Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter Nine: Connection Forged

At Ginny's quiet statement, Harry paused, one foot hovering about an inch above the ground in mid-step for a moment, before he gathered himself enough to set it down next to its mate. His green eyes roved over her face, searching carefully for any sign that their relationship's equivalent to hurled engagement rings was in the offing. He swallowed once, hoping that it wasn't as audible as he thought it was. He had an hour before he was meeting Hermione for breakfast.

"Okay," he drew out slowly, hesitantly. "I'm listening."

She took a deep breath, the way a diver would before plunging off of a high platform. She lifted her bright brown gaze to his, quirked one eyebrow at him, and smiled.

"I'm in."

"Pardon?" Harry was reeling. It wasn't even eight o'clock, and he felt as if he had already been on emotional roller coaster ride that day.

"I'm in," she repeated, a little more emphatically, struggling to keep the laughter out of her voice. "In this… with you. For your daughter." She snickered at the pole-axed look on his face. "Harry, what did you expect me to say?"

"I - I dunno," he mumbled, toeing at the ground with one shoe. "To tell me that I was being silly, or that I hadn't thought this out, or - or accuse me of having secret affairs with Hermione…"

Ginny laughed. It was musical and lovely in the early morning stillness of his flat, though Harry was fairly sure there was something implicitly insulting to Hermione in it. Before he could give voice to that niggling feeling, it was swamped under a wave of relief that Ginny was okay with it, that Ginny would stand by him, that there were no conditions attached to her love. They would not be reenacting a chapter from Ron and Hermione's book, and he was glad. He had had enough upheaval for one day.

"Sweet Merlin, Ginny," he breathed. He felt most of the tension seep from him like a toxin being purged. "You have no idea - no idea how good it feels to hear you say that."

"Silly Harry," she murmured softly, uncurling from the chair and coming into his arms. "Haven't I proven to you yet that I'm not going anywhere?" He kissed the top of her head, and ran one hand over the silken curtain of red hair that flowed down her back.

"Yes, but most people would make exceptions in the case of children produced with third parties."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You hardly went out and got Hermione pregnant. Once you'd explained it… and - and it all made sense. You're doing the right thing, the noble thing… being the hero." Harry barely managed to squelch the flinch that spasmed through him at the last word. "It's not that much different from caring for Teddy, honestly. Like you're adopting a war orphan. Aside from the fact that she's yours…"

"No misgivings because she's Hermione's too? No worries that I'll always side with her, that I'm seconds away from throwing you over for her?" Harry's voice carried a note of bitterness in it, and Ginny cocked her head curiously at him, eying him sideways.

"Ron?" She finally asked, spearing him with a knowing glance.

"Right in one." Harry's chagrin was obvious. "They had an outrageous row last night. And another one this morning…although I think that was partly because I was there."

"Hermione was pretty upset last night, yeah?" Ginny asked, her mouth crimped in sympathy. There was an undertone in her voice, something hopeful - almost childlike. Harry couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. "It's good that you were there, then. Good that she has someone like you to lean on." Harry felt his eyes slide shut in profound gratitude, as they moved to the sofa and sat down as a unit, his arm slung around Ginny's shoulders. He leaned his head back on the upholstery, and sighed. I could just go to sleep right now… but Ginny continued, "I wish Ron were more - more - "

"Understanding? Compassionate?" He snapped off the two words before he could stop and remind himself that it was not Ginny at whom he was angry.

"He's always had trouble with - "

"Loyalty? Perseverance?"

"Har-ry!" Ginny chided, but her voice wasn't angry. "There are reasons that he wasn't sorted into Hufflepuff. But he's a decent person. He's my brother. And he's your best mate. And your best friend's fiance. How long are you going to stay mad at him? This situation…it's an adjustment for everybody, you know. He'll come around."

"I know that, Gin. But if you'd - if you'd heard the way Hermione was crying… I just…" He shook his head, as if to scatter away the gathering dark thoughts. "We're all the other has left, Hermione and I. Our backgrounds are so similar and - and things have never been the same with her parents, even after she brought them back, and…" He shrugged apologetically at her, as if realizing the inadequacy of his words.

"You have our family, Harry. Haven't the Weasleys always stood behind you?"

"Of course you have. And I'll never be able to thank you enough for it. But it - it's still not quite the same… and I - it - anyway, I'm not sure that Hermione and Ron are getting married." Ginny had been curled quite comfortably into his side, but she sat up at his last statement, her mouth open in surprise.

