Legacy
by Jardyn39
Chapter 8 - Obsession
Vernon Dursley looked up from the bottle of wine he was examining with the look of someone desperately trying to realise some small yet important detail that continued to evade him. All four of the bottles that had been presented to him were of an excellent vintage, the clear choice of which was the Claret he was currently holding.
From the doorway Harry could see that Uncle Vernon somehow needed the bottle's touch for reassurance. That wasn't that surprising, thought Harry, since the entire evening had clearly thrown Vernon.
"Alastor said you needed to decant the wine," said Harry, crossing the room. He had been on his way to join Hermione but his sympathy for the Dursleys seemed to stop him. Moody had given him repeated assurances that both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had only been mildly confounded so they wouldn't remember him properly. Even so, Harry had been very sceptical that Operation Mealtime with Mad-Eye wouldn't descend into chaos.
Harry smiled to himself as he remembered the nickname Hermione had given the evening.
"Hm?" said Uncle Vernon, clearly miles away. "Oh, yes. Bring me down that crystal decanter from the display case, will you?"
Harry reached up and opened the glass fronted display case that was home of Aunt Petunia's prized collection of cut glass crystal. He had lost count of the times he had been told off for even looking from a distance at the expensive collection, and had twice been blamed for breakages he strongly suspected Dudley had been responsible for.
Being that much taller now, reaching into the display case was a far less risky affair than it had once been. Gently sliding the fluted glasses to one side, he reached over and gently picked the largest item but its neck. Closing the glass doors with one hand he placed the decanter next to Uncle Vernon.
"Um, I think we'll do this in the kitchen rather than risk the polished surfaces."
Harry hesitated before picking up the decanter and following Vernon.
"We?" thought Harry and again wondering when Uncle Vernon would snap out of it. Harry had fully expected to be confined to his room for the evening, except Alastor had insisted being introduced to all the family and guests in the house.
From the kitchen window, Harry could see Hermione chatting with Mad-Eye while Aunt Petunia showed Mrs Moody the flowerbeds before the light failed.
Harry smirked. Whilst he thought the idea of them entertaining Mrs Figg for dinner a wonderful and long-overdue thing, at the same time he knew it was an invitation that would be unlikely to be extended again without another Confundus charm.
Harry turned and gently placed the decanter on the table as Uncle Vernon returned with a small polished timber box.
He had seen this box only a couple of times before and Harry knew it contained the tools to open fine wine.
Harry remembered the rude indifference Dudley had shown when Vernon had offered to show him. Whilst Dudley was keen to down absolutely anything rumoured to have an alcohol content, he showed no interest in the rituals and paraphernalia around his father's hobby.
Placing three carefully folded cloths beside the bottle, Vernon opened the box with both hands and Harry could see the padded silk lining had lost none of its colour.
Vernon paused, clearly enjoying the ceremony, before carefully and lovingly wiping the bottle with the cloth.
The bottle was certainly in need of a good clean, thought Harry. It was dusty and the label was almost coming off.
Vernon neatly re-folded the cloth and then took out a tiny silver knife from one of the box pockets.
Harry would have liked his Uncle to explain properly what he was doing, but somehow just not being told to go away was enough.
A moment later the knife was returned and Vernon was examining his work very carefully. Apparently satisfied, Vernon reached for the corkscrew. This was the single item inside the box that Harry actually knew what it was for. This particular corkscrew was not the original item that Dudley had broken whilst showing off to his friends, but had been a birthday present from Aunt Marge. He recalled she hadn't stopped going on about the high price it had cost, even though Harry suspected the money to buy it had come from Petunia.
With practised expertise, Vernon wound the steel screw into the exposed end of the cork. With one fluid movement the cork was out.
Uncle Vernon examined the cork very carefully for almost a full minute. Harry started when he realised he was being offered the corkscrew. He took it while Vernon prepared for the next stage in the operation.
Harry looked at the cork and thought it was probably just as well that Uncle Vernon knew a little about vintage wines. Harry sniffed the cork and was a little intrigued although the visual state of the deeply stained stopper gave him no confidence that the wine would be drinkable.
He looked up just in time to see Vernon carefully pouring the wine into the decanter, having both wiped the neck of the bottle and applied some kind of silver spout.
Sooner than expected, Uncle Vernon stoppered the decanter and then reached for two glasses from the kitchen cabinet.
