Chapter Seventeen
Bang, Crash, Wallop
The following two weeks were ones of monotonous conformity for Harry and Hermione commuting each day from Godrics Hollow to Hogwarts. They attended some lessons, but spent more time in individual tuition with the professors the Headmistress felt could do them the most good. Harry and Professor Flitwick spent a lot of time together and Harry was amazed at how much talent was confined in such a small wizard. The very simple advice from Fyrsil Ollivander to trust in his wand had proved to be a good starting point but Flitwick expanded on this and passed on the many little tricks and twiddles that made him the master of the charms. Harry found out that for some of the spells Flitwick taught him the term charm was far from accurate, but curse, charm, spell or enchantment the diminutive Professor certainly knew his stuff.
Hermione was cosseted in the Headmistresses study with the lady herself. There was a lot more than transfiguration secrets that passed between the two, but they were the only ones that Hermione saw fit to tell Harry about. If the young couple's conversation ever began to encroach on these other subjects then Hermione would fall silent and a rosy glow would appear in her cheeks. Harry may not have had much experience in dealing with girls but he knew his Hermione and he didn't pry, there are some things a man doesn't need to know. The pair were marking time, they had promised Remus not to do anything about Spinners End, Horcrux hunting or Voldemort until they had seen him again, and the inactivity was beginning tell. Ron was even encouraged enough to ask Harry to get on a broom again, and delighted when he said yes, but only for training.
Harry and Hermione owed this short period of normality not only to their promise to Remus but also to the unexpected difficulties that a certain dark wizard was having in setting up his little welcome for them in the Shrieking Shack. Malkanor Nott had examined the wards on the shack carefully, and he knew that breaking them was not possible with the magical power he had at his disposal, so it was to the alchemist's art he turned to find the mixture of unstable substances that would turn the Shrieking Shack into so much firewood.
He returned only once to his small dark room in the sprawling manor at Little Hangleton where he could still hear the demented cries from the Dark Lord and more frequently now the deathly silences when Voldemort's twisted mind descended to unknown depths. Malkanor set his stolen pensive on the rickety table and arranged the bottled memories around it. Once he had finished with the Potter boy he would examine the rest perhaps there was something else taken from the lost minds that Healer Bass was supposed to have cared for that would prove useful. But that could wait he had places to go and people to rob.
It took far longer than he had imagined, stealing what he needed from several sources, he was now only missing one ingredient and by all accounts the entire stock of that one simple substance was at this moment residing in a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Without the fragamite, Malkanor's gift to Harry Potter would be a 'damp squib', about as useful as the picture that phrase would conjure for either muggle or wizard. There was no other way, he had to get into that building, and that worried him. He remembered the tales Theo had told about the twins that owned the shop, the way they could out fox witches and wizards much older than they were, those who by rights shouldn't have fallen for their tricks. Their products may be harmless and only made for fun but the idea of getting caught in a trap and suddenly turning into a large yellow canary or something similar was not one to be taken lightly by any dark wizard.
Malkanor approached his burglary of the shop that proudly exclaimed to everyone with its garish sign, Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes Jokes for all Occasions, with some caution. To that end he waited in a side alley until the shop was closed, and he saw the shop girl waving goodbye to the ginger twins who after a few minutes also left heading down Diagon Alley in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.
The darkness of the winter evening hid the thief as he crossed the now almost deserted street, and disappeared entirely into the shadow of the joke shop doorway. He slipped a small device out of his pocket and pressed it against the lock on the door, there was a crackling noise and a very small pop and the door swung open Malkanor crossed the threshold quickly and closed the door behind him. He put away his lock pick and from another pocket took out a small withered hand that was holding a candle which he lit with the tip of his wand. The dim light the hand of glory provided showed him the inside of the shop, but there was more to see than the shelves full of jokes and potions. Two steps beyond where he was standing was a swirling patch of floor, it was an old but reliable trap, which if he stepped into it would have instantly held on to his feet and sounded an alarm. Malkanor walked carefully around the sink trap and moved towards the stairs that led down to the basement. There was a trip spell at the top of the stairs, which he stepped over, and a further sink trap halfway down, which he only just saw in time.