"What? Why - what happened?"

"Ron - Ron said some pretty awful things… about Hermione and - and about me…"

"Well, are - are you sure it's over?"

"I don't know… she did throw her ring at him." At that, Ginny flopped back down under Harry's arm, utter shock taking all the wind out of her sails.

"Wow," she muttered after a moment. "He was really proud of that ring too."

There was a beat of blanketing silence, broken only by the twitter of birdsong outside an adjacent window. Somehow it struck Harry as amusing that of all the things Ginny could have said initially, that was what she had chosen. The quiet was further disrupted by his unsuccessfully repressed snort, which was echoed by Ginny. The noises cascaded into muffled laughter.

"It's really not funny, Gin," Harry managed breathlessly after a few moments.

"You're right! It's not!" Her mirth negated her words, and they spiraled down into a hysteria that re-ignited itself every time each met the other's eyes. After a moment, Harry sat up, removed his glasses and set them on the side table, to be better able to dash the tears of hilarity from his eyes. As he moved, his forearm brushed across something pointy nudging up from the edge of his pocket.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, pulling the object out and holding it in the palm of his hand. His humor died an ignominious death, as he remembered Hermione hunched over, crying in her bathroom, huddled in his arms.

"Harry, why do you have Hermione's engagement ring?" Ginny spoke with a curious confusion. Harry smiled uncertainly, seeming nearly as baffled as she.

"I - I'm not sure. It was on the fireplace - and I just - I put it in my pocket…" He trailed off into silence, and Ginny would have given every last galleon she possessed to know what he was thinking in that moment. "I guess - I ought to give it back to Hermione… let her decide what she wants. I'll take it back at breakfast."

"Breakfast?" The solitary word made Harry jerk his head up to look suddenly at Ginny, but her face was benignly wondering. When she met his gaze, she laced her fingers through his and smiled.

"We're bringing Eleanor home today. Hermione thought - she reckoned it would be a good idea to have breakfast together, as we're - as we're starting this venture together."

"That's a wonderful idea. Trust Hermione to think of it!" Ginny's brown eyes danced, and Harry felt another surge of relief. He had wondered about her reaction, especially when he spoke of a `we' that clearly did not include her. "You can always count on her to have everything in order."

Don't pretend as if you know anything about Quidditch. Harry started as the memory of Ginny's snide tone, sounding nothing like her merry, loving voice of that morning, rang in his head, and wondered quizzically why he should think of that now. He was being ridiculous, thinking of one less-than-kind comment on such an important day. His girlfriend and his best friend got along famously; his girlfriend was supporting him; she loved him. He had a daughter, and she was coming home.

He lifted Ginny's interlaced fingers to his lips and kissed them, enjoying the flare in her eyes as he did so.

"I've got to take a shower. I'm meeting Hermione in thirty minutes."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Twin cracks of Apparation heralded Harry and Hermione's arrival at the St. Mungo's employees' entrance. They moved in smooth tandem out into the corridor towards the lifts, an uncharacteristically heavy silence canopied over their heads.

Harry shoved both hands in his pockets, and looked sidewise at Hermione out from under the recalcitrant fringe of his hair. He had come out of Hermione's Floo face-to-wild-face with her, as she frantically searched the carpet and hearthstone for her ring. He had instantly felt terrible, and had immediately confessed that he had stuck in his pocket for safekeeping. Hermione had flushed a burning crimson, and she had held out her hand for it, thanking him in a sort of snippy tone that had rankled Harry.

It bothered him that she was so frantic over the loss of a ring that she had hurled at Ron's head scant hours earlier. He'd been trying to process why he was unsettled, as they ate a subdued breakfast. He could only conclude that it was either due to his protectiveness of Hermione, or that he had actually been subconsciously relieved that she would be able to help him with Eleanor, without Ron's disapproving form looming about everywhere, and was hoping they wouldn't reconcile. The latter made him feel guilty that he was putting his own ease before her happiness, and his brows were a ridge of dark cloud over the storm front in his eyes. Hermione had decided that he was bent on being surly, and her attitude had gotten more and more frosty as the meal ended.

Finally, as the lift doors opened on the children's ward, he heard Hermione heave a reluctant, surrendering sigh.