Folding a folded filter paper over the first glass, Uncle Vernon emptied the dregs from the bottle into the first glass. When the red liquid had passed through, Harry could see several dark bits of cork and sediment caught in the filter. Vernon examined the filter before discarding it for a new one. He then repeated the filtering a second time before examining the remaining wine.
Vernon swirled the wine around and then sniffed at the top of the glass but he didn't drink.
"Hm," said Uncle Vernon thoughtfully.
"Is anything wrong with the wine?" asked Harry.
"No, I think the wine will be excellent. There's always a risk with any vintage wine, but I'm sure this one will be okay."
"Why don't you taste it?" asked Harry, fearing that Uncle Vernon might suspect the magical origins of the wine.
"I will, over out meal. I only filtered the dregs out of curiosity."
"Oh," said Harry. "Will you need to do the other wine too?"
"No, the wine being chilled is a white. We'll open that one at the table," said Vernon, picking up the now empty bottle and frowning slightly.
"I could have sworn that there were no more bottles of this left," Vernon said to himself.
"Couldn't someone have held a bottle or two back?" suggested Harry.
"Oh yes, that often happens."
Vernon looked up and said, "I think I'll just go and look something up in the old almanac."
He picked up the decanter and carefully took it through into the dining room where it would wait for the appropriate dinner course. The dinner, of course, would be timed to suit the wine.
Harry opened the back door and stepped outside. It was still warm and there was a strong scent of flowers in the air.
"Hello, Harry. Is the wine properly decanted?"
Harry smiled at Mrs Figg and nodded.
"Oh good," said Aunt Petunia. "Would you excuse me a moment, Arrabella? I just need to check on the dinner."
"Of course, Petunia," said Mrs Figg, sounding quite unlike her usual self.
Harry sat down next to her in Aunt Petunia's place.
"Honestly," said Mrs Figg in an undertone, "I hardly know what I'm doing here."
Harry smiled widely at her and said, "Well, hopefully to enjoy a meal and help us keep Mad-Eye in check."
"Some hope of that! He just asked it I wouldn't mind patrolling closer to the house this evening."
Harry laughed and said, "Oh, you're not actually an item then?"
"Cheeky boy!" said Mrs Figg, swiping him playfully. He was glad she hadn't brought her string bag and cat food tins to hit him with. "I mean, he didn't even give me a chance to put on something decent."
"You're fine as you are," said Harry reassuringly as she nervously played with her cardigan buttons.
"At least my feet are comfortable," she observed, looking down at her carpet slippers. "I can never find a pair of shoes that are comfortable."
"They're new, aren't they?"
"Almost," said Mrs Figg. "They were a birthday present from Dumbledore. He was always thoughtful, like that."
Harry nodded sadly.
"He came to see me, you know?" she continued quietly. "He wanted to tell me that you'd be leaving here for good this summer and offered to set me up with a place to live."
"You're moving?"
"No, I don't think so. I told him I've gradually got used to this place. He reminded me how unhappy I was when he first assigned me here."
"Really? Well, I'm sorry."
"Oh, I'd have been unhappy wherever I was. I'd only recently been widowed at the time, Harry, and to tell the truth I've never really fitted in anywhere."
Crookshanks walked slowly out from a shadow and jumped up between them.
Mrs Figg smiled and scratched him fondly.
"Someone could do with a little less food and a little more exercise," she observed kindly.
Crookshanks gave her a withering look making her smirk down at the cat.
"Oh, really?" said Mrs Figg, as if responding to something the cat had said. "Well, if you insist."
She looked up and smiled at Harry who had been half expecting Crookshanks to try and scratch him again. To his surprise, Crookshanks settled down on the garden seat between them. Harry could feel his tail brushing him.
"Um," said Harry, wondering if Mrs Figg could tell him what he had done to upset the cat.
"Don't worry," she said at once, as if knowing his thoughts. She turned and looked out across the garden.
"I love this time of year," she continued. "The colours of the flowers are so lovely."
Soon the other two joined them and Harry gave up his seat for Hermione and sat on the grass next to Mad-Eye who had a seat to himself.
Quite apart from the Muggle suit making him look almost unrecognisable to Harry, it was his conversation that seemed so un-Moody like. They only learned later that Mrs Figg had only agreed to come if for once he didn't talk about doom, gloom or anything remotely magical.