The workshop he found himself in was full of cartons and boxes all neatly stacked but still covering most of the floor. The work bench was the only really clear space and on the wall behind it were a large number of shelves and small drawers which held the ingredients the twins used the most often. Malkanor put down the hand of glory on the work surface and delved into his pocket yet again, this time he produced a stick about six inches long rather like a short wand but fixed to the end of the stick was what looked remarkably like a human nose.
He tapped the nose with his wand and murmured "Fragamite" then holding the end of the stick with the nose pointing toward the shelves and drawers he began to move it back and forth. He started at the top and had moved down to the third shelf when the nose began to run, as the dripping became more frequent Malkanor slowed his scanning of the shelves then as he passed a small grey coloured sack tied with a red ribbon the nose sneezed, not loudly, but enough to be heard. He wiped the nose on the sleeve of his robe and pocketed it again, and then he reached for the small sack and carefully lifted it down. He undid the ribbon and slowly opened the sack; the scintillating green powder it contained was what he had come for, and this fragamite looked fresh which made it more dangerous, dropping it could prove disastrous, and just with a single spark the resulting explosion would blow a good part of Diagon Alley to pieces.
Understandably the wizard took great care in leaving the shop and avoiding all the twin's traps, holding the small sack in one hand and the hand of glory well away from it in the other he reached the front door. Concentrating on the sink trap by the door he didn't see the shadows of somebody approaching it from the other side. It was only when the swirling piece of floor, he was carefully navigating himself around, became solid planking, and the door opened to reveal Fred and George returning after their evening meal, did Malkanor realise that he had company.
"Here what are you doing!" shouted Fred, who was in the lead.
"Put it all down and come out!" ordered George as he wrestled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the thief.
"Back off!" growled Malkanor, "or I drop the fragamite and you can say goodbye to your livelihood."
George grabbed Fred's arm to prevent him from tackling the burglar. "Not worth it bro'," he hissed, as he recognised the small sack and knew exactly what the contents of the bag could do. "No point in getting all blown to bits for fifty Galleons of stuff."
The two Weasley's backed out into Diagon Alley again and gave Malkanor the room he needed to make his escape. The dark wizard dropped the hand of glory, and held the fragamite out in front of him to ward off any attempt by Fred or George to tackle him. Uncharacteristically considering the monetary loss the twins appeared calm and in control and smiled at the burglar who grasped the sack in both hands, held it close to his chest, and took a deep breath.
"Before you go," said George.
"You ought to know," said Fred.
"That trying to apparate with fragamite," continued George.
But Malkanor was not listening and with a CRACK he vanished.
"Is almost as bad as giving it a light," finished Fred to the empty space the dark wizard had so recently occupied.
"O well he'll find out," said Fred, picking up the discarded hand of glory, "we better go and check if he made any mess."
And quite unconcerned with the fate of the thief they re-entered the shop.
* * *
That very same evening Harry and Hermione sat with Ron, Ginny and Colin listening to the notices Professor McGonagall regularly gave out after the evening meal. She always read out the Ministry releases on the activities of the 'forces of evil' their euphemism for the followers of Lord Voldemort, and much of it was bad news. Although the destruction of Mountfitchet Castle and the rounding up of the dark wizards there had for a while slowed the list of attacks and murders, recently these had increased again strangely more against muggle targets than wizard. It had occurred to Harry a while ago that perhaps Voldemort had more on his mind than the destruction of Harry Potter, but these attacks on the muggles appeared random and without any purpose. Harry was content for the moment to concentrate on his own battles with the darkest of the dark wizards.
As all the other Gryffindors were piled high with homework Harry and Hermione left the castle earlier than usual. The grounds were still covered with snow, but without any new falls the path that Hagrid had cut through the drifts was clear so the grass it revealed was crisp with frost, and the two young people crunched their way through the darkness of the evening. The path they walked appeared haphazard in its meanderings over the school grounds, but as if by some hint of purpose, it passed close to the stony ground near the base of the Whomping Willow and allowed Harry and Hermione to leave it without giving away their destination.
