Bridges
Chapter Six: Bridge To The Past
Harry kicked at a small smattering of pebbles that littered the sidewalk, and sat down heavily on the curb with a hearty sigh. Hermione's building loomed behind him, but he paid it no attention. The street was quiet; most people were still at work, but he could distantly hear the indistinct shrieks and yells of children at play.
It was strange how even such a carefree noise could now cause him pain.
He felt lethargic, empty, and it was an utter contrast to the emotions that had been running through him earlier like white-water rapids. Hermione had had his baby, hadn't even cared enough to let him know…and the baby had died. He thought of Hermione, young and worried, bearing that kind of burden alone, coping with that kind of grief alone, and he felt a pang of sympathy in spite of himself, which he quickly tried to squelch.
She could have told me, he argued. I would have come. Surely she knows I would have come.
Maybe she does know, another part of him said. Maybe that's why she didn't tell you. He sucked in a breath, as even that hypothetical suggestion stung.
Lily Catherine Granger… he wondered what she had looked like. Would she have had his eyes or Hermione's? Dark hair? She would have been nearly eleven years old - would have been traveling to Hogwarts in September. I bet she would have been smart…like her mother. There was dampness on his cheeks, and he was annoyed and irritated to realize that his eyes had filled with tears. He wiped them away angrily, and cursed under his breath.
Damn you, Hermione, he thought. You had no right to make this decision for both of us. I had a right to know - I -
Your presence there wouldn't have saved her, he heard Hermione's words, deliberate and clinical, echo in his mind, an attempt to mask the pain she felt. Sympathy stabbed through him again, and his mood soured further.
"You have no right to make me feel sorry for you. It wasn't anything that you didn't bring on yourself. I was the one that you - "
"Er…Harry?" Ron's uncertain voice cut through the bitter commentary that Harry was muttering to himself.
Harry looked up, and quickly stood when Ron's shadow loomed over him. He dusted off the seat of his robes with both hands.
"You've waited out here this whole time?" he asked, trying to sound unaffected by the fact that his best mate had just heard him talking to himself.
"No…er, I - I actually went back to the Ministry. Got an urgent Floo call while I was there. Annemarie Ludlow is awake."
Ron could see the ravages of emotion begin to fade from Harry's face, as his all-business Auror mask slowly replaced them.
"Has anyone talked to her yet?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head.
"They're waiting for us."
"Her grandmother there?"
"Not yet."
They began to walk toward the Apparation point.
"How'd you find me?" Harry finally asked, the words coming out uncomfortably and in a rather stilted fashion.
"Flooed Hermione," Ron said, as delicately as possible. "She said you'd just left, so I - I took a chance that you might still be around." There was a long pause, as Ron eyed him with a slight wince. "Went badly, did it?"
Harry's shoulders slumped tellingly, as he mustered a mirthless half-laugh.
"You could say that."
"And the … baby?"
The shadows in Harry's eyes deepened to the point that they appeared nearly black. Ron could all but see the walls slamming into place around his best friend. It was almost enough to make him take a step back.
"My daughter only lived for a few hours after she was born." The pain in the first two words of his reply nearly robbed Ron of his breath. They crossed the street. Harry wouldn't look at him. Ron threw a glance back over his shoulder, and thought he saw a curtain twitch at the window that corresponded with the living room of Hermione's flat. He turned back toward Harry, striding with a rigid stance and bleak expression, his hands jammed fiercely into his pockets, balled into fists.
Oh, Hermione, Ron thought, with profound regret. What have you done?
*~~~~~*
The clatter and bustle that Ginny created in the sunny kitchen of the new flat had the effect of shrouding the awkward tension between the two girls, and for that, at least, Hermione was grateful. It also masked Harry's approach, and when he arrived behind her and dandled his fingers playfully at her waist where the hem of her t-shirt overlapped her jeans, she jumped, and he snickered.
The casual intimacy of the gesture made her heart soar, even as she shook her head warningly at him, tilting her head in the direction of the refrigerator, where Ginny was busily arranging things. The youngest Weasley had not seen them touch.
