at Hogwarts. She had ended up lying cold and lifeless in the Chamber of Secrets and had nearly died. There was no way he was putting her through that again.
Hermione nodded her head rapidly as her eyes fell to gaze at the floor. "Harry, why did you decide to go to Grimmauld Place last night?" she asked, clearly struggling to keep her tone neutral.
Harry swallowed hard, trying his best to ignore the coarseness of his throat. "I was just thinking of Slytherin's locket, about where it might be now. It made me remember the locket we found back at Grimmauld before fifth year. Then I got to thinking about R.A.B., how it might be a member of the Black family. Regulus, maybe." Harry shrugged slightly. "It was only an idea I had. I wasn't sure if it would pan out…"
"No, it was brilliant, Harry," Hermione interrupted, her eyes glowing with pride. Harry grinned back at her. "But…why did you go alone? Why didn't you wake me? Or Ron? We would have gone with you, you know."
Harry tried his best not to flinch. He had known his best friends wouldn't be happy that he had left them behind at the Dursleys and that Hermione in particular would be displeased. Still, he had to come up with some sort of answer. "I wasn't sure of anything, Hermione. I wanted to find out for myself if there was anything to it before I got you two involved. Besides, you and Ron had a big day ahead of you, helping Mrs. Weasley decorate the Burrow for the wedding." Hermione's face became one big frown. "Oh. I guess you didn't get a chance to do that, huh?"
Hermione shook her head. "I think Kreacher telling us that you'd been hurt killed the idea of us spending the day hanging up pink paper streamers and cutting out miniature hearts. Not that I was looking forward to it."
An amused little smile crossed Harry's lips. "So Kreacher really came through, did he?"
At that moment, Ron walked back into the room, looking as though he had just banished the Bandon Banshee. "Ugh. You're not telling Harry about that, are you? That was right embarrassing." Harry looked puzzled, while Hermione stifled a laugh. Ron's shoulders slumped. "You didn't say anything about it, did you?"
"No," Hermione answered him with a coy smile, "but I'd imagine he's rather curious about it now."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. I suppose I'll have to tell you the whole story."
Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "What story?"
Despite his initial reluctance, Ron launched into the tale with gusto. "I woke up last night around 11:30 with my stomach growling. You know how I like to have a midnight snack every now and again, particularly with the pitifully small portions your Aunt Petunia serves at dinner, and you have to get down to the pantry early if you want to find anything left. Dudley Dursley takes the whole midnight snacking bit too far, if you ask me." Harry smiled at the thought of Ron being impressed by someone else's appetite. "So as soon as I light my wand, I notice you're not there. No big deal, I figure you're in the loo or gone for a bite to eat yourself. You are looking a bit peaked lately, you know." Hermione cleared her throat, as if to prod him on. "I look around in every room in the house, but there's no sign of you. When I walked back into your room, I noticed your invisibility cloak was gone, too. I figured you'd gone out somewhere, so I decided to tell Hermione. Big mistake there."
Hermione looked shocked and punched him lightly in the arm. "What?" Ron said defensively. "It's true! That's when everything started to go wrong."
A puzzled expression was starting to grow on Harry's face. "What exactly did go wrong?"
Ron exhaled slowly, still rubbing his arm from where he had been punched. "I knocked on Hermione's door several times, but there wasn't any answer."
"I put a silencing charm on the door," Hermione explained matter-of-factly, "because some people sleeping in that house tend to snore. Loudly."
"Yeah, Vernon does sound a bit like a buzz saw at night," Ron agreed with a nod. Harry and Hermione shared an amused glance. It wasn't Vernon Dursley that Hermione had been talking about. "Anyway, so I do a quick 'Alohamora' and step through the door…"
Hermione interrupted, her voice terse. "The door was open, Ronald. The Dursleys strictly forbade us from locking them."
Ron cocked his head to one side. "Do you always have to follow the rules?" Hoping to stave off another row, Harry gestured for Ron to continue. "So anyhow, I go through the door and a bucket of cold water falls down and soaks me. My clothes are dripping wet, I'm freezing cold and all Hermione can say is 'That's what you get for sneaking into my room'."
"I thought you were Dudley!" Hermione explained, her cheeks a bit pink.
Ron looked outraged. "Do I look like Dudley Dursley to you?"
"No," Hermione came back a bit harshly, "thanks only to your metabolism, you don't."
Harry closed his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to ease the splitting headache he'd had since waking up. "So I suppose Kreacher enters this story at some point?" he asked impatiently.
"Right," Ron replied, a bit of anger still evident in his voice. "Well, my pajamas got soaked, so I stripped out of them. All the while, Hermione's apologizing and trying her best to use a drying charm on my clothes. So there I am in nothing but my knickers, completely wet, standing right next to Hermione in her bedroom. Naturally, this is when your Uncle Vernon decides to walk in, demanding to know what all the commotion's about. He sees me, turns this shade of purple that I haven't seen before and starts yelling all this rubbish about 'freaks' and 'strangeness' and 'owls'…"
"Owls?" Harry repeated quizzically.