They walked closely side by side and talked quietly together, as they often did, passing into the tunnel and out of sight. The wards recognised them as they crossed into the confines of the Shrieking Shack, and they wasted no time as they climbed the stairs to the room on the first floor. On this evening they paid little attention to the large room crossing to the old-fashioned mirror on the far wall. Harry stood to one side and motioned for Hermione to go first and as the last bit of her disappeared through the glass Harry stepped forward to follow her…………
Sometime within the few seconds it took Harry to pass from one side of the mirror to the other Malkanor Nott's apparation, to the pile of boxes and flasks that he had set against the outside wall of the Shrieking Shack, was completed. If he had listened to the twins parting words he would have understood why the powder in the sack he held so tightly to his chest suddenly became very warm, but he didn't really have the time.
Malkanor Nott was a not good alchemist, but his plan worked to great effect. The fragamite did exactly has he had hoped and encouraged the other ingredients the wizard had collected to respond enthusiastically, the only down side was that the wizard himself had not intended to be quite so close to the centre of the reaction. The CRACK of his apparation was followed almost instantaneously by an explosion and a release of flame and smoke that completely obliterated the wooden structure formally known as the Shrieking Shack and lit up the sky for miles around. The blast radiated out flattening some of the smaller trees that barred its way heading out down the valley to ruffle the water of the lake and rattle the windows in Hogwarts Castle itself. The sound of that blast rumbled on and on as it ricocheted from one hill to the next making the ground tremble and shake. In the village of Hogsmead windows were broken and a few chimney stacks wobbled to settle at even more impossible angles than to those they had leaned before.
The patrons of the Three Broomsticks piled out on masse to see the flame and smoke boiling into the sky, their initial consternation was understandable but when it was realised that it was only the Shrieking Shack that someone had seen fit to demolish many shrugged their shoulders and retreated back into the pub and out of the cold air, the spectacle not worthy of getting a chill for. One unnaturally large man who had stood at the back of the crowd did not move. On his face or at least what of it could be seen through his massive beard, was an expression of absolute horror, as he watched the debris of the building begin to flutter back down to earth, he hoped against hope that it was only the building that had been destroyed. He had to know, and tankard still in hand he raced off down the lane toward the light that flickered dreadfully in the evening's darkness………..
Harry stepped into the mirror and the familiar stretching sensation had gripped his body, he began to take the second step to clear his trailing leg from the glass, but the final snap that told him he was free never came. He felt the heat sear up his leg and the punch of air in his back that threw him forward. He crashed into Hermione, knocking her to the ground and falling on top of her, then the sound of the explosion was upon them. Harry was vaguely aware that the glass from the shattered mirror sprayed out in all directions, and that the concussion of the explosion shook the small cave that formed the garage and it was instantly filled with choking dust. Small bits of rock and earth rained down from the roof and walls onto Harry's back and the motorcycle covered in its dust sheet. Hermione lying on the floor under Harry's body was shielded from the worst and he tried his best to cover his head with his arms but one piece of rock slightly larger than the rest caught Harry on the side of his head and Hermione felt him go limp.
The silence after that roar of noise was intense and Hermione wondered if she had gone deaf, but then she heard her own voice calling to the young man who lay so inertly over her.
"Harry, Harry," there was no answer.
Very carefully Hermione eased herself out from under Harry's body and then gently turned him over onto his back, he groaned once which sent a surge of relief through the witch, at least he was still alive. A quick twitch of her wand and the oil lamp Hagrid used cast a dim and dusty light, poor to be sure, but enough for her to see blood on the side of Harry's head and the cause of his unconsciousness. There was no time to waste, she need to get them out, so turning to the doors she fired the spell that would unlock them, but they did not open, the force of the blast had twisted them and they were jammed tight. Hermione raised her wand again to blow the doors away, and risk further collapse of the garage, then through the thickness of the doors she heard someone calling……..
Turning from the road the half giant forced his way through the tangle of undergrowth now interspersed with pieces of smoking debris from the Shack and areas that were swept clean of everything save blackened soil, until he reached the spot where the Shack had rested. Here there was nothing and a reasonably large nothing it was, it looked as if something had scraped the Shrieking Shack off the face of the earth. The open entrance to the tunnel that led to the Whomping Willow was the only recognisable evidence that the Shack had ever existed, but it didn't stop Hagrid from calling out just to be sure.
