The Bat Returns From Hell
- Chapter 13: White Rooms And Black Feelings
The room was white - arrestingly white with undecorated white-painted walls. White fluorescent lights shown from recesses in the stark white ceiling. The white linoleum floor was waxed to a high sheen. A line of white Formica cabinets had white plastic handles. White cotton sheets made the bed. Everything in the bathroom, from the tiles to the toilet to the towels, was white.
Only two exceptions broke this pallid monotony. The first was a window, with a view of the early morning sun, birds singing in the trees, and streets full of Parisians headed to work. The second exception was a quiet young man dressed in a pale green hospital gown. His vacant green eyes stared through the barred windows - seeing but not really comprehending the scene. He felt only disbelief - disbelief that life all around him could go on with such normalcy, when his own life had completely imploded.
Harry was under arrest. He had spent the last several hours in the secure wing of a Parisian Muggle hospital.
That suited Harry as well as anything.
Ever since the Muggle hélicoptère de sauvetage had taken Hermione away, and even before, Harry simply abandoned himself to the hands of fate. He had done everything he possibly could. Either was enough, or….
Harry did not go there. Down that road lay madness - or worse. If absolutely necessary he supposed he would somehow cope, but for now he deadened his mind to keep the very real prospect of her death at bay.
Step one was slamming shut the gates of Occlumency. The war and its immediate aftermath had provided plenty of practice. Harry had not loosed spontaneous magic since … since the last time he thought Hermione died - when Muggle terrorists took down those Yank skyscrapers.
That was not pretty.
He had to avoid a repeat performance for the Muggle gendarmerie.
Thus, Harry followed standard Auror procedures. Be polite. Do not resist in any way. Tell as much truth as possible without violating Wizard secrecy standards. Engage Muggle police in his native tongue, not theirs.
The Muggles had been quite perplexed - and Harry did precious little to enlighten them.
Harry had just surrendered Hermione to Muggle EMTs. His forlorn healing attempt had not seemed to accomplish anything, anyway. Her awful neck wound gaped, mocking him. He doubted he would ever touch her - alive - again. Haunted by that thought, he deadened his mind with Occlumency.
"Celui qui que vous êtes, vous a eu mieux pour s'expliquer," an older, uniformed policeman demanded.
He answered in flat monotone. "My name is Harry Potter. I'm from London. There's identification in my wallet - in my back pocket. Two men tried to murder the woman you just took away. I killed them."
The policeman's face twitched, startled by Harry's frank admission. He leaned to extract Harry's wallet from the indicated pocket.
Harry knew enough to keep his hands within the officer's sight. Leaning sideways to facilitate removal of his wallet, he staggered in pain. "Aaahh…! I've been shot…."
The policeman switched to English. "So you have, but it does not seem … serious." Signalling for a medic, the officer continued his interrogation. "You say you killed two people - how? You are not armed…."
"The driver tried to shoot me," Harry recounted. "The other, in the rear, he … cut her throat … then shot me. I killed him with the knife still in his hands."
"Interesting … but I asked, how?" the policeman pursued.
Harry followed procedures - never reveal oneself to Muggles. "With fire and sword," he stated mysteriously.
"I see the fire. Where's this … sword?" the policeman haltingly asked.
"Don't know," Harry answered politely. "If you can't find it, I can't. It was of no interest. I was only interested in her…."
Sensing no immediate answers as to Harry's mode of killing, the policeman pursued a new line of questioning. "Ah yes … and the woman…?"
"She is Hermi … er … Harmony Farmer. She's a good … er … old friend from England, but she's in the States now…." Guiltily Harry realized he ceased being her "good" friend years ago - when he decided to move heaven and earth to find her whether she wanted finding or not.
"You seem … hesitant," the policeman observed. "How long since you last saw her?"
"Nine years, three months, and twenty three days," Harry rattled off.
"Very precise," the officer observed. "How did you meet?"
"On a train when I was eleven years old," Harry said softly.
"I meant … umm … after the nine years, and whatever," he clarified.
"Umm … didn't really, except when I tried to save her life," Harry stated.
The French -speaking officer was very confused. "How did you get here … if you had not met?"
"She was unconscious. I saw them put her in there," he indicated the wrecked and burning van. I followed. I figured out what they planned to do. I tried stopping them," Harry explained. "I failed…."
"Follow … how?" the officer tried to understand. "I see neither a car nor a motorbike."
"I hid on top of the van," Harry told him truthfully.
"On that? For how long?" inquired the officer.
"No idea," Harry confessed. "Seemed like forever. They drove fast."
"What stopped them?" the officer asked, still puzzled. He gestured at the smoldering van. "That vehicle … it clearly hit something, but what?"
"I can't say," Harry dissembled. "I don't see anything."
The perplexed officer shook his head and moved on. "All right. Next of kin?"
"My parents died when I was a baby," Harry revealed.
"I meant Ms. Farmer's," the officer said curtly. "You're not likely to die tonight."