"Harry, I'm sorry I snapped at you about the ring." He took her hand, and swung it playfully between them.

"I'm sorry for taking your ring. Dunno why I did - I - I should've just set it up on the mantelpiece or something. I didn't mean to make you worry… you know I never want to make you worry."

"I wish I knew what I was going to do with the damn - " Hermione started in a somewhat mournful tone, when she was interrupted by someone hailing them from farther down the corridor.

"Mr. Potter! Healer Granger!" It was Auror Falworth, his hair like a nimbus around him in the charmed lamplight of the ward.

"We're just here to sign Eleanor out - " Harry began.

"Yes, of course. Would you mind coming with me for a moment? I must say, your timing is impeccable. There's just been a very curious finding in your daughter's case."

"What kind of curious finding?"

"Is there something wrong?" Harry and Hermione's worried questions collided with each other and jumbled together.

But Falworth said nothing more until they arrived at the door to the same conference room they had been in earlier. "If you would," he gestured for them to enter. The long table and many of the chairs were covered in stacks of parchment, boxes, and tabbed leather sleeves full of paper. Healer Desai and Auror Dunwiddie were seated at the far end, and several quills were writing feverishly, feathers fluttering and dancing with the ferocity of their movement.

"Shravana," Hermione said uncertainly, when the dark-haired Healer looked up at their entrance. "Is Eleanor all right?"

"She is doing well… surprisingly well, considering what has been found."

"Somebody had better - " was all an irate Harry got out, before Hermione pinched him hard enough to shut him up.

"Won't you both sit down?" Auror Falworth asked politely, while Harry rubbed his arm and castigated Hermione with an injured glare. The auror's eyes were sincerely sympathetic, as he sat opposite them, and pulled a file in front of him from two chairs down. "I'm sure you understand that this is an unprecedented situation. We're asking for your patience during this investigation. I know you're both concerned for your child, as I would be were she mine. We are utilizing every resource we can to find out who is behind this." He flipped the file open, and took a subtle preparatory breath.

Harry's hand had snaked under the table and grabbed Hermione's again, threading his fingers through hers, and squeezing so tightly that it was nearly painful.

"Dunwiddie went down to the Ministry yesterday, to check the Magical Record Books for Eleanor's birth or registration for Hogwarts." Hermione was nodding. Every magical child was recorded in the books automatically, either at their birth, or - if they were Muggle-born - when they began to exhibit evidence of magic. "She wasn't listed."

"How - how is that - how is that possible? You've tested her blood, haven't you? Isn't her telepathy evidence of magical blood? She - she wouldn't need an external device to suppress her magic, if she wasn't magical." The questions spewed forth rapid-fire from Hermione, questions that she already knew the answers to, but wanted to hear someone else say. The pool of shock sitting like lead in Harry's gut had rendered him momentarily mute. He tried to imagine anyone who would have a more difficult time in life than a genetically engineered Squib daughter of Harry Potter.

"What - what does it mean?" he finally croaked, having to clear his throat before anything resembling speech came out. "I mean, what are the implications here - of - of her absence from the Book?"

"We're not even certain of that," said Falworth, apologetically. "Squib children are usually registered as a Magical Birth, but then fail to appear on the lists for Hogwarts. Muggle-borns are sometimes not immediately registered at birth, but appear on the Hogwarts lists at a later date. Eleanor appears nowhere."

"Can the Books be tampered with, the records covered up or falsified?"

"Theoretically possible, but highly unlikely," rumbled Dunwiddie, not even looking up from the parchment he was perusing.

"He's right. Imagine all the Pureblood families that would try to have Squib births covered up. The Books are absolutely smothered in magical protections and failsafes." Falworth backed up his partner's assertion. "As to your questions, Healer Granger… Telepathy is a form of magic, but it's not terribly typical. An Unspeakable could give you more details than I. However, even Muggles have been known to evince sporadic telepathy from time to time - it wouldn't necessarily mean that they could pick up a wand and open a door with Alohamora. And, as for the bracelet she was wearing - well, they're taking it apart in Magical Forensics right now. Unfortunately, the scattered records we were able to collect from the facility haven't told us much, like what they felt the need to suppress, for instance."

"Her magical levels were a bit on the low side for her age, but rest assured they are there," Healer Desai put in, and Harry felt his stomach unclench ever so slightly. "They have risen slightly since the bracelet was removed, so they may return to normal over time. She has actually shown very good wand control - better than most five-year-olds by far."

