Unofficial Portkey Archive

Hello there, just me, your trusty neighbourhood author here. I've come to bring you the very next chapter. There are some interesting revelations in this one, a bit of understanding between Harry and Ron, Lovely Luna and a Horcrux. Thank you again for the encouragement.

I was listening to a song whilst writing this instalment; it was rather poignant, particularly when it came to penning the Harry scene at the end of the chapter. If you get the chance, go and have a listen.

- `All this fighting over who is anointed, how can people be so blind? There's a hole in the world tonight, there's a cloud of fear and sorrow. There's a hole in the world tonight, don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow.' (Hole In the World - Eagles.)

I don't own them.

Enjoy.

Hermione sighs and wipes her mouth with the cuff of her sleeve again. Next to her, Luna holds the thick knot of hair up out of her face like a puppeteer. The nausea always hits when she least expects it, though she suspects that it has something to do with Harry, that by the miracle of magic, her child has become positively fruitful, a tool for creation.

"That really doesn't seem very nice, Hermione. I don't know how you can stand it," Luna comments after a minute.

Hermione waves Luna off as her enthusiastic aide offers a hand so that

Hermione can stand.

"It's honest to God, awful, Luna. It's just awful."

Hermione pokes around the basin looking for her toothbrush. She steadies herself on the edge of the vanity and then nudges the tap that controls the cold water pressure. The steady drizzle soon saturates the artificial bristles and Hermione raises the brush to her lips.

"Accio double mint," Luna whispers. She grips a crudely sculpted shaft of Cornish heath in the palm of her hand. Mister Ollivander has been working with materials sourced locally. A core of native Dragonet scale completes the ensemble. Highly colourful with cryptic pattern's the old man had told her as he'd handed her the brand new wand, and she had blushed profusely.

"They certainly came in handy today," Hermione mumbles through a mouthful of water.

"I do believe that my wand is simply enchanting," Luna adds with a smile.

Hermione's body heaves again, the continual repetition of the same gagging motion forcing the bile to the top of her throat as she dry retches. The constant rigmarole tires her while the bitter taste left in her mouth just disgusts her.

"It really is a curious thing, morning sickness. Why would one call it that? It's clearly not morning at all," Luna muses.

The night is dark and the stars shine brightly. Shadows bathe the earth and calm settles upon them as the day is done.

Hermione sighs and displays the barest hint of a smile as she thinks about the connotations associated with the Muggle phrase for the pregnancy ailment. In spite of its name, Hermione knows that the nausea can occur at any time of the day or night, often without warning and usually when she least expects it. It's nice to be able to dwell on her roots, a Muggle-born, just as Harry's mother before her.

Hermione's face falls, the reality of the existence of the next few months suddenly dawns and a pang of guilt stabs at her heart. Every day that Harry is away creates a divide that aches in the depths of her bosom, like a silent curse, the distance confounds their feelings of despair, an extra mile, like the hand that closes around her throat and crushes her oesophagus.

The frown does not go unnoticed by Luna.

"Why don't I get you a draught for your tummy," Luna asks Hermione with a jovial smile despite the solemn sense of sadness that settles upon the two.

Hermione nods her head once and sighs again, her shoulders sagging.

"You should be pleased, Hermione. We've had such a successful day; we've acquired another Horcrux thanks to you and your brilliant mind."

"You're right, Luna. You're right, and I am happy, I am," Hermione forces herself to smile for Luna, to smile until her mouth hurts and her teeth pierce her bottom lip as she bites down on it.

When Luna finally leaves, Hermione allows herself to reminisce about their triumph. She likes to believe that Harry was with her, that she carries that part of Harry that will forever be her guiding light. She's sure that Harry is proud of her.

"There must be another Horcrux in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts," Hermione spoke to the people assembled around the mahogany dining table. One hand cupped her abdomen fondly while the other gripped the textured timber, her fingers curled over the edge of the buffet.

"Bellatrix," She continued her explanation, "I saw the look in her eyes. It was murderous. She was scared, she was furious, trying to figure out who had been inside the vault. She accused me … I had no choice but to lie to her," Hermione closed her eyes, the memory of the tip of the Death Eaters wand pressed into her forearm as plain as day.