"'Arry! 'Ermione! Oh Merlin's bones I 'ope youm wer'n't 'ere". He stood in the middle of the scorched patch and looked around with a helpless expression on his face. Then a faint muffled cry brought hope to him.
"Hagrid! Hagrid! We're trapped in the garage. Harry's hurt!" Hermione's yell for help drew the giant to the hidden doors. Although ravaged by the explosion and fire the willow tree had hung on to its roots and its drooping branches continued to shield doors from view, Hagrid swept them aside to reveal the stout wooden doors twisted on their hinges but still in place.
"I've unlocked the doors," yelled Hermione, "but I can't open them."
"Its ok now m' dear," Hagrid said, far more calmly than he felt. "Stan' back, I'll 'ave these off in a mo." And Hagrid spread his arms wide, gripped the edge of one door, straightened his back and pulled it away. He looked in and saw a wide eyed Hermione urgently beckoning him to the back of the garage, he followed and there, behind the shrouded motorcycle, he found Harry lying still with half his face covered in blood.
Hagrid scooped him up. "Come on 'ospital wing," he said urgently to Hermione, and led her out into the now moonlit dark.
As he brushed past her Hermione instinctively grabbed his thick moleskin coat for support and mumbled in agreement, "Yes hospital wing." She thought it more intently than she spoke it, and suddenly they were there.
"Bugger, 'ow did that 'appen." swore Hagrid, as he collided with the door to the domain of Poppy Pomfrey that hadn't been there a moment before. But with Harry uppermost in his mind, he shrugged the impossibility aside, and kicking the door open with one large foot, pushed his way inside………..
When Harry opened his eyes he felt that they were full of sand and he had a headache. He must have made a small sound of discomfort, because before he was fully aware a cup was pressed to his lips and a bitter tasting potion was forced into him. He was about to complain loudly when magically his headache disappeared and his eyes cleared. Blurred though his vision was without his glasses, he saw the white starched uniform of Madam Pomfrey leaning over him.
"Oh err… thanks," he said quietly, "Hermione?" he asked anxiously.
"Next bed," replied the nurse, "Shock and dead on her feet was that one when she came in with you." She saw the worry in Harry's eyes. "Don't fret she'll be fine when she wakes up. Now young man go back to sleep, it is still very early, explanations will be much better left for breakfast time."
However at that breakfast time, nor at any of the others that followed shortly after the destruction of the Shrieking Shack and then their subsequent recovery, from what turned out to be minor injuries, did any explanation fully cover the events of that night. At least not until the day that Harry's early morning tuition with Professor Flitwick was interrupted by the appearance of Fred and George Weasley.
"Had a letter from Ron," stared George.
"Told us you were hurt the night the Shrieking Shack did the big firework," continued Fred.
"Then we put two and two together. Our burglar must have apparated to the Shack and the fragamite he stole from us did the rest." finished George.
Harry looked from one twin to the other, he knew they were trying to help it would just much easier if they didn't speak as if they were one person all the time. "Err… could one of you explain what you are talking about. …Without interruptions," he added as the twins took a simultaneous breath to start the explanation. In the end George did it…..
"We got a pretty good look at the bloke," said George finishing up the story. "Dad says we should be able to discover who he was eventually, but safe to say he won't be bothering you anymore." George gave Fred a sly look. "What we couldn't work out was why he would want to blow up the Shrieking Shack and anyway what you were doing in there with Hermione?"
Fred grinned at Harry. "Used to be the top of the Astronomy tower in our day, but I suppose times change."
"We weren't in the Shack we were just nearby, and it is none of your business what Hermione and I were doing." said Harry defensively.
Professor Flitwick stifled a little giggle. Fred and George looked at one another and grinned.
"Love." said Fred to George
"Definitely." said George to Fred.
"Bugger off," said Harry to the pair of them. "Err…sorry Professor," he apologised when he remembered Flitwick was there.