"There is a … theory that we've been discussing this morning," Dunwiddie spoke again. He snapped his fingers, and two quills arrested their motion and flopped to the table top.

"Guinnein…" Auror Falworth's voice was warning, but did not expressly forbid.

"It would account for the evidence," Dunwiddie persisted, but Falworth looked skeptical.

"What would?" Hermione prodded.

"If Eleanor had been stripped of her magic, and … then had it replaced." Harry and Hermione just stared at the craggy-faced Auror. Even Healer Desai looked gobsmacked.

"Even if they took - took her magic at birth, the record would have still been made," Hermione stammered with difficulty, her eyes fastened on Harry's stricken face. She already knew - and he had been through sufficient Auror training to know - that having one's magic ripped away was one of the most painful things a witch or wizard could experience. His hand had not relaxed around hers; she stroked the back of it with one thumb, desiring to soothe him in any way that she could.

"Muggle methodology was clearly in use here, although we are not certain to what extent. It is within the realm of possibility…" Dunwiddie stressed the conditionals deliberately. "… that is, we know that there are Muggle machines…devices that are the equivalent to Aperio Parvulum, devices that could help those who controlled the experiments strip the magic from her before her birth… but without the magical feedback that would be caused by using the two spells in tandem."

"You're saying that they used Muggle ultrasound equipment, so that they could see her, and target the correct areas to strip her magic in utero?" Hermione's voice was hoarse with horror, and her question wasn't really one at all.

There was an agonized, barely audible, "Oh God," from Harry.

"And then replaced it with what? Once her magic had activated inside her bloodstream, the Hogwarts record should have been made - as if she were Muggle-born." Hermione was struggling to maintain her composure. Why? She wondered, why, why does life always do this to him?

"Her magic appears natural, but we're still conducting tests," Healer Desai interposed again. "Healer Granger is right. Naturally activated magic would incur a Hogwarts entry. There must be something to explain its lack."

"But why would anyone do that?" Harry rasped. "What would be the point of taking away magic and then giving it back?"

"We can only speculate at this point, Mr. Potter. Our information will continue to be limited unless we can find who was involved. We don't want to overwhelm Eleanor, by any means, but the more she can tell us about her captors, the better the investigation can progress."

"Is Eleanor a success or a failure?" Hermione suddenly said, her gaze distant, turned curiously inward. The others in the room froze, regarding her with bewilderment.

"How do you mean, Healer Granger?" Stuart Falworth asked.

"One of the keys to this whole mystery… would have to be whether or not Eleanor was a success or a failure… experimentally, I mean. Did they accomplish what they set out to accomplish? If they did… can you imagine? What if this kind of magical manipulation meant they could permanently and irrevocably take away magic? What if someone's magical ability could be reduced or amplified? What if they could give Squibs magic…or even Muggles?"

"There are those among our community who would not stand for such a change in the order of things. That kind of information would be very dangerous… and very valuable." And Eleanor's life would not be worth a plug Knut, was what the Auror did not say.

There was a deafening silence as the involved parties mulled this over. Harry bracketed his forehead with the hand that wasn't holding Hermione's. She could practically see him once again shouldering the burden that she thought he'd finally laid down, five years ago.

"Can I - can I just go see her? Can she come home now?" he asked in a world-weary way. "Station an Auror outside my building, if you like. Ron Weasley can certainly tell you how well my flat's warded. We will certainly do everything in our power to keep her safe, until you've caught the perpetrators." He turned to Healer Desai. "How often do you need her back here?"

"Once a week should be sufficient," the healer replied, darting a look at the blond Auror. "I'd like to keep monitoring her magical levels. She would probably benefit from seeing a Mind Healer as well, regarding - regarding her captivity." She said the last word tentatively, darting a wary glance at the Boy Who Lived.

"I'll bring her here next Thursday," Harry said with an air of finality. He disentangled his hand from Hermione's, and stood, flexing his cramped fingers nervously. "As I am neither an Auror, nor a Healer, I'll get out of your way. If you'll keep me updated…?" He sent a questioning look to Falworth, who nodded without hesitation.

With an apologetic look at Hermione, who seemed to understand that, if he did not get out of that room and assure himself of Eleanor's well-being, he might explode, he slipped quietly through the door.