Harry redoubled his Occlumency. He did not want to think about that. "Her Mum … lives in Perth, Australia, I believe." Harry knew that full well - the goblins watched her 24 hours a day for years. "She's a dentist … name's Eva…." Again Harry paused, not wanting to explain the different last name. "Her father's been a wanted fugitive for well over a decade now. Nobody knows where he went."
"Umm … Please explain how, after nine years apart, you magically reappear and find Ms. Farmer."
Harry sighed and answered more truthfully than it appeared, "I still can't believe it myself…. You said it - magic, I guess."
The officer wanted no cheek from this unstintingly polite, but infuriatingly unfathomable young man. He switched from inquisitive to accusative. "Mister Potter, I've probably been a detective longer than you've lived. Don't you find it strange, as I do, that after nine years apart, and Ms. Farmer with a spotless Interpol record, you reappear, by `magic' if you will, and minutes later her throat is cut?"
"Oh … blast," Harry tried to stay calm. "You don't think … this is … my fault...?"
Then he collapsed.
Whether from stress, loss of blood, or sheer exhaustion - he Occlumenced himself into unconsciousness.
So Harry arrived at the prison wing of this large Muggle hospital. He admitted killing two. While the incident had the hallmarks of self-defense, many inexplicable things needed investigating. The young man's story about the gravely injured woman had a ring of truth, but parts seemed incredible. With a bullet wound in the side, Harry needed medical treatment.
The officer placed the unconscious man under arrest, and transferred him to a secure hospital facility.
A Muggle doctor injected Harry with some unknown drug, and he woke up. Disoriented, he asked after Hermione. The young Muggle knew nothing - not even why Harry was being held. All he could say was that Harry was under arrest.
Harry waited. Hours passed. A nurse came to check on him and change the bandages on his wound. It was treated while he was unconscious. It was more than a flesh wound - one rib was shattered.
But still not particularly serious, she told him.
Harry had ceased caring about himself.
Nobody came. Harry could easily have escaped using wandless magic, but that would just make him a fugitive and cast more Muggle suspicion on him. He had no idea where Hermione might be - if she still was.
As long as he stayed, at least some Muggles somewhere knew where both he and Hermione, or Harmony as they called her, were.
Eventually, someone from the Ministry would collect him as was standard Auror procedure. If nobody else, Tonks would eventually alert the proper authorities. He had cast a distress signal - several….
So where the Hell were they?
Were they outside, debating how to tell him the bad news?
So Harry sat, silently begging deities he did not believe existed to spare her and, if they demanded a sacrifice, to take him instead….
The sun rose, seemingly mocking him. Harry's head drooped. He was wrung out - exhausted, getting drowsy. Even Occlumency could not help how he felt. His face contorted in grief, Harry released himself to his heartbreak.
His cheeks moistened as tears began to flow. Unable, even unwilling, to bottle himself up any longer, Harry allowed himself to cry. He continued sobbing, softly to avoid unwanted attention, until mercifully he fell asleep.
The last time Harry Potter cried himself to sleep was in a cupboard beneath a staircase.
He slept fitfully, disjointed bits of unpleasant dreams rattling around inside his skull, until he heard a key turning in the door to his room. The young doctor shuffled in. Harry noticed that his eyes appeared strangely unfocussed.
Before Harry could react, several more people - familiar people - entered. Maréchal Delacour led the group, his face craggy with lines of deep concern. A couple of steps behind followed Jacques Lemaître, whom Harry had met during the war, but now knew only as the recently appointed Commander of the French equivalent of the Auror Corps.
Tonks appeared behind the two Frenchmen. Her expression was grim and her hair a flyaway grayish brown. Her hand clutched an Auror communication mirror.
Last in, and looking very out of place, was Gabrielle Delacour. She still wore an elegant midnight blue Muggle evening gown, and in any other setting would have been outrageously attractive. But her face was pale with shock. She had obviously been crying.
After they entered, Maréchal Delacour pulled his wand, muttered something, and the obviously Confunded Muggle doctor wandered away.
Seeing the group of wizards, Harry's throat went so dry he could hardly speak. "Umm … is she … still…?" he rasped out before the Maréchal mercifully raised his hand for quiet.
"All I can tell you, Harry, is she still lived when our Healers took over her care. My Muggle countrymen did well - stabilizing her, transfusing her several times, and above all not making things worse by interfering with what they did not understand…"
Harry understood the Maréchal to mean they did not disturb the tube that magically connected Hermione's severed artery.
"…We have arranged the best possible care," the Maréchal continued. "Your friend Healer Huxley is with her. He was on alert much of the night."
"Thank you." Then Harry stopped, realizing the import of the Maréchal's words. "What do you mean, `much of the night,' and how did the Muggles…? Several transfusions? How long was it?"
The old man winced at being found out so quickly. He turned to Msr. Lemaître and told him, coldly, "Perhaps you should explain last night's events."
"Mister Potter," the younger French wizard began, "I am deeply sorry, but Miss Granger only came into our custody some 45 minutes ago. There was … confusion. The Muggles took her under an assumed name. Only when Auror Tonks clarified that could we locate her."
Tonks took this opportunity to fiddle with the communication mirror.