* * *
Bellatrix Lestrange was on a mission, she marched through the damp and dusty corridors of the mansion in Little Hangleton, because she was looking for Malkanor Nott. For some reason, best known to himself, the master wanted to talk to him, and Bellatrix decided, that with the mood the Dark Lord was in at the moment, it was sensible not to argue with him, so menial as the task may be she set to it with a will.
The door to the wizard's room was locked but that proved to be no barrier to Voldemort's second in command, the fact that the room was empty was going to cause her more of a problem. While she considered how she was to impart this information to her master, without the pain that delivering negative messages usually entailed, her eyes fell on the Pensive and the row of small bottles set on the table. The grey substance that swirled in the bottles, they were obviously memories, which came as no surprise, but the names on the labels attached to the bottles, that was another matter.
One of them carried the name of Neb Covey the little weasel who had almost lost her, her position, and on another the name of Theodore Nott, Malkanor's nephew. She knew that he had died at St.Mungo's, in an attack that none had laid claim to, but all had been blamed for. Now Bellatrix wondered if it was Malkanor who had perpetuated that particular crime and why would he be prepared to kill his own flesh and blood.
Half an hour later and she knew the reasons behind Malkanor's behaviour and had determined the circumstances of his absence, she had also caught up on the not at all lamented Neb Covey, she smiled, perhaps the incompetent animagus was less incompetent than she had believed.
Bellatrix assumed correctly that all these memories came from obliviated minds like the unfortunate Theodore, and thus it was likely that Neb, and the others mentioned on the bottles, would all have perished with him at St.Mungo's. However wasteful of manpower that fact in itself was of little importance, but the information she had learned that was a different matter, it may change the Dark Lord's whole strategy, it would prove to be very useful indeed.
The pain would stop in a moment she was sure of it. It was her fault for taking so long to report back, and the Dark Lord had struck the instant she had entered the room giving her no chance to explain. She endured the agony, knowing that the information she carried would spare her more, and endear her to her lord and master.
"Well Bellatrix, what have you to tell me?"
The rage and anger were turned off in a second. That was what made him so terrible, that and his power; it always made for nervous meetings at least on the side of those who had to meet him.
Bellatrix Lestrange lifted herself from the floor where the Cruciatus curse had thrown her.
"My Lord, Malkanor will not return, I believe he is dead." Voldemort cocked his head to one side, an expression of curiosity on his deformed face. "He is the one responsible for the destruction at St.Mungo's and in Hogsmead," she was committed now and had to tell all. "He has tried to kill Harry Potter, and has paid for that folly with his life."
"Really, do go on," the words slid out of Voldemort's throat like a sharp knife slides into the back of an unsuspecting victim.
So Bellatrix explained what she had learned from the memories stored in the small glass bottles, she could see that Voldemort was not happy with the turn of events and wished she had found Malkanor alive. If she was correct he was beyond the wrath of the master, happily dead, but she…………
If anything this time the pain was worse, but mercifully short.
"I thought I had made it clear the boy dies, but only by my hand." Voldemort hissed in anger.
"Indeed my lord," said Bellatrix, gathering her senses from another overload. "And I have the information you need. Potter was not hiding in Hogsmead, I have learned that he has returned to Godrics Hollow." she said it with conviction hoping that she had not read too much into the memories of Neb Covey.
The mention of the abode of the late, and certainly unlamented by him, James and Lily Potter, sent a thrill of dread through the bones of Lord Voldemort. He had nearly lost his life in that place, and that troubled him, but then in a way the events of that Halloween night so many years ago would ensure his survival and eventual victory. Maybe Harry could be brought to his knees sooner than expected; the opportunity to strike should not be passed by.
Voldemort stood and stepped down from the throne like chair he had occupied for many months now. He advance towards Bellatrix and held out a skeletal hand, she took it in hers, it was cold to the touch and felt hard, almost brittle, but it gripped her as if made of metal not bone. Unpleasant and cold as she was Bellatrix feared this dark wizard, and well she might, as well all of wizard and muggle kind should, for rarely had the world seen a soul as twisted and depraved as the one he carried.