Ron shrugged. "He's your uncle, not mine. Anyway, that's when Kreacher popped in. In the tiniest, scratchiest voice you could imagine he says 'Young Master Parselmouth's set himself on fire.' Then he pops back out again, quick as you please." Harry laughed aloud at the thought.
Hermione didn't seem all that amused. "It wasn't funny, Harry. Your uncle nearly had a heart attack. And when we figured out that you were 'Young Master Parselmouth', we were really worried." As if to prove their concern, both Ron and Hermione moved closer to Harry, flanking him on either side of the bed. "Harry," Hermione continued curiously, "was there a reason that you spoke parseltongue in front of Kreacher?"
Ron and Hermione listened attentively as Harry recounted the events of the night before, from his discovery of the hidden room at Grimmauld Place to his encounter with the spirit of Tom Riddle. Hermione appeared to be deep in thought when Harry spoke of using his parselmouth ability to open the locket. Ron meanwhile focused on his decision to cast a Persian sacred fire charm. "Wouldn't use that one again if I could help it, mate. I know we don't know much about how to destroy the horcruxes, but if that spell sends you to the hospital every time, it's just not worth it."
Harry could tell Hermione was curious about something, but she seemed reluctant to speak. "I was thinking," Harry began in his serious voice, "that we should move into Grimmauld Place. It looked like Regulus had done a fair amount of research on the horcruxes, plus there are loads of books on dark magic, it's still under the Fidelius Charm for whatever that's worth and…well, the Order isn't using it anymore." In fact, the Order of the Phoenix wasn't doing much of anything anymore. With Dumbledore dead and Snape a proven traitor, the secret organization was floundering badly.
Ron nodded quickly. "Brilliant idea, Harry. Even Kreacher's a better housemate than the Dursleys. After last night, your Uncle Vernon might even pack our bags for us."
"Seeing you half-naked will do that to anyone," Harry joked. Ron's ears turned blood red.
"I hate to keep bothering you with questions, Harry," Hermione said in an oddly quiet voice, "but do you remember what you said in parseltongue to enter the Chamber of Secrets, back in second year? Right before you found Ginny and the spirit of Tom Riddle?"
The smile on Harry's face vanished as he thought back to that moment, over four years ago, when he had entered the Chamber to face a basilisk and discover his very first horcrux. "It wasn't anything complicated," Harry answered simply. "I think I just said 'open'."
"'Open'," Hermione repeated, as if on the verge of figuring something out. "And then again, when you spoke to Slytherin's locket, you told it to open."
Harry nodded slightly. "I was just thinking back to that summer before fifth year, when we couldn't get the locket open. I thought maybe if we could there would be some kind of clue inside. I had no idea it would make Voldemort appear."
"Weird," Ron assessed succinctly. "You-Know-Who's like some kind of genie in a lamp. Rub a horcrux the right way and he'll come out."
"Crude as that comparison is," Hermione said grudgingly, "I think Ron's right. When he was making the horcruxes, Voldemort had every reason to believe that he was the only one who would ever speak parseltongue. The little sliver of Tom Riddle's soul must respond to a parselmouth's commands instinctively, thinking that they're coming from Voldemort himself. It could have been a failsafe, in case anything ever went wrong."
"I'm sorry," Ron replied in mock confusion, "but I didn't hear anything you said after 'Ron's right'. Would you mind repeating all of that?" Hermione swatted at him playfully but Ron dodged her with a chuckle. "Sorry to run on you so soon, Harry, but Mum's making me head back to the Burrow. Says our little trip to St. Mungo's has set her back a bit on time to prepare for the wedding. She doesn't seem to get that it's a week away."
"And you don't seem to get that it takes a long time and a lot of planning to pull off a successful wedding," Hermione informed him with a frown.
"You could come, too, you know," Ron said almost pleadingly. "We were supposed to be helping her today anyway."
"Actually, I think I'd like to stay with Harry," Hermione replied apologetically. "At least until the healers make me go. Then I could go back to the Dursleys' and start moving our things to Grimmauld Place. That is," Hermione stopped as she suddenly considered something, "unless Harry wants to be alone."
Harry shook his head before lowering it onto the pillow below him. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. "No," he answered, his fingers beckoning her, "stay with me." Hermione bid Ron a brief farewell and then returned to the seat beside Harry, watching him intently as he soon fell asleep.
A/N: I know other authors have decided not to put R/Hr together after HBP, since they weren't officially a couple at the end of the book. However, not all is as it seems and things will change quickly. Stay tuned!
ITL