Rhythms

A/N: Though I am by no means near finished with `That Old House', I've just recently been inspired by the release of the DH film to take another look at this particular piece. Clearly it's been a long while since I last updated it, and after much ruminating, criticizing, and arguing, I decided to completely start over. So to those who faithfully reviewed and enjoyed the original, I offer both my heartfelt thanks and humble apologies.

Now that I am marginally older and, hopefully, slightly wiser, I've managed to approach this idea with a clear head. Though a writer's affection for her creations never dies (indeed, it often refuses to, in my experience), a good long break sheds some light on its fatal flaws. Perhaps it's a good thing that I gave it pause. I rather think my writing has improved since then, if only a little—I'm better equipped to take on something like this.

That being said, I have done my best to retain some of the style and— if I may be exceedingly unoriginal and conceited—rhythmic qualities of the original `Rhythms', as well as its underlying theme. For these reasons I've decided to keep the title and summary (for, as I said, I am rather fond of them). Now, enough of my prattle. Shall we begin?

The rain was almost unbearable; a dark gray flood thrumming and pounding all about him, drenching his clothes and turning the earth into a churning, muddy river beneath his feet.

“Hermione!”

His voice drowned in the thunder and he stumbled again. His glasses slipped off and fell at his feet. Swearing loudly, he dropped to his knees and scrabbled in the mud for his glasses.

“Hermione!” he cried again, as his fingers finally closed around his glasses. He was all but blind; there was simply no use to trying to clean them off. The rain persisted in streaking the lenses and obscuring his vision even more.

Suddenly someone crashed into him, sending him hard into the mud. Instinctively he whipped out his wand and jabbed it into the person's neck.

“Harry, it's me!” Hermione turned around, her face a vague, watery vision in his gaze. “Oh, honestly- Imperv-“

“No!” Harry grabbed her wrist quickly. “No magic.”

He wasn't sure she had heard him, but to his relief she seemed to understand. She lowered her wand, pressing her lips together and nodding.

Reaching down, she grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. With her other hand she pointed to the right and broke into a shambling run, pulling him along with her.

The rain only worsened, and soon Hermione's firm grip on his hand was the only thing that allowed Harry to know where he was going.

A few minutes later the rain seemed to lessen and the earth grew firmer under his feet. Then he realized he could hear his footsteps, echoing and reverberating back at him as if he were running in some bizarre glass container.

Hermione's grip on his hand loosened, and as he opened his eyes, he could see her sinking to the ground, breathing hard and struggling to catch her breath.

“Where are we?” he asked, his lungs burning in his chest. When Hermione didn't answer, he peered around and noticed a sort of rock enclosure. Turning, he saw the little cave opening into the dark, rainy forest.

He looked back at her.

“Ron?”

She shook her head.

“I couldn't-“ the word broke, and the crack in her voice was even more audible in the cave.

Something in Harry gave an agonizing throb.

He walked slowly toward her and sat beside her.

“He'll be along,” he said with a voice of forced confidence. “We'll just… we'll wait.”

She looked up at him, her face glazed with rain. He tried to say something more, but the hollow words that came to mind simply snagged in his throat. Instead he reached out and put his hand on her knee.

She surprised him by leaning over and burying her face in his shoulder. Even in the numbness of the moment, Harry was acutely aware of the way she trembled; the way her shoulders hitched as she cried quietly into his already-soaked sweater- the strange, painful gladness he felt knowing that, somehow, he was not alone.

He leaned his back against the wall of their rock shelter, allowing her to curl up against him and weep.

The rain beat determinedly at the earth around them, and the wind echoed eerily about the cave.

He leaned his head against her hair and put his hand on her arm. He could feel a pulse there, fluttering quickly against his fingers.

In all the chaos and noise of the storm, that one, constant quivering rhythm was the only thing that Harry could bring himself to think about.

It was the only thing he could be sure of.

A/N: (2) Yes, it's me again. I would like to let you know that the original `Rhythms' will be available shortly (possibly on my LiveJournal). Additionally, I've got a good chunk of the initial chapters written, so updates should be relatively regular for a while.