Harry thought afterwards that it was remarkable that Moody managed to say anything given his usual conversation. Instead, however, they got to see a side of Moody that rarely anyone had. Apart from fine wines, he was surprisingly knowledgeable about gardening as well as Muggle current events.
Over dinner, Vernon found a kindred spirit in Moody who disapproved of as many aspects of modern life as himself. Every now and again Vernon would struggle to remember events as Moody smoothly told amusing anecdotes about their fictional history together.
Mrs Figg, meanwhile was enjoying telling Hermione many of the misadventures Harry had been involved with. Aunt Petunia only briefly wondered how a wife of a long absent acquaintance came to hear so much about Harry, but this soon passed.
Harry spent much of the meal quietly just enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, occasionally returning a fleeting smile from Hermione as she engaged alternately Aunt Petunia and Mrs Figg in conversation.
Gradually, Harry became aware that Hermione was perhaps not quite as at ease as she first seemed.
There was a moment, as she listened to Mrs Figg describing the antics of Mr Tibbles, when Hermione seemed to look lost. For perhaps only a split second there was something in her eyes.
The moment was gone before Harry knew it. Hermione was chuckling at something Harry was supposed to have done when he was eight.
Harry smiled quickly on queue, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
He thought back. There had been a couple of times when Hermione hadn't seemed quite herself. At the time he had put them down to just being upset by Uncle Vernon or Ron, but had he been wrong?
Harry was brought out of his reverie by Moody's loud, "Hear! Hear!"
Vernon had risen from the table and brought a silver platter over.
"You really shouldn't have spoilt us like this, Alastor. This wine must have cost a small fortune. I'd have been tempted just to lay it down."
"Nonsense, Vernon!" said Moody. "How can you enjoy a fine wine unless you taste it?"
Soon they each had a small glass of the rich red wine. Vernon had explained that normally they would have drunk this with the meal but he thought that they'd appreciate it more afterwards. Moody had readily agreed and they had instead enjoyed one of Uncle Vernon's bottles.
"A toast," said Moody, holding up his glass. "To the lovely Petunia, for cooking this wonderful meal. I still say she's too good for you, Vernon," he added with a wink, making Petunia blush.
Vernon chuckled and said, "True, true."
They tasted the wine and Petunia said, "That's rather good."
"Oh dear, she likes it," said Moody with a smile. "I don't know where we'll get another bottle!"
"Alastor, behave yourself!" said Mrs Figg.
Vernon came around again with the decanter, and Harry realised that his first judgement that he had just been mean with the portions had been wrong. Clearly the wine was too good to waste on people who didn't appreciate the taste.
Harry and Moody accepted top-ups, but the others refused and soon departed to the kitchen.
Harry sat quietly, wondering what the other three where chatting about. Occasionally small bursts of shrill laughter reached them through the closed kitchen door.
"So, what's going on at Grummies?"
"Grunnings, you mean?"
"Yes, that's what I said. It's been years since I worked there," said Moody, continuing the pretence.
"Oh, it's much the same. Old Parsons retired last year."
"Good for him."
"What office were you in?" asked Vernon.
"I've forgotten the door number," admitted Moody.
"No, I mean what department were you in?"
"Oh," said Moody, playing for time. "I started in distribution," he said vaguely.
"Well, everyone starts there," said Vernon dismissively, taking a deep drink. "You see, I've been trying to think all evening, and for the life of me, I just can't remember."
Harry flashed Moody a warning look, but realised with some alarm that he had drunk just as much as Vernon and the effects were beginning to show.
Moody waved a hand and said, "You're getting old, Vernon. I'm the same, these days. Memory plays tricks on you. I manage to lose all kinds of things."
"Mm," agreed Vernon. "Still, I'm pretty sure it wasn't marketing. Damn," he said softly. "That's the last of the wine."
"No, it isn't," said Moody.
Vernon stared at the decanter that a moment ago had been empty.
Moody slid his glass over, prompting Vernon to refill both their glasses.
To Harry's consternation, Moody brought his wand out from under the table and placed it down on the table.
Vernon blinked at the wand, clearly trying to clear his head from the effects of both the alcohol and the Confundus charm.
"Isn't that a wand?" began Vernon slowly.
"You know, I believe it is," agreed Moody, raising his glass. "Cheers."
Vernon raised his own glass almost to his lips, but then returned it to the table.