Harry was stunned. Hermione had been in Muggle care for hours. "But - but … I … Auror distress signals. Certainly you saw…."
Extremely tight lipped, Msr. Lemaître continued, "Once again, I apologize for our performance last night. We had a large operation against potions smugglers in the northern faubourgs, and knew of no operatives in the Bois de Boulogne. Your signals - there were so many of them. The duty officer thought them a prank, or worse, a diversion. We delayed responding until after the operation…."
Maréchal Delacour's eyes narrowed almost to invisibility during the Chief Auror's explanation. Finally, he had enough.
"Harry, to be blunt, we dropped the ball," the old man admitted. "Without Ms. Tonks' assistance, we still might not know what happened. Still, she lives. She must have a very strong will."
Harry turned to Tonks. "What happened?"
"I grabbed a couple of Aurors who were available. We went to the address you gave us. Found a couple of Muggles. One confessed to everything. He seemed almost relieved at being caught. I think he…." Tonks paused and changed direction. "Well, never mind that. The other said nothing. They're both with the gendarmerie. Then - well, you can thank your ex…."
"You mean Ginny?" Harry's mouth dropped. Her name was almost the last thing he expected to hear.
Tonks again glanced at the mirror. She was checking it every minute or so.
"Yes, that's exactly who I mean," Tonks confirmed. "She's a good woman, Harry, whatever happened back then…. Arthur and Molly never took Hermione off their clock, and after almost a decade her hand moved from "lost" - to "mortal peril." They Flooed her. She Flooed you, but your house-elves didn't know where you'd gone…."
"Dammit," Harry swore. "I should have left word."
Tonks glanced at the mirror again. "Yes, you should," Tonks said more sharply. "But save that for later. Then your hand - yes they've left you on the clock too, despite the annulment - also went to "mortal peril." Ginny got a second message, and at that point Flooed Merlin knows how many places looking for you. Eventually she reached Remus. He got me by mirror just as we were finishing up those Muggles."
"As you know, I've been Hermione's one contact with our world all these years. After talking to Arthur, I mirrored the French Aurors. I told them to look for Harmony Farmer - and for you. They mentioned the odd Auror Assist signals, so I tagged along with their investigative party.
She took another look at the mirror.
"Tonks, what are you expecting?" Harry finally asked.
The ashen-haired Auror exhaled loudly. "A message I hope I never receive," she sighed. "I had Remus go to the Burrow. He's promised to contact me … well, if Hermione's hand drops off the Weasleys' clock…. That would mean…."
"…That she's dead," Harry broke in. "Like when Ron and Bill died in the war."
"Well, it hasn't happened yet today," Tonks said hotly. "You can't give up, Harry."
"I - I haven't," Harry maintained. "I couldn't live with myself. You know, there's more than enough Muggle sedatives in those cabinets."
"Well, you can forget about that," Tonks said stoutly. "Here, I believe this is yours"
She tossed Harry his wand.
"And this is yours, too."
She tossed him his Invisibility Cloak.
"You really shouldn't leave things like this lying around a place like that," she lectured. "No telling who could have found them."
"Thanks," Harry replied weakly. He was still trying to compose himself when Tonks pulled out something else.
"You also left this behind. You're lucky I was there, since the French Aurors would have missed it."
She produced the plate that bore Molly's drawing of Hermione.
Harry reached for it. "Thanks again, Tonks. I've been doing that a lot…."
Tonks cut him off.
"Don't thank me," she told him. "You should thank whoever inspired you to bring this along."
She flipped the plate over. On the back side, Molly's little poem was nearly obliterated, disfigured by two ugly, blackened marks.
"What…?"
"I reckon this plate took two bullets for you, Harry," Tonks told him.
Harry gasped audibly. He remembered his breast pocket handkerchief, and the pocket, being missing. Reflexively, he touched that spot on his chest. "It saved my life," Harry said almost inaudibly. "And if I did save her, then it saved her life too - I hope…."
There was silence. Tonks' hair started losing its ashy colour, becoming black again.
"The - the poem," Harry murmured. "I saw it tonight at the manor. It's what turned me around. What made me come back after…." He realized none of them knew what transpired in the lobby. "…after, I'd left in despair."
"So we come full circle," Tonks observed, ignoring his last comment. "Hermione saved Molly's life. Now Molly's saved yours. If we get some luck, maybe you've completed it…."
"Harry, do you want to go to her?" the Maréchal asked.
"Molly will…." Then Harry realized he was answering the wrong question. "Yes," he declared. "Even if it might … not turn out well…. If it does, then I need to be there for her … to let her know I've changed."
"Then, allez," Maréchal Delacour directed in the command voice that was second nature to him.
"Msr. Lemaître looked at the wall clock. "If we hurry, we can catch the nine o'clock shuttle."
"Won't it be quicker to Apparate?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Non," the head Auror declared. "As it happens, she's in the other wing of this hospital. She's in too serious a condition to be moved, so our Healers have taken over here."
- 7 -
C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.Bat from Hell Ch 6 Endings and Beginnings.doc.doc 12/28/06
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