Thank you very much for reading!

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For one terrifying moment, he feared the worst.

“Hermione!”

She jerked upright, her hand flying to her wand and eyes snapping almost instantly open. In less than a second her wand was pressed against his chest.

He stared at her, suddenly tongue-tied. There was a frightened fierceness in her eyes that sent a slight shiver down his back.

Then she lowered her wand.

“Harry,” she breathed shakily, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, “I'm… I'm sorry.”

He shook his head mutely and looked away.

“You startled me,” Hermione said, taking a few deep breaths. “I was just--uneasy all night-“

“I know,” he said, “you stopped breathing, and I thought…”

He could see her expression soften curiously. Something like nostalgia came over him—it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that.

“But it's stupid, of course you're not— thank Merlin you're not…”

The last bit slipped out against his better judgment, and she took his hand, squeezing it firmly.

“We need to find Ron,” she said after a moment, “now that the storm's over.”

He looked at her, and she looked back, her lips pressed into a stubborn, thin line.

He didn't say what he was thinking; he could tell she could read it in his face by the way she stiffened. And a part of him wanted to believe what she did; that maybe Ron had simply gotten lost in the storm, and that if they only searched, they'd find him in some corner of the woods, full of indignation at not being found sooner.

But there was no ignoring what they had both seen.

Unable to say it out loud, Harry simply looked at her and shook his head, as gently as he could.

There was a long silence, and Hermione's eyes darkened with frustration and tears.

“Look,” Harry said at last, his voice hoarse and halting, “you know I want to find Ron, too, more than anything—but we're not going to find him around here.”

“Then—then we'll go back to Malfoy Manor,” Hermione said desperately, “They might have taken him there—“

“We can't go back to the Manor,” Harry said, his throat tightening, “Lestrange wants you even more than me now; I won't risk your life—“

“You won't risk my life to save Ron's?” Hermione's chin went up, and Harry felt his breath leave him as she spoke. The words punctured his lungs like a knife.

“It's… it's not that,” he whispered—he only could whisper, for his mind was suddenly spinning madly. “It's—they expect us to go there. They'll be ready. We need… we need help.”

She stood up abruptly.

“The Order, then; we'll go back to the Burrow; we'll…”

“We can't,” Harry said again, “we'd only put more danger on the Weasleys.”

Her eyes blazed as tears whisked down her cheeks.

“There's risk everywhere, Harry, we have to, we can't leave Ron—“

“I'm not about to leave Ron!” Harry said, suddenly growing angry. “I just think we should… consider the options—make sure… before we rush into things.”

The irony of the situation was not lost on either of them. Harry couldn't believe he was the one reasoning with her, trying to restrain Hermione Granger from doing something reckless.

“Well, what do you suggest?” Hermione said coldly, turning away.

Harry stood up too, torn between frustration and concern.

“Getting angry at me won't change anything, so you might as well stop it right now!” he said sharply, “I'm just as upset as you are, Hermione—he's my best friend, too—“

“But it's not your fault he's caught!” Hermione's high-pitched voice trembled and broke again.

Harry stopped, his anger dissipating quickly.

“It's not your fault,” he said slowly, “of course it isn't… it's my fault, too…”

“If I hadn't—“

“You didn't make those Death Eaters attack,” Harry said, as evenly as he could, “he won't blame you.”

He reached out and put a hand on her back. She tensed.

“I don't blame you,” he added, softly. She turned suddenly, tears still quivering in her eyes.

“You should,” she said bitterly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and looking down.

Seeing he was getting nowhere, Harry changed the subject and used as brisk of a tone as he could.

“I think we should go to Bill and Fleur's.”

This startled Hermione out of her frown.

“Yes,” she said after a pause, nibbling thoughtfully at her lip. “Yes, I suppose… that makes sense.”

“We can't get Ron out on our own,” Harry said, quickly closing in on the idea, “and it's one of the Order's best hideouts. If I could just remember where it was—“

“But if we Apparate—“

“I know,” he said shortly, “But at least we'll be out of here, won't we?”

