Author's Note
Brrrr!!!! Getting a little colder, dear readers…*Janie hands out scarves and beanies* Don't be too afraid now…
REUNION
By JanieB
CHAPTER SIX
Nerves and Knitting
Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair in contrast to the two previous mornings. Whilst no one knew what it was the Trio would have to do that evening to "fix things", they didn't think it could be anything other than difficult and complicated. After all, it had taken even the intrepid Hermione Granger this long to find the solution and the serious demeanour of the Trio as they sat around the table spoke volumes about the gravity of the situation.
After finishing breakfast, Mr Weasley Apparated to the Ministry for work and Harry, Ron and Hermione went for a walk, leaving Mrs Weasley, Ginny and Dean to discuss them in low tones.
With a fresh pot of tea on the table, they sat and talked, Mrs Weasley telling them of her fears for her son and his friends, pointing out Hermione's words, "if it's successful", emphasising the "if".
Dean shook his head. `I wouldn't worry, Mum. You know as well as we do that Hermione would never deliberately or knowingly risk hurting either Ron or Harry. I think she was just speaking cautiously - as Hermione tends to!'
Ginny nodded in agreement. `He's right, Mum. If Hermione says she's ready, she's ready. And she'll do it. They'll all do it.' Reaching out, Ginny covered her mother's hand with her own, giving it a reassuring pat.
It was a strange sort of day. Mrs Weasley spent most of her time knitting, another two pairs of needles flashing in the air either side of her; she was finishing the last of the jumpers she still gave as gifts at Christmas time. Dean and Ginny spent the day with Dean's parents. Since no one outside the Weasley and Granger families knew of the current situation with Harry, Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Dean were hoping the resulting lack of conversation about it would help keep their minds off the coming nights' events.
As for the Trio themselves, they spent the day poring over notes and in numerous repetitions of the incantation they would use that night. They had a short break for lunch, but even then Hermione brought a large, dusty volume to the table. She looked a little strained and apologised for reading at the table although no one begrudged her doing so. Her eyes skimmed the pages as she ate, occasionally murmuring to herself. Harry, Ron and Molly conversed in low tones, the two men doing their utmost to calm Molly's nervous fears, assuring her that she, too, should have complete confidence in Hermione, just as they did.
`I do, of course I do,' she said in anguished undertones, glancing at Hermione to make sure she couldn't hear, `it's just that there's always the chance that something unexpected will happen, something that will-'
`Mum,' broke in Ron, his tone reassuring, `Harry and I aren't exactly laggards, you know.'
Molly nodded in response, but her eyes remained full of unspoken fears.
`Mum,' said Ron firmly, keeping his voice low, `stop worrying about something that hasn't happened and probably won't.' He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently.
`Mrs Weasley, it'll be fine - we'll be fine,' said Harry firmly, `after all, this can't be as hard as defeating Voldemort and we managed that, didn't we?' Molly nodded, feeling a little more reassured but as Harry, Ron and Hermione once more retreated to Hermione's room for the afternoon, she felt her doubts return and was very grateful for the company when Ginny and Dean returned at four o'clock to help prepare dinner.
Nothing stops the march of time, of course, and before anyone knew it, dinner had been eaten, the dishes had washed themselves and everyone was sitting around pretending to listen to the wireless. At eleven o'clock, as the miniature Hagrid clumped out above the clock-face, yawning as he clashed his cymbals, Hermione rose from her seat, looking from Ron to Harry as they, too, stood up. An unusual, strangled sort of sound escaped Mrs Weasley. She had managed to appear reasonably cheerful all evening but as Harry, Ron and Hermione each gave her a hug before heading for the stairs, all pretence at cheerfulness was forgotten and Molly launched herself at them, once again hugging each of them fiercely, unable to speak. Ron gave his mother a tight smile as he patted her on the back before turning to follow Harry and Hermione up the stairs.
They each went to their own rooms to change into robes, lastly pulling on scarves, gloves and thick, warm travelling cloaks with hoods. Ron and Harry then made their way to Hermione's room where they found her ready, sitting on the bed, studying an open book on her lap.
`Getting in some last minute reading, Hermione?' asked Ron, attempting to keep his voice light.
Hermione looked up at him with the suggestion of a smile as she stood, closing the book and leaving it on the bed. `You know I never pass up the chance to read,' she chided him.
Harry eyed her with concern; he could sense the tension in her. `You all right?' he asked gently.