Harry eyed Hermione questioningly, but dropped his hand, even as Ginny extracted herself from the icebox, and chirped,
"Hi Harry," with a merry smile.
"H'lo, Ginny." Harry's tone was amiable, but guarded. "Where's Ron?"
Even as he spoke, there was noise and a rather large puff of green smoke from the fireplace.
"He's right here," a slightly sooty Ron answered, as he ducked out of the Floo, dragging his Hogwarts trunk behind him. It thumped obnoxiously onto the carpet where Ron unceremoniously dropped it.
"Ron!" Ginny said in exasperation. "You were supposed to get things for the kitchen. How are we supposed to eat?"
"I did get them," Ron replied, defensively, holding up a pillowcase, the contents of which tinkled and clanked together in a way that left Hermione fearing for their safety. "I just nicked a few of my things too."
His too-casual air made Harry and Hermione exchange amused glances and smother grins. It appeared that Ron was rather more than eager to escape the Burrow and the smothering overindulgence of his mum.
The commiserating glance of long-suffering that Ginny tossed at Harry eloquently spoke that the obviousness of Ron's machinations was universal. Harry returned the glance with a grin that was genuine, and Hermione felt a stab of pain and longing in her gut.
Brunch was a mostly jovial affair, with neither Weasley appearing to notice that Harry and Hermione remained largely silent, each regarding the other surreptitiously, but saying only innocuous things like,
"Pass the butter, please."
After everyone had eaten their fill, and Ron had polished off what remained, he hopped lightly to his feet and said,
"So, Hermione, fancy going to get your things as well?"
Hermione blinked at him, startled. She had almost forgotten that she had any things and that they were still at the Burrow. Involuntarily, she flashed a quick, almost questioning glance at Harry, who already had a stack of dishes Levitated halfway to the sink.
"Might as well," Harry offered, as he opened the tap. "Today's as good a moving day as any, I reckon."
"All right," Hermione conceded softly, stepping toward the fireplace. "We'll be back in a bit, then."
Harry froze slightly, as he seemed to suddenly become cognizant of who would be alone with him, but he managed to muster up a smile in Hermione's general direction. With his wand, he studiously set a sudsy cloth to scrubbing, and did not look up again, until the flare of the Floo told him that Ron and Hermione had departed.
Ginny lofted another stack of dishes to him, and they worked in silence that was companionable enough, until Harry began to feel the tension ratcheted to the breaking point between his shoulder blades, propelled by the weight of her gaze.
"So… what's going on with you and Hermione?" Ginny asked casually, tucking a loose strand of fiery hair behind one ear.
"Me and - me and Hermione?" Harry sputtered, succeeding at nonchalance about as well as Hermione had.
"Yes. Don't tell me nothing happened last night. Two close friends all alone in an empty flat, telling each other their troubles…" The insinuation in Ginny's singsong tone was undeniable, and Harry's face felt uncomfortably hot. "Besides," she continued. "I can tell something happened by the way the two of you were acting just now."
"Just now?" Harry echoed, feeling incapable of articulating any original or independent thought.
Ginny looked at him with pointed eloquence.
"You shagged her, didn't you?"
Harry felt as if a bomb suddenly detonating in the living room of the new flat would not startle him as much as Ginny's remark had. His mind spun like tires in mud, and he was unable to articulate any kind of intelligent response.
"Ginny, I - that is, you have to understand - that I - we - "
Ginny crinkled her forehead at him, in what might have been taken for compassion.
"Don't think anything of it," she said, casually, causing Harry to stare at her in unadulterated disbelief. "I know you've been through a lot. It's only natural that…"
"That what?" Harry said, some ice fringing his tone, as he detected the studiously sweet note in Ginny's voice.
"That you'd - that you'd have … needs… the survival instinct - you know, after all you've been through. It makes sense that you wouldn't want to … taint… a real relationship with something like that." Ginny picked at a string hanging from the dishcloth, and did not look at him.
"You think what Hermione and I did - or - or what we have is - is tainted? Or not real?" There was evident distaste in his tone, and a slow flush burned its way up Ginny's cheeks.
"Of course not," she said slowly. "But Harry, you - you can't really think you have feelings for her?"