He stared at her intently, noticing her shaking again. He put out his hand silently.

For a moment she turned her head toward the cave's opening, her eyes searching the entrance with a brief desperation that made him look away. And for the first time in a long time, the locket burned against his chest.

Then he felt her take his hand.

“Hold onto me,” she said, lacing her fingers through his, “I can't lose you, too.”

She tugged at him too quickly for him to formulate a reply.

______________________________________________________________________________

Moments later, Harry heard the murmur of the sea on the shore; tangy, salty air filled his lungs. Hermione suddenly drew near to him and clutched his arm. He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I… I don't like heights—“

It was then Harry realized they were standing at a great height above the sea—rocks jutting out and catching the sea spray; the wind whisking the water across the cliff and bending the grass at their feet.

“It's all very peaceful, isn't it?” she said after a pause, very quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, just as softly, “It's—it's nice.”

He surveyed the sea, crashing ceaselessly against the rocks, reflecting the grayness of the sky. He would have drawn nearer to the edge, but Hermione's vice-like grip on his arm held him back.

He glanced over at her, opening his mouth to ask her if she was sure she'd gotten the right place, when a wand dug into his back.

“Freeze where you are,” said a low voice behind him. Harry immediately recognized it as Bill's, but the hostility in his voice was wholly unfamiliar.

Without turning around, he said, “Bill, it's me.”

“Then you won't mind me asking to see your Patronus.”

Harry tightened his jaw. He could not admit it out loud, but for some reason, he found that he did mind.

“Fine,” he said curtly, and he closed his eyes, searching his mind for a properly happy memory—a properly happy thought—but the whole of his mind was being slowly overtaken by a sort of gray fog.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione said, slightly anxiously.

“Patronus,” he muttered, “I just… give me a minute—“

The wand dug even further into his back, and Harry felt his heart sink

“I'm not going to wait much longer,” Bill said, very softly.

“Can't—can't you just ask us a question?” Harry asked. There was a sort of great weight on his chest, as if someone were smothering him from within; even his happiest memories were strangely faint and unrecognizable.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione said urgently, “What's wrong?”

“You do it!” Harry said to Hermione hoarsely, “Your Patronus, you've—“

“Expecto Patronum!” Hermione cried at last, and a sleek silver otter burst from her wand tip. “There, Bill, you see— what are you doing?”

Someone seized Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her backwards; instinctively Harry lunged for Hermione's hand, but the movement had been too sudden even for him.

“Hermione, I need proof,” said Bill from behind Harry. “I can't risk it, you know I can't. You may not even know—“

“Of course I know!” Hermione said angrily, “He's my best friend!”

Harry turned around, his wand raised, and, abandoning his quest for a powerful thought, simply opened his mouth, intending to say the spell in the wild hope that something might come of it. But as his lips formed the words, he was appalled to find that they were unable to escape. Helplessly, he sought out Hermione's face in the dark.

“Hermione—“ was all that came out. He could see her face darken with anxiety.

“Harry, take it off!”

She broke away from Fleur's firm hold and reached up, her fingers grazing his skin as she grasped the chain dangling around his neck. She pulled at it quickly and finally managed to break it, closing her fingers around the locket.

He looked into her face and suddenly felt indescribably light. He pictured her running down the Great Hall, screaming, “You solved it, you solved it!” as her arms flew around him in a bone-breaking embrace—it captured his mind for one brilliant, shining moment, and he heard himself shout, “Expecto Patronum!”

A stag galloped from his wand and bounded across the sky, just as the morning sun came up over the crest of the waves. He felt heady with relief; he heard Hermione release a shaky sigh, and suddenly someone was clapping him on the back and hugging him roughly.

“Merlin's beard, Harry, I thought we'd never see you again! Thank Godric you're okay—“

“Thanks,” he said, his voice raspy. Over Bill's shoulder he saw Hermione tuck the locket surreptitiously in her jeans pocket. “Bill, we need your help—right away—“

“Come inside,” Bill said, pointing toward the neat cottage behind them. “And we'll talk there.”