Hermione smiled and nodded as she held out her hands to them. Harry took her left, Ron her right; she gave them both a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Looking from one to the other she asked, even though it wasn't necessary, `You know where we're going?'
Harry and Ron both nodded.
`Let's go then, shall we?'
And So The Waiting Begins…
Downstairs everyone jumped as they heard the loud crack! that announced the departure of the Trio.
Mrs Weasley's hands shook violently at the sound, making her tea cup rattle loudly on its' saucer as she let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a scream. Mr Weasley stiffened in his armchair, his eyes flying open; he'd been sitting with his eyes closed, apparently listening to the wireless. Ginny, sitting on the sofa with Dean's arm around her shoulders, jumped and turned to look up at her husband, tears springing to her eyes. Dean squeezed her shoulder gently, murmuring quiet reassurances to her despite his own trepidation.
Just then the flames in the fireplace turned green and Mrs Weasley let out what was a definite scream this time.
As Fred, followed closely by George, stepped out onto the hearth, their mother hastily put her teacup aside and jumped up to hug them both ferociously.
`Oy, Mum! Take it easy!' cried Fred, although since his mouth was covered by Mrs Weasley's upper arm which was wrapped around his neck, it was a rather muffled protest.
After he and George managed to extricate themselves from their mother's embrace, the twins explained that they hadn't wanted to sit at home, alone, waiting. `We'd much rather do it here, you know, in company,' said Fred as he and George removed their warm travelling cloaks and took the seats vacated earlier by Harry and Hermione.
`I'll make some tea,' said Mrs Weasley, wiping her eyes with her fingers as she headed towards the kitchen, glancing surreptitiously at the corner where the Weasley grandfather clock stood, her stomach clenching with anxiety when she saw the golden hand with Ron's name on it moving slowly around the face of the clock, obviously unable to choose an appropriate description.
`Well,' said George, looking around at everyone. `I suppose we're all going to wait up, aren't we? Or is anyone planning on going to bed?'
`Can't imagine we'd sleep even if we did go to bed,' answered his father.
`True, true,' said Fred. `We did sort of think that'd be the case - s'why we came over. So, did they just leave?' he asked as he looked at the clock; it read twenty past eleven.
`They left about five-ten minutes ago,' answered Ginny as she gave her brother a measured look. `Do you know where they went?'
Fred and George exchanged a quick glance.
`They're going to tell all tomorrow, aren't they?' countered George. `Did they say how long they'd be?'
Mr Weasley shrugged slightly. `Hermione couldn't say for certain, but she did say earlier that she's hoping they'll be home before sunrise.'
`It's going to be a loooong night,' said Fred, yawning hugely as he raised his arms above his head and stretched. Nobody bothered to disagree with him.
The night did indeed drag on interminably, the monotony broken firstly by Percy Flooing to ask for news (`nothing to tell yet,' he was advised) and then again when Charlie Flooed at one o'clock; he was on his way to bed and wanted to know if there had been any developments.
`None,' said Arthur, addressing his son's head in the fireplace. `How's Cordelia?'
`Bit restless, actually,' replied Charlie. `Reason I'm still up - she needed a cup of tea.'
`Won't be long, now,' said Molly sagely, to no one in particular.
At four a.m. the flames in the fireplace once again turned green and Bill's yawning countenance appeared in the grate.
`I've just settled Aimee down after a nightmare,' he explained, `and since I was up, thought I'd check and see if anything's happened - I was pretty sure someone would be awake.'
Fred, who had dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace, shook his head. `Haven't heard a word yet, mate. You should go get some more sleep. We'll Floo you later.'
Everyone sat, unmoving, except for the occasional excursion to the loo or the kitchen, Molly making the trip to the kitchen regularly to produce what seemed to be endless pots of tea. She was becoming increasingly concerned by the sight of Ron's hand on the grandfather clock, still moving in slow, unceasing circles, not settling on any particular description; she prayed it wouldn't finally stop at "mortal peril"…
When the sun finally deigned to rise, it wasn't until the clock had chimed eight, the miniature version of Hagrid appearing on his platform with a sprightly step to happily clash his cymbals, drawing disgruntled glares which caused his smile to falter as he quickly retreated.
As though this was a signal of some sort, Ginny suddenly leapt from her seat as if electrified, her voice high-pitched and tight.
`It's been nine hours! Why haven't we heard from them? Where are they? Is there something wrong? What can we do? I feel so helpless!'