"So what are we going to do?" Bill asked Hermione. "It's not like we can impersonate her and break into the vault ourselves."

"Actually," Hermione sat tall in her seat, her body flush against the backrest. "That's exactly what I was hoping we could do. Just think about it, it's the only way to find the Horcrux and destroy it."

"Are you feeling alright, Miss Granger? You have been through quite a lot in past few days." It was Mister Ollivander's turn to reason with the young woman. "The idea is inconceivable. It would be impossible to infiltrate the vault in question."

Hermione thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out a wad of thick, dark hair.

"I managed to yank it from Bellatrix in the scuffle at Malfoy Mansion. I could brew some Polyjuice Potion. And Mister Ollivander," She turned to the man on her right, "You could help us find a wand. They'll ask for a wand for identification, do you think you can do it?"

Hermione held her breath as the wand maker contemplated the task thrust upon him by a determined teen and her band of merry fellows, she actually held her breath, her jaw clenched tightly, her hands shaking with the force of her fear.

Ollivander looked at Luna, the two sharing a brief glance at the other. And then he smiled.

"If you are able to conjure the materials I will need, then I am sure that I can craft you the finest imitation."

"I'll do it," Said Luna suddenly, and she turned to address Hermione.. "I'll take the potion, Hermione. If you think it will work."

Bill Weasley stood from his seat at the head of the table. "Wait a minute," He raised his hands and threw his gaze across the table to his wife. "Let's just say that we manage to break into the Lestrange vault. How do we know what we're looking for? There must be pile upon pile of fancy gem encrusted riches inside that vault."

"It's Helga Hufflepuff's Cup."

Fleur gasped and cupped her clasped hands over her mouth. All eyes turned to Hermione who shook her head. She needed Harry now more than ever. Reliving the moment would hurt.

"She told Draco Malfoy. She ordered him to check on the cup. I struggled, that was when Draco pointed his wand at me. I didn't have time to get out of the way, but for some reason, I was able to deflect his curse and disarm him. I was very lucky … We were very lucky," She amended her sentence to include the child now blooming inside her belly.

"Oh, `Ermione," Fleur was stunned as she breathed a sigh of relief. "Your child truly eez zee little mas-ter of death."

The audience remained deathly silent as Fleur's statement echoed amongst the guests in the room. The son of Harry Potter - The Master of Death? It was all too much for Hermione to accept.

"Call for Healer Maplethorne right away," Bill gave the order to his wife as he moved forward to catch Hermione's tired body.

Those seated around her could only watch helplessly as Hermione Granger slumped ungraciously to the floor, and began to wonder if maybe, the tale of Death had not been so greatly exaggerated after all. Could it be that the fate of the world rested in the hands of a mere babe?

****

"I'm sorry about Hermione and the baby," Ron tells Harry as they sit together, huddled around the small fire lit up in the thick of forest shrubbery that surrounds the outskirts of the dusty one-horse town now in ruins.

Harry folds his arms against his chest and settles back into his makeshift cot, ignoring Ron's attempt at small talk between the two. He rolls onto his side and stares at the dirt under his nose, whishing he could hold Hermione.

"My mum's had lots of babies," Ron continues. "I remember when she was pregnant with Ginny, went through a rough patch she did, probably lucky that Ginny was a stubborn one."

Despair smothers Harry like a sprinkling of confectioner's sugar. Time is too long for those who grieve; his reactions are modelled on fear, and some sense of inner self preservation. Harry can think of three descriptions that summarise his life - Could have, might have, should have. His is afraid, not for himself; fear makes strangers of people who would be friends.

"Why would you care? According to you I stole Hermione," Harry tries to reason.

His cowardice is confounding, but the fear is his comfort.

"Hermione is my friend, Harry. I might have been angry but I'd never wish her harm."

The two young men struggle to see eye to eye. Ron's attempt to offer up the proverbial olive branch is floundering and he's losing Harry. Keeping Hermione in mind, their history, Hogwarts and the fact that Harry has always had his best interests at heart, Ron tries in vain to reach Harry.