Bill and Fleur started off toward the cottage, but Harry dropped purposely back and fell in step with Hermione.

“I don't know what happened,” he said under his breath, before she could ask, “It was like… like I couldn't think properly—“

“It's the locket,” Hermione whispered back, “The foul thing makes the person wearing it miserable; small wonder you couldn't conjure your Patronus.”

“But just a few days ago, you were wearing it and you didn't—“

“I know, Harry, but it's different for me,” Hermione brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes, “I think it's different for everyone.”

“What's it like for you?” Harry glanced at her pocket, where the locket was creating a telltale angular lump in the fabric.

Hermione dampened her lips with her tongue and looked away.

“It's hard to explain,” she said quietly, “I suppose I feel as though I'm always failing you.”

Before Harry could reply, they were crossing into the cottage and sitting down at the kitchen table with Bill. Fleur excused herself, adding that she intended to sift through the most recent news from the Order.

Harry quickly explained the situation, and finished with, “We know they've probably taken him to Malfoy Manor—but we can't break in by ourselves.”

“You must not have heard,” said Bill, leaning forward, his scarred face serious, “Harry, Malfoy Manor burned down.”

“What?” Harry stared at him, flabbergasted. “When?”

“Days ago,” said Bill, studying Harry carefully, “where have you been?”

There was a heavy pause; Harry looked at Hermione helplessly.

“Er…”

“Was it intentional?” she asked, swiftly diverting Bill's attention, “The fire, I mean, surely the Order didn't—“

“It wasn't us,” Bill confirmed, “but it was definitely on purpose. It wasn't normal fire, either—magical fire, it was.”

Harry sent a quick glimpse Hermione's way. Her eyes were narrowed with thought, her brow creased with questions.

“Did you find anything there?” he asked Bill casually.

“Actually,” Bill said, getting to his feet, “if you'll wait a moment, I'll show you what we found.”

Harry nodded, and took the opportunity to look at Hermione with his eyebrows raised in a bewildered fashion.

She shook her head.

I don't understand either.

“I can't believe they would've left something like this behind, but we've got a goblin to tell us it's the real thing,” said Bill as he reentered the room. Seeing what he held in his hand, Harry half-stood in surprise. Hermione tugged at his sleeve and pulled him back into his seat.

“The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” said Bill unnecessarily, placing the sword on the kitchen table. “I think it's yours properly, mate.”

Harry closed his fingers around the ruby-crusted hilt.

“Thanks,” he said, “but—but what about Ron, Bill?”

Bill's face darkened immediately.

“We think they've moved to Hogwarts,” he said after a long pause. “McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn even—they do the best they can to protect the students there, but—well, it's not a pretty picture. There're these two twins… the Carrows… they're teaching students Dark Magic, and Muggle-borns are used as—“

“And you think they'd take Ron there?” Harry persisted, cutting Bill off as something within him twisted. “Even with McGongall there?”

“If they've taken him there, he's sure to get out,” Bill said, and his face suddenly broke into a grim smile. “Neville and Ginny will be sure of that. Godric, Harry, those two are brilliant. Might give Fred and George a proper run for their money.”

“But Ron?”

Bill looked down. It was then that Harry realized how thin and worn the young man looked.

“We've had others taken,” Bill said in a low voice, “Mad-Eye—Emmeline Vance—Dedalus Diggle…the Lovegoods--”

“And you know where they took them?”

Bill shook his head slowly.

“Sometimes,” he said, “but we can scarcely spare the wizards to look. Things are bad, Harry, I won't lie to you. The Death Eaters have taken the Ministry, they've taken Hogwarts—St. Mungo's—“

“We'll find them,” said Harry quickly, “Hermione and I… we'll look—we'll go and get them back, all of them, and then—“

“Not alone?”

“Alone if we have to,” Harry said stubbornly, “Right, Hermione?”

“Of course,” Hermione said firmly.

Bill gaped at her.

“And here I thought you'd show some sense, Hermione,” he said sharply, “you can't just go charging off to—“

“He's your brother!” Harry said furiously, “Surely you want us to rescue him?”