When he opened the door across the hall, he found Eleanor sitting quietly on her bed, dressed in khaki trousers and a shirt with the St. Mungo's logo on the front. Her shoes had been tied very carefully and neatly, and her hands were folded in her lap. A small canvas bag sat in the chair opposite. She's all packed, Harry thought forlornly, thinking that he might need to see a Mind Healer himself.

"Hello, Father," Eleanor said very formally, though she could not disguise the way her back straightened in pleased anticipation.

"Good morning, Eleanor," her father replied, clearing his throat unevenly, and striving to put a smile in his voice. "Are you ready to go home?"

"I do not know. I don't know what a home is like. But I - " Her tiny fingers twitched reflexively in her lap. "I would like to go there with you." She looked up to offer him a careful smile, but dropped her gaze quickly after she met his eyes. Her shoulders slumped, the very picture of melancholy and hopelessness. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry for what? You haven't done anything."

"I make you sad."

"Eleanor…" Harry crossed the room in two strides, and crouched in front of her, gently tipping her chin up so she would look at him. "You don't make me sad. When I was your age, I didn't have a home either… not a real one."

"You had a door too," she interjected. Her eyes flickered over to her canvas bag, and Harry wondered if their drawing was inside.

"Yes, I had a door too. And it made me very sad. My mother and father couldn't come and take me home. When I think of you… and when I think that you might have been as sad as I was… well, that makes me sad."

"But not me?"

"No…not you. I promise." He tossed her little bag up onto his shoulder, and held out his hand for her to clasp. "I think I have to sign a couple of things at the mediwitches' desk, but then we'll be ready to go. Hermio - your mother - " He couldn't stop the feeling of utter surreality that swamped him, to be saying that and meaning Hermione Granger. "Your mother painted a room for you. It's such a nice shade of purple. Do you like purple?"

A flash of the five-year-old she could have been lit her eyes, and she nodded. She reached for his hand, as she slid down off the bed, but hesitated at the very instant they touched, a shadow of fear flickering across her face for such a brief instant, he almost thought he'd imagined it.

A tall, austere woman in Healer's robes and a medical cap and mask roughly grabbed Eleanor by the wrist, and half-led, half-dragged her down the hall.

"I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!" Eleanor was planting her feet, scrabbling with her other hand at the bony claw holding her wrist.

"You've set us back six months!" The woman said, tight-lipped in her fury. "Stop it, you stupid girl. Stop! Imperio!" Eleanor immediately began walking placidly next to her captor, her face as bland and expressionless as a mannequin's.

Harry sucked in a gasp and stood fully upright, as if someone had poured ice water down his collar. His eyes were round with shock.

"Eleanor, what was that? What was that?" He tamped down his rising concern, not wanting to frighten her, especially after the scene he'd been shown.

"I don't know. I don't know." Her voice was trembling. She was picking up on his panic anyway, and assuming herself to be the cause.

"I saw - I saw a picture in my head. Something that I was - something I couldn't have known about. You and a woman, dressed like a Healer. She was angry. She was taking you somewhere. She said - "

"'You've set us back six months.'" They spoke in unison. Eleanor looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. "The woman's name was Mei." Again their voices blended into a bizarre chorus. Harry swallowed against a growing tightness in his throat. What the hell…?

"Have you ever put pictures in anyone's head before? It's okay. It's okay. Can you tell me if you've ever put a picture in someone else's head?" His voice was so gentle.

"No. I don't do that. I only see the pictures that other people see in their heads. What they think and do not say. They can't see mine. Nobody can see mine."

Eleanor was curled up in a tiny camp bed, with her feet tucked up under the hem of her nightgown. She was cold. She looked up and imagined that she might be able to see a star… if her room had a window. What if she was the only little girl in the whole world?

Her loneliness sucked at Harry like a miry bog at his feet. He felt like he was floundering; he wasn't sure he understood anything that had gone on in the last twenty-four hours. But he looked down at his child, who looked up at him with his own eyes, his mother's eyes, and then grasped his fingers in hers.

"That's not true, Eleanor." He finally said. "I can."

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AN: Nobody kill me for the H/G please. It's got to be in there. I don't want Ginny to be a one-dimensional inconvenience written out in the second paragraph. Hopefully the story will be richer for it.

*Aperio Parvulum - reveal the infant… It's something like an ultrasound spell.

You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.

--lorien

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