"What would you be doing with a wand?" asked Uncle Vernon.
"I'll show you if you'd like," offered Moody, picking up his wand.
Harry got up at once and grabbed the wand. Performing more magic on Uncle Vernon was unlikely to help, especially as Moody was half-drunk.
"It's mine," lied Harry as Moody attempted to focus on his hand, clearly wondering where his wand had gone. "I must have left it down here."
"Hey," objected Moody, "I was about to show my old - hic - mate Vernon something."
"That's probably not a good idea," said Harry, looking over to Uncle Vernon.
"You know? You do seem familiar," said Vernon, studying Moody's face although not quite noticing he had a large magical eye spinning in all directions.
Harry turned to see Mrs Figg appear at the door looking none too pleased.
"We ought to be making a move, dear," she said through gritted teeth.
*
Mrs Figg didn't bother to wait for them as Harry half carried and half dragged Moody along towards her house. He could hear her muttering loudly in the distance.
By the time he'd got to her house, Harry had to ring the doorbell and for a moment he was afraid he wouldn't allow him to bring Moody inside.
Finally she relented and Harry dumped Moody in a threadbare easy chair.
"He promised me he wouldn't do magic," said Mrs Figg, who was clearly still very angry with Moody. "He even gave me his wand for safe keeping. He must have nicked it back from my bag."
"Don't worry about it," said Harry, handing her the wand. "My Uncle won't remember a thing after the amount he's had to drink tonight."
"Petunia was beginning to suspect something too," said Mrs Figg. "I suggest you return home, Harry. Mr Tibbles will escort you."
*
Harry heard Uncle Vernon snoring loudly from the living room when he got back. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen having just finished wiping down all the surfaces.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked.
"She went up to bed," said Petunia, now looking rather tired herself.
"I think they enjoyed themselves," said Harry, yawning widely.
Aunt Petunia put away her cleaning things and said absently, "Did you notice anything strange about them?"
"Er," said Harry uncertainly. "Well, I thought she wasn't used to dining out. From what I caught just now, she wasn't at all pleased that Alastor should have drunk so much."
"Well, it's nice to know we have so much in common," agreed Petunia with a dark look towards the living room.
*
The entire household rose late the next day. Harry suspected that Uncle Vernon had been tempted not to go in to work that day; except clearly Aunt Petunia still hadn't forgiven him for the small matter of being unconscious when it had been time to bid their guests goodbye. Instead, however, a bloodshot eyed and delicate Vernon called for a mini-cab. No doubt he would sleep for entire journey in to work.
Harry and Hermione, meanwhile, practised summoning Dementors studiously all day even though they had no means to know how effective their efforts would be. Hermione had only been a little disappointed that Harry hadn't continued his lessons with Dumbledore, and hence receive a new text book.
They broke off for a light dinner and then sat out in the garden to enjoy the warm evening. The grass was not exactly lush due to lack of watering but it was dry and fairly comfortable.
Harry lay back looking up at the gradually darkening sky while Hermione sat next to him with her legs tucked under herself.
"Harry, have you thought about what we should do after we leave here? I mean, it's not long until your birthday now."
"I know," said Harry, stretching his arms out. "I think we should go to Godric's Hollow first and see what's there."
"Okay, but there may not be much to see."
"Maybe," he agreed.
"Your parent's house was protected by a Fidelius Charm. We may never find it."
"Well, I've been thinking about that. I don't know if I was even walking when Voldemort attacked, but I think there is a good chance my parents made sure I was told the location by the Secret Keeper even so."
Hermione turned her head quickly and frowned down at Harry.
"But how will you remember?"
"I'm hoping the Fidelius Charm will enable me to see the house. It's probably still a ruin, which won't be too hard to spot. If we can't find it I was planning on asking Hagrid to show me."
"Of course! He fetched you that night, didn't he?"
Harry nodded sadly as Hermione carefully picked a spot next to him and lay back as well.
"Wouldn't that be a more sensible idea to ask Hagrid to show us anyway?"
"Well, he'll be busy with the move from Hogwarts."
"Alastor Moody said he suspected that Hagrid will want to make a stand at Hogwarts," Hermione reminded him, picking a stray blade of grass from her hair. "Do you think we should see if he still intends to stay?"
"I think he will have every intention of staying," said Harry with a smile. "Actually, it's an idea that appeals to me as well. I wonder how many we could pick off before we get caught."