Bill stood up, the legs of his chair scraping shrilly against the tile floor.

“Don't accuse me of not caring about my brother, Harry,” he said through gritted teeth, “If it were up to me, I'd tear the whole world apart to get my family out of this bloody war, but it's not up to me! We committed to the Order; we're the last hope--you're our last hope, Harry, and Ron knew that—Hermione knows that, don't you?”

Harry turned on Hermione.

“Tell him he's wrong,” he said, breath heaving in and out of him quickly, “Come on, Hermione, tell him—“

She looked away.

This was more than he could bear; he spun back to face Bill and shoved the table into his legs.

“I'm not the savior you think I am,” he spat, “At least Ron caught on before he went off—“

“Harry, stop,” Hermione spoke up in a small, trembling voice, “Don't—“

“…I thought you knew!” Harry turned to face her, “I thought you of all people knew—I'm not the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, I don't care if I'm the Chosen One—“

“I do understand,” Hermione broke across him, reaching for his hands, “I know, Harry—“

“Do you?” Harry yanked his hands away, his eyes suddenly burning. “Because I'm not worth dying for.”

“You're my best friend. Of course I'd die for you; we all would.”

Harry felt a huge lump begin in his throat; he could not bear to imagine watching another one of his loved ones die. He swiped his hand roughly across his eyes and glared at Bill.

“So are you going to help us or not?”

Bill sighed.

“At least stay the night,” he said finally, evading the question pointedly. “Tonks and Remus will be in at around eight tonight; we can talk properly then.”

He reached out and clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder, his blue eyes misting over.

“I love Ron, too, you know,” he said, hoarsely, “and I'll do everything I can to get him back, but… there's only so much I can do.”

Harry couldn't say anything more. He simply picked the sword of Gryffindor off the table and strode out of the kitchen.

______________________________________________________________________________

“Harry?”

He stiffened as he stopped right at the cliff's edge.

“What do you want, Hermione?” he said, a bit gruffly.

“Harry, don't be angry at me,” she said pleadingly, “I can't stand it, not now.”

After a moment, Harry's jaw relaxed, and he let out a long, shaky sigh.

“The Manor burned down,” he said abruptly, “what do you reckon—“

“I don't know,” she said wearily, “I don't know what to think. Although I'm not particularly sorry to see that awful place go.”

“Neither am I,” he said wryly, with a grim upward twist of his mouth. “Good of them to leave this, though, wasn't it?”

“They thought it was a copy,” Hermione said, as he lifted the sword in front of his face, examining the keen blade. “I suppose they didn't consider it to be worth saving.”

He jammed the tip of the sword into the earth beside them.

“You were brilliant, getting us out of that mess,” he said at last, “When they brought you back to the cellar, I thought—“

He paused and cleared his throat, blinking quickly.

“I've been a bit of a prat, haven't I?” he said, looking at her with a mirthless smile. She shook her head.

“We've been on edge for quite some time now,” she said, “I suppose… losing Ron a second time…”

“He's not lost yet,” Harry said firmly. She smiled faintly and drew nearer to him, looping her arm through his.

“I thought you'd given up earlier this morning,” she said, almost reflectively, “of course it's probably for the best that I didn't go rushing off to Malfoy Manor.”

“I suppose I've just learned to expect the worst of things,” he said, tiredly running his hand through his hair.

“Don't get in the habit of it,” she said, without looking at him. “And don't give me that look—“

“What look?” Harry said defensively.

“That `all is lost' expression,” she said, almost lightly. “Last year I thought you'd finally gotten rid of it, but now…”

She sighed.

“Don't give up yet,” she said softly, “there's still hope.”

The soft morning sunlight caught her eyes and illuminated the worn, tenuous smile that crossed her face.

“Yeah,” Harry said after a moment, looking out across the misty gray sea, “I suppose there is.”

A/N: When I wrote this I realized how dependent this story was (and is) on characterization. As such I was very particular about it, but as the events of the trio's seventh year have been distinctly different in this fic than they are in canon, their characterization, too, may have taken a rather different turn. Thank you very much for reading!

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