The thump of Harry's heart suddenly became slow and painful in his chest, as he mulled over her question. Did he have feelings for Hermione? Was the slow burn of desire that wafted over him, warm and heady, indicative of something deeper? He knew that he wanted to be around Hermione, that he craved her presence, and had done so long before there were any physical activities involved, but did that stem from love or from long-standing friendship? And how was he to determine the difference?
"Would it be so wrong if I did?" he finally said, giving voice to the tentative flicker of `maybe' that had been floated in his mind ever since Hermione had come willingly into his arms the previous night.
"Harry…" Ginny looked almost pained, like a mother who had to tell her child an unpleasant truth would. "Don't you realize what she's been through?"
"Of course I do," he replied sharply. "Don't you think that if anyone would know what she's gone through, it'd be me?"
"No, I'm not talking about what the three of you went through. I'm talking about what Hermione has gone through - what she's done for you, what she's given up, ever since your first year at Hogwarts."
Guilt prodded insidiously at Harry. He knew Hermione had forsaken a large portion of her final year at Hogwarts, knew that she had turned down the coveted position of Head Girl, knew that she had ended her relationship with Viktor Krum so she could help him, knew that her relationship with her parents had been strained because of him, knew that she had been on the receiving end of dangerous curses as she was fighting with him. He knew all of that, and the despair over ever having caused her any type of pain or difficulty still robbed him of sleep at times. And now, here was Ginny Weasley, standing in the bright kitchen of his little flat, reminding him of exactly that.
"I - I know," he managed to stammer. "She's done so much for me, for all of us. I wouldn't ever forget that."
"Of course you wouldn't. But Hermione had plans, you know. She had dreams. Did she ever tell you that she wanted to be a Healer?"
Harry shook his head, though the thought did not surprise him.
"That takes intensive training, extra schooling, internships. I've heard it can eat up a lot of your time."
"Hermione can do anything she wants." Harry felt sullen, like he was being preached to, and he wasn't sure why.
"Hermione has done everything you've wanted for so long, I'm not sure she knows how to live differently."
Harry drew away from her, stung.
"It wasn't ever like that."
"I'm not saying it was ever intentional," Ginny sounded hurt that he'd thought so. "But she's always turned everything upside down for you. Maybe - maybe now that it's all over, it's time you put her best interests first for once."
Harry reached one damp hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, the half-washed dishes now all but forgotten. He let the guilt pour over his shoulders like warm rain, almost reveling in the discomfort.
Maybe it's time I put her best interests first. Maybe Ginny's right, he thought, and then found himself suddenly wondering why that idea hurt so badly.
*~~~~~*
The Auror on duty stood aside as Harry and Ron entered Annemarie's room for the seond time that day. The afternoon was stretching into evening, and the bustle of St. Mungo's had tempered itself somewhat. Harry was grateful for the reduced quantities of speculative eyes.
The girl was still lying prone in her bed, so unmoving that for an instant, Harry thought they'd missed their window of opportunity. Her family was still not present, and there was a neatly dressed young witch perched in the chair in the corner. Her nametag identified her as Finnuala Rafferty, and she was titled as an "Intercessor". Harry wondered if that was some sort of wizarding equivalent to a social worker.
She stood when they came in, and, as Ron stuck his hand out to introduce them, she spoke brightly,
"Ron Weasley…and Harry Potter. No introduction is needed, I assure you."
"And you're here in what capacity exactly?" Ron asked brusquely, leaving Harry to suppress a grin at his tone, which contrasted with the pink tint that tinged his ears as he addressed the pretty Intercessor.
"I'm here to guard Annemarie's interests," she replied, after introducing herself to them. "Given what has happened to her parents, and the fact that her remaining family members seem… disinterested, to put it mildly, I've been assigned by St. Mungo's to watch out for her."
It was then that the figure on the bed shifted slightly, and Harry saw that her eyes were open, and she was following the conversation with interest. Annemarie looked as forlorn and battered as she had the first time he'd seen her, with the only change being her tear-stained face and the redness of her good eye.