"Harry! You cannot be serious!" exclaimed Hermione, raising her head up. "Dumbledore entrusted you with a much more important task."
Harry turned his head and grinned at her and she rolled her eyes, annoyed that she'd believed him.
"We can't let him face Voldemort alone," continued Harry. "Maybe we could persuade him that he'll be doing more by continuing to teach. He can't doubt that Dumbledore would have wanted that."
"But you think he will need a little encouragement?"
"I'm sure of it. Hagrid has his pride. Before he'll leave himself he'll need to hear from us that we know he isn't going because he's afraid."
"Is that all he's waiting for?"
Harry shrugged and said, "I thought I'd leave the finer points to you, Hermione. You are the expert when it comes to getting Hagrid to do what you want."
Hermione snorted and turned onto her side to face him.
"How do you think you will feel when we go to Godric's Hollow?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I expect it will feel strange. I don't expect I'll actually remember anything."
"You'll be closer to your parents than you've ever been," she said quietly.
"I try not to embarrass you with my crying," he said with a smirk.
Hermione immediately plucked a few blades of grass and threw them at his face. Harry laughed and brushed away the two that had actually reached him.
She sat up and brushed herself down.
"I think I'll have a shower and turn in."
"It's way too early to go to bed, Hermione. It can't be nine o'clock yet."
"It's a little after nine-thirty, actually. Besides, I want to write a couple of letters."
Harry made a dissenting noise as she got up.
"Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."
"You too," he managed to say before she reached the rear door and disappeared inside.
Harry relaxed and lay back again. The warmth from the sun was gone now but the grass he was lying on still had the heat of the day to warm him. He would stay out here a little longer.
He closed his eyes and listened carefully to the neighbourhood noises that reached him. It sounded like a couple of children were protesting to their mother at being called inside and a baby was crying somewhere in the distance.
Otherwise all he could hear were birds calling.
His ears twitched at a much closer sound. The bathroom window was being opened and made a distinctive rattle as Hermione fumbled with the catch. There was a slight squeak of metal rubbing followed by a clunking sound that told him she was done.
Harry's thoughts turned again to Hermione. He had been at a total loss how to get her to tell him what was troubling her. He had twice that day almost come out and demanded to know, but she had introduced a new topic of conversation before he had the chance.
He listened as the rushing sound of water hitting the steel enamelled bath began.
The last thing he wanted was to upset Hermione even more, but he had no idea how he could help her. Did she even need help? Maybe she just wanted a little privacy?
He almost hoped that he would pay another, long overdue, visit to see Dumbledore's memory that night. Not that he would be of much use. Harry was beginning to think of the memory as a very pale imitation of the real thing.
Harry's nose twitched as the smell of warm, humid air drifted down to him from the open bathroom window, carrying a distinctive scent.
He had no idea what the perfumed shower gel was, but it struck Harry that it was the only evidence he had ever found that Hermione had even been in the bathroom. Harry himself found it almost impossible to remove every single strand of hair from the bath after he had finished bathing, and he had been amazed that Hermione had contrived to leave the bathroom in an even cleaner state than when she entered.
At first he even suspected that Aunt Petunia had been waiting to clean the moment Hermione undid the chrome bolt.
This proved to be incorrect, however.
Harry blushed furiously in the darkening garden as he remembered the moment it struck him that it was a very strange thing to think; let alone actually look for evidence as he had done. He had tried to convince himself that he didn't want Aunt Petunia to find anything to complain about, but he was still awfully glad that Hermione wasn't a Legilimens.
He turned onto his front and realised the ground wasn't as warm as it was. He would go inside soon, but not for a moment or two.
He blamed Ron for all this.
Before Ron's brief visit to accuse him and Hermione, he had hardly given a thought to her in that way. Now, however, he could hardly stop himself.
He was sure Hermione knew this, of course. Since Ron's visit she had hardly touched him; whereas before she hadn't hesitated to hold his arm.
Harry sighed deeply and looked around for something else to think about. That way he might at least get inside before dawn, he thought.
He shivered and rolled over before he carefully sat up.
There was another squeak from above and he looked up just in time to see a bare arm pull the bathroom casement closed.
*
Harry woke with a start and it was moment before he realised where he was. He had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Harry blinked until his eyes became accustomed to the bright fluorescent lights.