Molly looked once more at the grandfather clock and on seeing Ron's hand finally stopped at "dreadful danger", she began to cry, tears running down her cheeks, sobs shaking her shoulders while Arthur did his best to comfort her. They need help! he thought desperately, wishing above all else that he knew where they were…
Fred and George exchanged a meaningful glance at that point, unnoticed by everyone else.
`We have to leave,' said Fred abruptly to no one in particular as he and George both stood up and retrieved their cloaks.
`But we'll be back,' added George, looking around nervously as though his brother had spoken too harshly.
Ginny gazed at them, astonished; it suddenly dawned on her that they'd worn thick, travelling cloaks which were quite unnecessary when Flooing…
`Leave? Why? Where are you going? What are you doing?'
Fred and George drew closer together, their expressions inscrutable as they regarded their sister.
`We'll be back,' was all they said before disappearing with the characteristic crack! leaving dismay and trepidation behind them.
The Spire of Death
Hermione smiled and nodded as she held out her hands to them, Harry taking her left, Ron her right; she gave them both a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Looking from one to the other she asked, even though it wasn't necessary, `You know where we're going?'
Harry and Ron both nodded.
`Let's go then, shall we?'
As they each stepped forward and turned, Harry became harshly aware of the tight constriction around his chest and was once again reminded why he disliked Apparition to this day.
In the next instant, he was grateful to feel the wind pulling at his cloak and knew he'd arrived at the entrance gate of their intended destination. He glanced quickly behind him to make sure Hermione and Ron were safe and saw them both pulling their hoods over their heads. Watching them, Harry became acutely aware of the bone-chilling wind whistling in his ears, making his eyes water, and reached up to pull his own hood over his head.
The full moon hung in the sky, a large, pallid orb whose impoverished light seemed to leave their surroundings leached of colour.
Harry felt unwelcome memories stir inside him as he gazed out across the graveyard. He hadn't been here since that night. The night of the final battle. The night Voldemort had died. The night that -
He felt a hand on his arm and looked down to see Hermione gazing at him anxiously. He placed his gloved hand over hers and squeezed gently, although he wasn't able to summon a smile. This seemed to reassure her nevertheless and she turned, holding her other hand out to Ron whose face had a bleak, pinched look; Harry knew how he felt. As soon as Ron had enclosed Hermione's hand in his, they all began to walk, heads bowed against the wind.
It took them less than fifteen minutes to carefully navigate the uneven ground of the low hillside, skirting the large, grey headstones and the carved stone statues which were given an awful, sickly pallor by the pale moonlight. They stopped as one in the shadow of a huge old beech tree in the centre of the graveyard, the sound of their quickened breathing lost to the damply chilling wind; the trunk of the great tree still retained the scars inflicted on the night of their last visit. Turning to look out over the eerie landscape, their eyes were drawn inexorably to the tall, black, iron spire atop a plain, square stone base about thirty feet away. They all knew of it, but this was the first time they'd actually seen it with their own eyes.
It had originally been erected simply as a memorial to the Trio's defeat of the Dark Lord. Perhaps because the tall, pointed spire put people in mind of a sword or perhaps because it marked the spot where Tom Marvolo Riddle, self-styled Lord Voldemort, had finally and irrevocably died; whatever the reason, people began to call it the Spire of Death and the name had stuck.
Hermione spoke the first words since they'd arrived: `It doesn't look any different, does it?' she asked, her eyes lingering on a point not too far away.
`Except for the Spire,' said Ron, his voice distant as he fought against memories of his last night on this spot, knowing he would have to face them again soon and dreading it.
`Let's get on with it,' said Harry forcibly, `after tonight, I don't ever want to see this place again.'
Hermione spared a moment to shoot a look of surprise at Harry. `You've always been so close and yet you haven't come here before tonight? Not since - since that night?'
Harry shook his head grimly. `Have you been here since?' he asked her tersely; he couldn't bear to think that she had been here at some point in the past and hadn't come to see him, regardless of the consequences.
`No, actually,' said Hermione, looking away, unknowingly giving Harry an opportunity to draw a breath of relief; she glanced briefly across at the rugged hill that hid Hogwarts Castle from their sight. Coming here would've meant the temptation of being too close to you, a dangerous situation in more ways than one…
`All right,' said Hermione, moving to Harry's right side so that he was between her and Ron, `we've just half an hour for a last run-through. We need to get this right, first time. No second chances.'