"Come my dear," Voldemort said, with all the charm of the snake he so closely resembled. "We will see if you are correct."
The witch was not reassured by his words at all, but hand in hand they walked to the far end of the room, then she and the Dark Lord vanished.
* * *
Harry Potter woke up, stretched his arms and gave thanks to who ever decided that on a Saturday morning he was entitled to a lie in. The sun had climbed into the sky long ago and it looked as if it was going to be a nice day. Not that he could see much through the chink in the bedroom curtains but a shaft of brilliant light, and that miniscule view was totally blocked out as a slightly out of focus face pressed itself against his.
"Morning," he mumbled into a pair of lips that seemed intent on trying to devour his. He didn't quite catch Hermione's reply but he very soon got the idea of what she must have said, and all thoughts of getting out of bed were forgotten for the moment. A little later after tangled sheets were sorted out and mussed hair returned to normal, clothed and looking remarkably respectable in their muggle attire Harry and Hermione descended the stairs and made for the front door. They intended to walk down to the village and indulge in a little muggle shopping, it made a change and they were only after the essentials. Then as Harry's hand reached for the door the house shook to a deep rumbling noise and a flash of golden light penetrated the hall and for an instant all the tiny motes of dust floating in the air flickered and sparkled as if they were alive. For the second time that morning Harry had his mind changed for him, and on this occasion it did not promise such pleasurable results.
"Back," he said unnecessarily, for when he turned to Hermione she was already half way into the sitting room to try and see what or who was outside, and what they were up to.
Harry stared to follow her and as he reached the door of the sitting room Hermione recoiled out of it into his arms. She was shaking and seemed incapable of speech her eyes were wide with fear and she clung to him in desperation.
"What on earth is the matter?" asked Harry holding her tightly.
"I…I…think it's him."
Harry frowned, "What do you mean love?" he was far more concerned for her state of mind that the identity of those outside, he had never seen her so scared.
"Voldemort, Harry it must be him, that awful face those eyes, burning red."
"Stay here," said Harry firmly unwrapping himself from her embrace, and making for the sitting room.
"NO Harry, you mustn't." But he bade her to keep quiet and stay hidden in the hallway.
He turned to face the window and he saw what Hermione had seen, it made his blood run cold but nevertheless he took a step toward the wizard he knew he must destroy or be destroyed by. Harry drew his wand and prepared himself, he wasn't ready for this but if this was the appointed time then there was no turning back.
His irritation plain to see, Voldemort launched another spell across what he perceived to be an empty clearing, as before the fire from his wand was dissipated to the four winds, and this time the protecting shield struck back. The golden light streaked towards the dark wizard who hastily conjured a shield of his own to disperse the spell, but its power drove him back and almost to his knees. Bellatrix was caught by the edge of this retaliatory burst, and was physically thrown in the air hitting the ground hard at the very edge of the clearing.
Voldemort screamed in rage at this invisible foe that was denying him access to whatever was hidden in the clearing. He may not be able to see behind the shield but he knew the magic that had made it, and he stared down at the wand in his hand.
"Well my old friend," he said to it, "you think to stop me, you who gave me the power in the first place?" The wand didn't answer, "You will not do that, my fine feathered friend, you may be able to hide from me, but if I cannot get to you then I will make you come to me. You and then Potter, both of you will fall before me; it is my destiny to be victorious and you are powerless to stop me."
Voldemort raised his wand once more and putting all of his evil self behind the enchantment sent a wave of total blackness against the shield protecting the cottage. The spell clung to the shield trying to devour it, it writhed, screeching like a Banshee, almost alive, but then it froze. Great cracks appeared in the enveloping blackness and pieces of the spell fell to the ground shattering on impact.
Bellatrix had just struggled to her feet and was standing unsteadily by the trees, she saw the demise of Voldemort's final attempt to break the protection shield, but her eyes didn't have time to register the response, it happened far too quickly.
Fawkes' shield, made of the oldest of old magic, had put up with quite enough of this bumptious wizard, it wasn't going to tolerate him any more, and it wasn't going to allow this sort of disturbance to be repeated. The shield flashed out it's response to Voldemort's attempt to penetrate it, stripping away the remnants of the darkness spell and then tearing the Dark Lord's shield to ribbons.