He was surprised that his Aunt hadn't woken him, but he remembered he had been the last to turn in that night.
Harry got stiffly to his feet and was almost at the door when he remembered his mug of drinking chocolate. Aunt Petunia absolutely hated anything to be left unwashed overnight, so to avoid an argument in the morning he went back over to the sink, pausing only to pick up the offending article from the table.
He poured away the dregs and proceeded to wash the mug in the remaining cold washing up water.
As he did so a sudden coldness came over him. It was a moment before he realised this coldness had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.
Harry dropped the mug into the plastic bowl and quickly wiped his soapy hands on his shirt before grabbing his wand.
He couldn't see anything outside but he was sure a Dementor was close. He unlocked the rear door and looked out into the night.
There was nothing that he could see.
Harry was about to step outside when he had an idea. He felt by the door jamb with his free hand until he would the wall light switch.
The moment the lights went out he saw it.
The Dementor was floating over in the corner of the garden with its back to him. It turned slowly to face him.
Harry automatically raised his wand and had every intention of producing his Patronus when Hermione grabbed his wand arm.
Once he realised it was her, Harry stopped resisting.
"I know what you're thinking, Hermione, but we didn't summon this one," he whispered.
"We must at least try to communicate with them," she whispered back urgently. "We are only a few feet apart and yet I don't feel faint at all. I haven't remembered anything bad yet. All I feel is a little cold."
Harry considered getting her a coat or something when the Dementor floated forward. It stopped about ten feet from them, but all Harry was aware of was Hermione's nervous shaking.
"Hello," she said, sounding scared but determined. Harry knew she was holding the three things Fudge had told them in her mind.
Harry decided he should make an effort as well.
He looked at the cloaked Dementor and wondered if it was the leader. If it was then it might really be intelligent and capable of talking to them.
"Hello," he said, but the Dementor did not respond in any way.
"Don't forget the offering, Harry," Hermione whispered.
It was a moment before Harry allowed himself to relive the memory of the moment Dumbledore was hit by the killing curse. A wave of emotion hit him and the Dementor lurched forward, closing the gap to barely four feet.
Hermione gasped and grabbed Harry's arm tightly.
"Harry Potter," said a low voice in his head.
"Yes," answered Harry in complete shock. "I can hear you."
"What?" said Hermione. "I didn't hear anything."
"Your friend will not hear us tonight," said the voice in his head. "Her chosen memory will never be enough to hold our attention while she has a much stronger emotion to give."
"He says you won't hear him tonight, Hermione," said Harry.
"Oh."
Harry turned back to the Dementor and asked, "We wanted to ask you something."
"No. It is not safe tonight," said the voice. "We did not intend you to see us this evening. Had you not put those artificial lights out, you would not."
"Not safe?" repeated Harry.
"Go inside now," directed the voice. "Call my name tomorrow after dark if you wish, but I cannot enter this dwelling and it may be unsafe for you outside. Ask your friends to help you find a suitable meeting place."
Harry nodded and said, "Okay."
The Dementor glided away from them and floated over the fence, vanishing the moment the light from a street lamp hit it.
Harry turned to Hermione who was still staring at the spot the Dementor vanished. He realised she was trembling.
"Let's go inside," said Harry gently, taking her arm and guiding her back inside.
Harry switched the lights back on and was alarmed to see how pale Hermione looked. He had intended to talk to her in the living room, but her appearance made him change his mind at once.
He pulled out a kitchen chair and said, "Sit down, Hermione."
Still staring off into space, Hermione obeyed at once. Harry knelt before her and took hold of her hands. They were as cold as ice so he warmed them in his until she came to herself.
Presently, she looked down at him.
"That wasn't as easy as Mr Fudge implied," she said, her voice timid and shaking.
Harry smiled up at her.
"There are a couple of things I should tell you before I forget," he said.
Hermione forced herself to sit up a little and pay attention.
"The first thing is the strange way he spoke," explained Harry. "He referred to himself in the plural. You know, he said us instead of me. Otherwise his English was excellent."
"What did it sound like?"
"It was male and quite deep, although sometimes there was a kind of echo in my head. Do you think there could have been more than one?"
"I don't know, Harry. What else did he say?"
Harry proceeded to tell her the rest including how the Dementor had said it was unsafe tonight and wanted them to call him tomorrow evening.