Harry and Ron both looked down at her with solemn faces, nodding; she thought she saw a flicker of fear in their eyes.
`Don't be afraid,' she whispered, gripping their arms and looking at them in turn; they both shook their heads.
`Not afraid,' said Harry, looking across at Ron, unspoken understanding in their gazes.
`Just remembering,' finished Ron, Harry nodding in unthinking agreement.
`How could we ever forget,' she whispered, glancing up at the moon.
`Come on, let's get on with it,' said Ron tersely. Get it over and done with.
And so they stood, arm in arm, practising for the final time the long, complicated incantation that would need to be word-perfect come midnight, when they would also need to brandish their wands, currently stowed safely inside their robes.
Ragged bits of cloud passed swiftly across the face of the moon as it hung apparently motionless in the sky, at the mercy of the same increasingly strong winds which whipped the words from their mouths.
Hermione lifted her hand, turning her wrist and pushing at her glove so that she could see her watch.
`It's almost midnight,' she said clearly, `wands out.'
"Wands out"… She sounds like me giving a lesson, thought Harry randomly.
Nothing else was said as they waited for Hermione's signal, standing as they had stood that night five years previously; Harry wondered if Ron and Hermione felt the same dreadful déjà vu that he was experiencing. This night, however, there were no Death Eaters, no Voldemort; the only thing facing them this time was the Spire of Death and the spectre of their memories.
At the stroke of midnight, Hermione spoke the first word of the incantation, simultaneously lifting her wand and pointing it directly at the Spire; Harry and Ron followed suit immediately, their voices joining Hermione's in the well-rehearsed recitation. The hours of practice behind them, aided by a remembering charm Hermione had cast earlier, helped to give them confidence as they ploughed through the long, tedious verses of the incantation, the prize of their precious friendship regained warming their hearts and strengthening their voices.
They spoke slowly and clearly, concentrating fiercely on each word, each line; they had no intention of making a single error. They were acutely aware that each word was bringing them closer to something they dreaded, yet something that needed to be done in order for them to be truly happy once more. They felt drained when they finished nearly half an hour later, watching apprehensively as a peculiar black glow appeared around the Spire.
They had yet to speak their individual counterspells and prompted by Hermione, Ron recited his first, his voice careful and deliberate. Hermione followed, her voice flowing smoothly - she had long committed this spell to memory. Harry cast his counterspell last, his voice strong and determined, buoyed by the presence and confidence of his friends.
The counterspells took them almost twenty minutes in total, and for the whole of that time, the eyes of all three remained fixed on the eerie, intense black glow that had appeared around the Spire. As the last word of Harry's spell evaporated in the icy air, nothing could be heard but the sinister rustling of the bleak wind.
Then the freezing wind suddenly began to accelerate, their cloaks lashing angrily about their legs as their now weary wand arms dropped to their sides. Hermione called out, her voice barely audible, `Get ready - and remember -' but she never finished, interrupted by a loud, sharp sound as the glow surrounding the Spire of Death suddenly began to crackle with what looked like black lightning. Even though they were waiting for something like this, they weren't truly prepared for the three black bolts that shot towards them so fast they barely registered in their minds before each one hit home and the Trio dropped to the ground simultaneously, laying where they fell, unmoving, their cloaks flapping around their motionless forms…
TO BE CONTINUED…
Author's Note
"See" you sometime Wednesday! If the worst comes to the worst, it'll be early Thursday. By the way, the idea of the Hogwarts Graveyard came to me from a memory of having seen Alfonso Cuaron (director of Prisoner of Azkaban) with a hand-drawn map he'd obtained from, as I recall, JKR herself (drawn for the movie), and I've never forgotten that glimpse of an area marked "graveyard" not far from Hogwarts - it intrigued me at the time and still does. Which is why I've used it in this story.
Ooops! Nearly forgot a little preview! *cheeky grin* Here tis!
`Molly!' cried Arthur the second she appeared in the doorway of Percy's old room, `Come and look at this!'
Molly crossed quickly to the bed where Harry lay, Dean sitting on one side, Arthur standing on the other. As she reached him, her husband pointed to Harry's face and Molly gasped. Harry's scar was a livid red slash in the pale skin of his forehead.
`Is he all right?' she asked fearfully, sitting on the bed and reaching for Harry's hand; it, too, was very cold to the touch.
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