Harry chuckles an inaudible amusement that bubbles from deep within his fractured essence. His lip trembles and he sniggers loudly, his enthusiasm catching Ron by surprise. Harry throws his head back, he has had to learn the hard lessons in life, every single day of his life, laughing is not always the proof of a mind at ease.

"But she didn't die, did she? Ginny didn't die, did she? You don't know what its like, do you Ron? You don't know how it feels, do you? Because I do. I know how it feels to lose everything. I know."

Ron furrows his brow.

"Excuse me, do you mind? Everywhere else is full."

"Is it dead?"

"I don't think so, just knocked out."

"If Harry and Ron hadn't come and found me … I'd probably be dead.

"Hiya Harry."

"Ron, Fred, George. What are you all doing here?"

"Rescuing you of course."

"You think I don't know how this feels?"

"No, you don't know how this feels. Your parents are dead. You have no family."

"And you? Are you coming or you're staying?"

"Fine. I get it."

And he does. He does get it now.

A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil, but it needs a little something to save it from dying out completely. Harry can't save himself from himself. He has always had to keep his nose to the grindstone. There is no defeat, except from within.

Ron sucks in a deep breath and crumples his pride; his father had always maintained that the biggest failure is not to learn from ones mistakes.

"No, I don't know what it feels like. But Harry, I don't think I want to find out anytime soon. You're my best friend, and I don't think I ever really appreciated just how important you are. You're my best friend," Ron reiterates, standing so that he's next to Harry.

Harry blinks up at Ron and the two friends hold each others gaze. He remains silent; the guilt of his action has just been affirmed. Emotional occasions are extremely potent in precipitating mental rearrangements. In the back of Harry's mind, guilt is all that he has left.

"It's okay, Mate. I know it's been rough on you …"

Harry cuts him off.

"No. That's no excuse, Ron. I've done things, things that I'm not proud of, but I'm doing them my way, the way I want to do them."

Ron remembers the day that Fred and George left Hogwarts and the freedom that came from finally being in charge of himself. Who is he to deny Harry that?

"I've done things too, Harry. I'm not really much better. Not what my mum and dad raised me to be."

Harry opens his mouth to offer Ron an apology, but he recoils in pain, images flashing in front of his face, clawing at his chest, gnawing at his heartstrings. Harry holds his head in agony, his eyes closed against the pain that invades his consciousness.

"Harry?" Ron kneels down closer to Harry. "What's the matter?"

"Hermione," Harry pants. "It's Hermione."

****

Luna teased out her feral hair with her fingers as she looked into the floor length mirror in front of her.

"Are you sure you want us to do this right now, Hermione?" She snarled in the body of Bellatrix Lestrange. "It's alright to wait until you're feeling better."

Hermione chuckled and shook her head.

"No. The healer says that I am alright, Luna. It was shock, just a little shock, that's all. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can take down, well, you," She looked Luna up and down, vaguely impressed by the transformation of the meek, blonde teenager standing in front of her.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Hermione."

A shiver invaded Hermione's bones and her body trembled. She watched as Luna frowned and then felt ashamed.

"I'm sorry," She apologised. "It just brings back the bad memories. Logically, I know that it's still you, Luna, but emotionally, it's still too soon."

Luna understood. Living inside another woman's skin was not at the top of her list of life achievements, but she knew that it was for the benefit of many. She could not be selfish, not if she wanted to find her father.

"So …" Hermione interrupted Luna's thoughts with a slip of parchment and a list of instructions printed in ink that followed the length of the page.

"Mister Ollivander will accompany me, I know," Said Luna. "He looks very dashing in his disguise, don't you think?"

"Very smart," Hermione assured her.

"Have faith," Luna said as she slipped on her shoes, the pointy toes gnarled up like a crooked finger. "We can do this."

Hermione watched as Luna, Mister Ollivander and Bill left through the front archway. Fleur clutched her hand tightly, squeezing her fingers every now and then for comfort, Hermione held her belly and thought of Harry.

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