"Hallo, Annemarie," he spoke up suddenly, surprising himself as he did so. "I'm Harry, and this is Ron. We're going to be working on your case. I'm sorrier than I can say that this happened to you and your parents, but we're going to find out who did it, I promise you."
Annemarie's lips moved slightly, and Harry had to lean closer to hear what she said.
"Harry… Potter?"
"The same," he admitted, punctuating the remark with a self-deprecating shrug.
"Can I - can I see yours?" She spoke with effort, and, at first, Harry did not know to what she was referring. But then her hand came up, slowly and feebly, to gingerly trace the new mark on the side of her face.
Harry felt his face crease in sympathy, as he lifted his dark bangs to reveal his own scar.
"They … won't let me look in a mirror. It mus' be pretty bad."
"You're beautiful," Harry told her, without hesitation. "It's the people who did this to you - they're the ones that have to worry about ugliness - ugliness in their soul."
The corners of Annemarie's eyes crinkled slightly in a weak smile, and Harry was alarmed to see tears began to trickle out, trailing into her hair.
"That sounds like something…Mum would have said." She paused, and sighed a little. "I can't believe they're gone…"
"Are you up to telling me what happened?" Harry flicked a questioning look at Rafferty, who nodded carefully, without removing her watchful eyes from Annemarie's face.
Slowly and painstakingly, Annemarie began to talk, her voice hesitating and pausing at times, and at others, giving out completely. She was descriptive, her obvious intelligence coming through in her vocabulary and syntax, which seemed to be beyond her years, and she did not give in to the surging currents of emotion that she had to have been feeling.
She had not seen her attackers initially, but had been spell-bound from behind, and practically propelled down Knockturn Alley. When she had finally laid eyes on them at the scene of the crime, they had been hooded and cloaked in heavy black robes that had left them both formless and featureless.
They had not touched her, but had used wands to abduct her and force her into Execution Alley. All the damage had been done at wandpoint. At this disclosure, Harry and Ron exchanged glances.
"You're sure that they never laid another hand on you?" Harry clarified. "They didn't hit you or … kick you once you'd fallen, anything like that?
The eye that wasn't swollen shut was glassy and distant for a moment, as if she were thinking furiously, but when Annemarie returned her gaze to Harry, it was clear and sure.
"No," she replied. "It was all spells, hexes, some charms. They never touched me, not even once. I heard people yelling, somebody told them to stop, but most were just… watching." Her tone was the mystified one of someone unused to cruelty for cruelty's sake. "A - an Impedimenta knocked me down, and then - then it - it hurt so much that I just … curled up to try to - to try to block some of it, and then I - " Her chin wobbled, and she appeared to have to struggle to continue. Rafferty made sure that she was standing in Annemarie's line of vision. Harry's face was a mask of sympathy, even as his jaw line hardened at the thought of what had been done to the girl.
"Then I heard Mum and Dad; they were calling for me." A light flashed momentarily in Annemarie's face, as she recalled the hope that must have flared within her when she heard her parents' voices. "One of the men turned," her voice grew dull again. "I think he was the leader, and he - he - the green light - they never even - there wasn't time for them to - "
Harry knew all too well the emotion she felt with a sudden casting of Avada Kedavra to someone about whom she cared deeply. He remembered the feeling of unreality, the impossibility - I did not just see what I thought I saw - the fist in the gut that accompanied the flash of green and the glassy, unblinking stare. He had seen it, had had a front-row seat for it… on more than one occasion.
"Was there anything familiar about the men who attacked you?" Ron broke in gently, his face as tender as Harry had ever seen it, picking up where Harry had paused, lost in his own unpleasant memories. "Their hands, their voices, the way they stood or walked?"
Annemarie's forehead crinkled in thought, and she winced slightly as the movement jostled tender and healing skin.
"They were wearing gloves," she concluded, after a moment. "And I didn't recognize their voices, but I did think they were odd - all growly and rough, almost like they had colds." She shifted uncomfortably on the utilitarian mattress, and looked plaintively at the intercessor. "Has Grandmother owled yet?"
Finnuala Rafferty's lips pressed into a thin compassionate line, but her eyes were hard.
"Not yet, sweetie. But she's had a lot to deal with at your house, I'm sure. The healers are making sure to keep her apprised about you."