To Harry watching all this through the sitting room window it appeared that both the intruders vanished in an instant of golden brilliance. To Voldemort the blast hit him like a sledge hammer and for a moment everything shone like the morning sun, then there was darkness, not totally back for he could see the outline of his throne and the long table that adorned his room. Realising his defeat, Voldemort's temper exploded, and he tried to apparate back to Godrics Hollow. He had other curses and spells that would break the Phoenix's magic, but the more he tried to remember where Godrics Hollow was, the more difficult he found it to recall its location. He had been expelled and now he was barred, and he shouted his frustration into the air.
"I WILL DESTROY YOU SHIELD MAKER, THEN ONCE YOU ARE GONE I WILL RETURN TO GODRICS HOLLOW," he angrily brandished his wand shaking it in a clenched fist at an imaginary foe. "IT IS POTTER'S DESTINY TO AID ME, AND HE HAS NO WHERE ELSE TO RUN."
Bellatrix picked herself up from the floor in the corner of Voldemort's room where Fawkes' retaliation had thrown her. Making herself as inconspicuous as possible she cowered as Voldemort shouted his warning to the heavens, then keeping close to the wall she slowly moved toward the door. Her master was not in a good mood, and although it was not really her fault that he had failed, she was well aware that she would be the one on which he would vent his spleen. These little setbacks always peeked Voldemort more than some of the big disasters and Bellatrix decided that it might be best if she kept out of his way for a while.
Back at Godrics Hollow the silence that followed the expulsion of the dark witch and wizard, seemed almost as loud as the battle that had preceded it. The relief of Voldemort's sudden departure hit Harry as he stood staring out onto the now empty grounds at the front of the cottage, he shook his head and began to laugh quietly.
Hermione poked her head round the door when she heard Harry chuckling to himself, and turning from the window he beckoned her to him. Casting fearful glances through the window to where she thought to see the raving wizard Hermione crept across the sitting room to Harry.
"Its ok," Harry told her, "he's gone, he couldn't even see the house, let alone get at us. Don't you remember what Mum and Dad said to us about Fawkes' enchantment? That Voldemort could rant and rave on our very doorstep and he would never get in."
"It was him then?"
"Oh yes, it was him alright."
"And that, that …. thing….. is what you have inhabiting your dreams and nightmares?"
"The nightmares… yes," Harry turned to look Hermione in the face, "but I haven't had one of those for a while, ….and of course recently my dreams have contained someone entirely different and that makes the past eminently bearable.
He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him; Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, and smiled inwardly at his remark. "So you think we are still safe here?" she asked.
"Yes, Fawkes will not let that happen again."
"Are you really sure?"
"I don't know how I know, but yes I am really sure." Harry frowned as if he was trying to recall some lost piece of information. "While the magic of the phoenix remains, this place will continue to be secure," he stated, shrugging his shoulders in puzzlement as he said it. He had no idea where that thought had come from only that whoever put it in his head knew far more about the complexities of the magic of the phoenix than he did.
While Hermione liked a conundrum this was all getting a bit deep, and it was clear that Harry had none of the answers that would satisfy her, but she did think there was one thing he might be able to clear up.
"What were you laughing at just now?"
"What? …Oh I wasn't really laughing, more relief that he couldn't get to us, but it did make me realise something." he said.
"Really?" Hermione asked, fixing her young man with a stare, "What was that?"
"Well… that there are things that can stop Mr Tom Riddle cold; he is not all powerful as some think, and that means he can be defeated." Harry looked down into Hermione's eyes. "And that means my dear, that we have a chance."
"But I thought we had sorted that out ages ago?"
"Yes we did, up here anyway," Harry said tapping the side of his head. "But now we have the proof."
"And that makes the difference?"
"To me it does," said Harry, "Doesn't it to you?"
"Me?" replied Hermione, wrapping her arms about him and hugging him tight. "Me… I've always believed you could beat him, and she kissed him soundly, "but Mr Potter, be warned, you may never get the better of me."
* * *