"There's one more thing," said Harry, who still hadn't let go of her hands. "He gave a reason why you couldn't hear him as well."
Hermione's hands tensed.
"He said the memory you used wouldn't hold their attention while there was another one to give that was stronger still."
Hermione looked down, going very red in the face.
"I thought it might be something like that."
"Please, Hermione. Let me help you," pleaded Harry. "I don't know what it is you're suffering, but you don't have to go through it alone. If you won't tell me, let me call Tonks or McGonagall?"
Hermione shook her head no.
"How about something to help you sleep then? Hot chocolate? I could raid Uncle Vernon's booze for some brandy."
Hermione snorted and again shook her head.
"I've something upstairs, but a glass of water would be nice."
Harry got the glass at once and helped Hermione upstairs to her bedroom. She must have seen some of the anguish in his face because before she closed the door she said, "I'll be fine, Harry. I promise."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Harry standing there completely at a loss as to how to help her.
*
Hermione slept late the next morning, and it was Harry who briefed Moody on what the Dementor had said, although he didn't mention anything about Hermione.
Hm," said Moody thoughtfully. "We need somewhere other than here that is under cover. How about Arrabella Figg's place?"
"She's forgiven you then?"
"Oh, well, mostly."
"How will she feel about inviting a Dementor into her home?"
"Not best pleased, I'd imagine. Perhaps we shouldn't tell her. Tell you what, I'll discuss it with the others and get back to you."
"Okay, thanks. There's one more thing. Could you ask Tonks or Professor McGonagall to pop by to see Hermione?"
"Well, I'll try to get a message out to them but I know Tonks is on duty for the Ministry all day and McGonagall is still in France. Is there a problem?"
"Yes, but I don't know what's wrong."
"What about Molly or young Ginny?"
"Mrs Weasley might do," said Harry slowly. "I'm just not sure, though. Actually, probably not. She might be annoyed that Hermione isn't going to the wedding."
"I'm sure Molly wouldn't hold a grudge, especially if there really is a problem," Moody said reassuringly. "Tell you what, I'll ask her to be on duty this evening anyway. That way, she'll be on hand if needed."
"Thanks."
*
Hermione got up at midday and managed to eat a light salad lunch, although she still looked pale. Even Aunt Petunia expressed concern for her.
After lunch Hermione insisted that they did a little more practise for summoning the Dementor.
Harry wasn't at all sure she was up to this, but joined her in the living room. Sat opposite each other at the dining table, Harry watched as she closed her eyes and concentrated.
A range of expressions passed over her face as she allowed herself to remember, the last of which seemed to be utter despair.
A heavy tear drop fell from her cheek and Harry gasped.
Hermione opened her eyes at once and in the moment their eyes met images flashed across his mind. The flashes ended almost the instant they had begun.
Hermione looked down, and he knew she was trying to prevent him seeing anything more, just as he had done with Snape.
Harry said nothing, but he tried hard to recall the images.
He had absolutely no idea how he had been able to perform Legilimency, but he was sure he had just witnessed something of what was troubling her. He had, after all, been desperate to know what was troubling her. Perhaps that had helped subconsciously.
There had been a bright green flash to begin with. Unmistakably it had been a killing curse, but fired by whom and who was the intended victim?
There had been a woman's scream. It was someone he didn't know.
Then there had been the image of a dark cloak being thrown over her head. Before it went dark, Hermione had been looking at a skirting board. Above, the wallpaper was a flowery pattern and the carpet was a mottled red. He recognised none of it.
Harry came back to himself and realised Hermione was looking at him intently, perhaps wondering if he had seen anything. What should he tell her?
This question was answered as soon as he thought it. He would tell her the truth, whatever the consequences.
Hermione looked away again.
"Ready to try again?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied, noting that she wasn't risking eye-contact again.
Instead of practising as he knew he ought, Harry went over the images again in his mind. Gradually they became a little clearer, and he realised that something of the person who threw the cloak could also be seen.
After a while, he realised that he had seen their boots. They were brown leather boots with matching leather straps.
Harry sighed with frustration, realising that he not only didn't recognise the boots but he also had no idea if the wearer was male or female. They looked on the big side for a woman and yet too small for a man.
He was confused about the skirting board too. It was almost as if she had been looking down so she wouldn't have to see something else.
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AN: Sorry, but there will now be a short delay while I re-order a couple of events.