Harry noticed how quickly the energy seemed to have leeched from the little girl; she seemed to be creating less of an outline beneath the sheets than she had previously. He reached out to brush some hair back from her forehead, in a gesture that was as gentle as it was uncharacteristic of him.
"Try to get some rest, Annemarie," he said, in a voice that didn't quite succeed in its attempt to be brisk and businesslike. "Ron and I will be back to visit you later, all right?"
Her eyes met his with a gleam that reminded him of deepest camaraderie and shared secrets. One corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided half-smile.
"Wait `til I tell Gwendolyn that Harry Potter came to visit me." Something almost impish briefly flashed in her face, and Harry realized with some surprise that she was teasing him. Admiration at her resiliency flowed through him, and he returned the smile her way, accompanied by a wink.
As he and Ron exited, he saw his best mate indicate that Finnuala Rafferty follow them into the corridor. She did so, and was launching into a quiet tirade as soon as they were out of earshot of Annemarie.
"I simply cannot fathom the cold lack of feeling from that angel's grandmother!" She said angrily. "Do you know how many times today I've had to make excuses for that woman? I can't imagine not being here…if she were my daughter or granddaughter…"
The phrase if she were my daughter stabbed painfully at Harry, but he tried desperately to ignore it.
"Do you have any other cases? If you do, can you ditch them?" he asked the Intercessor both questions in rapid-fire succession.
"I'm assigned through the Ministry," Finnuala answered. "If the MLE requests it, then I'm sure I - "
"What are you thinking, Harry?" Ron asked, his tone guarded enough to assure Harry that their thoughts had moved in the same direction.
"Can you stay with her round the clock? Get someone you trust to alternate with you?" Harry asked, as if Ron had not spoken.
"Certainly, if that is what's needed." The bewilderment was evident in the Intercessor's tone. "Wouldn't the Auror guard be - ?"
"It was someone she knows, wasn't it?" Ron interrupted.
"It certainly appears that way," Harry said. "Their voices were disguised; they wore gloves and heavy robes. If she had seen or heard them, she would have recognized them."
"It doesn't follow why they didn't just kill her. If it was people she knew, then why was the message directed to you? Or is the lightning bolt just a red herring?"
Harry's face was troubled.
"I don't know. But it bothers me that they wouldn't touch her. Most wizards in a rage - especially ones insane enough to attack a little girl - wouldn't mind getting down and dirty like Muggles. But this is too methodical, too superior, too - "
"Too Pureblooded?" Ron supplied, having caught on to Harry's grim train of thought.
"If they knew she was Half-blood, they might not have wanted to soil themselves with her taint." A suspicion had begun to grow, to unfurl itself within Harry's mind. He suddenly remembered Rafferty, and turned to speak intensely to her, urgency blazing from his green eyes. "Just don't leave her alone - please."
She was nodding, even as he spoke.
"If her grandmother should - " But Harry didn't let her finish.
"Don't leave her side, even if her grandmother comes - especially if her grandmother comes. Make up something - say it's orders. We'll inform the Aurors stationed here."
Once Finnuala had returned to Annemarie's room, and they had apprised the guards of the situation, Ron and Harry began the walk down to the Floo network.
"Peter Ludlow's brothers?" Ron asked Harry in a low voice out of the side of his mouth.
"The whole family was in Slytherin, except for Peter."
"And there wasn't any love lost between the Ludlows and Tabitha, apparently," Ron added, thinking of his conversation with Hermione. "But, if it's true, why now? Annemarie's lived in that manor house for nearly eleven years. Peter and Tabitha had been married longer than that. Why go Dark now?"
Harry's eyes were stormy. The long-ago loss of Hermione from his side, the life and death of his daughter, and Annemarie's quiet fortitude were battering at him like a relentless onslaught of waves.
"That's what we have to find out."
TBC
I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Some of the pieces are coming together now, as I'm sure some of you will pick up on.
I hope to have at least another update of Resistance, and maybe one update of each before our new arrival arrives, but I'm so huge and it's so hot, that I make no promises. We'll just all hope for the best, right?
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
lorien
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