Chapter Twenty-Four: Discovered
The witch moved briskly, her robes whipping about her as she went. She offered only a stiff nod to those whom tried to
stop and greet her, passing them each and all right by.
"Professor?!" George pulled back at first, seeing her enter his shop as if on a mission. His mind suddenly scrambled as if he were still a student of Hogwarts, wondering what he'd done to get himself into trouble this time.
"Hello, Mr Weasley," she forced a curt smile of greeting. "Do you know where I could your younger brother and Miss Granger?"
George's mouth opened and closed like a fish several times, trying to spit out some sort of alibi, before her words finally sunk in and relief swept over him that he was not the one in the path of her ire. "They're in the back," he pointed over his shoulder. "This way," he led her. George attempted idle talk, but soon gave up by the wary expression worn on her face.
"Thank you Mr Weasley," she excused him once in the back, and George was more than happy to take leave. She found them lounging, Ron tossing up Every-Flavor jelly beans into his mouth while trying to get the reading Hermione to guess what the next flavor would be.
"Professor McGonagall? Headmistress?" they each said in turn, abruptly standing to greet her.
"Please, it's just Minerva outside of school," she tried to sound cordial, but her stern face and taut lips said otherwise. They both gulped. There was a long silence as she looked between the two of them.
"I didn't..." Ron started on the same train of thought as his brother had, but then he didn't exactly know what he was trying to excuse himself of.
"You may wish to take a seat," McGonagall took a long breath. They both fell mindlessly back into their chairs, their eyes glued nervously to her. This wasn't good.
"We've found him..." she began. Ron nor Hermione found themselves able to respond. "Or rather, we believe he is back in England."
"Harry?" Ron asked confused. McGonagall nodded.
"Where is he?!" Hermione nearly came out of her seat, but she found her legs difficult to command. McGonagall frowned at this and they both felt a tug deep in their guts. Something was not right.
"I'm afraid..." McGonagall paused to choose her words carefully. "I'm afraid he is not exactly well," the corners of her mouth dipped even further.
"Where is he?!" Hermione practically shrieked, causing Ron to jump in his seat.
"Wha... what's wrong?" Ron asked, afraid to hear the answer. McGonagall took a deep breath before she continued.
"We do not know the whole story, but we've learned that he some how ended up in India."
"India?!" they both blurted out, baffled.
"Yes," McGonagall said. "As I said, we do not know the full story, but there was a skirmish. A man was killed. He appears to have been a muggle, but by all accounts, it had to have been by a fight between Harry and another wizard."
Ron and Hermione could only stare back, wide eyed and confounded.
"Harry had been arrested," she went on, "by muggle authorities."
"Muggles?!" Ron sputtered. "But how?!"
"He had been rendered unconscious during the fight."
Silence. Hermione suddenly clenched at Ron's arm, digging her fingers in with angst. 'This is all my fault...'
"You got him out then?" Ron shook his head, lacking proper understanding.
McGonagall's deepening frown did not look promising. "It's all been a mystery to us until only recently. I am afraid he was held in prison within India for nearly six weeks."
Harry's two best mates each gasped dreadfully.
"And this prison..." McGonagall shook her head as her eyes fell to the floor. Neither of them had ever seen this strong woman ever act so deflated. "India is not England... I cannot repeat the stories!" she let out a heart wrenching sob, covering her mouth from the sudden rush of emotion.
Hermione felt her own heart sink into her stomach. If it had been bad enough to incite a reaction like this from the strong McGonagall... Oh, Harry, what have I done?
McGonagall battled her tears as she told them as much as she dared. "They were very hard on him..."
"Why wasn't someone sent for him?!" Ron demanded furiously.
"We didn't know..." McGonagall looked defeated, holding out her hands defenselessly. "India is not like here, Ronald. And the muggles had him. He gave them a false name, I do not know why, we had know idea..."
"Someone had just tried to bloody off him!" Ron was red in the face. Hermione... Hermione had forgotten how to speak. A dire, gut wrenching pit consumed her. 'This is all my fault...' repeated over and over within her head as she thought of the last day she had seen Harry and what she had done to him. Harry, I am sorry...
"Tell us where he is!" Ron demanded.
"It is not so simple, I am afraid."
"And why not?!" Ron threw up his free arm with exacerbation.
McGonagall's tearing eyes fell closed as she began to speak, low and hoarsely. "Harry was tortured..."
Ron and Hermione listened in rapture as McGonagall recounted the harsh interrogations and punishment the guards had laid upon him, of the grueling labor he was forced to endure, and of the fights he was thrown into - all that they had come to learn through the Ministry's investigation. She told them of a final brawl in which Harry was reported killed by a gang of other prisoners.
"But he wasn't?! You told us he was back!" Ron shouted angrily.
"That is just what the muggles reported, Mr Weasley," McGonagall was finding it hard herself to go on. "His trail resurfaced several hundred kilometers away in the Indian town of Duma, at the house of a Witchdoctor.
"A Witchdoctor?" Ron asked, unsure of what that was exactly.
"Yes," McGonagall nodded. "A Healer of sorts. I can only presume he'd made it there for medical treatment, but how... only Harry can say."
McGonagall went on, filling them in on what she knew of Harry's time there. The stories had been rampany of the young, English foreigner, of his healing, of his aiding the doctor with his patients. "And then... two weeks ago... there was another fight. Two more were killed, the Witchdoctor Harry had been staying with was one of them. His house was burned to the ground."
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?!" Ron was beside himself. Hermione... Hermione sat there helpless, her gaze as if in another world. "This all has to be some nutter's bad joke?!"
"I wish it were, Mr Weasley," McGonagall took another deep breath, trying to swallow back the raw emotion that was surging forward. "The trail runs cold from there, but..." McGonagall tried to offer them some relief. "Starting a couple of weeks ago, Kreacher went missing from the school. And then... Harry had been left Snape's residence per his Final Will and Testament," she back tracked to explain. "Someone visited Spinner's End only four days ago. There is only one possibility as to who could have entered past all the wards and would not have announced it..."
"Harry?!"
McGonagall nodded. "Putting two and two together, I summoned and confronted Kreacher. As it turns out, several of Hogwarts' elfs have been delinquent. Where they have been going and what they have been doing, they have all taken an oath of silence which not even I can break, but I still have a good idea as to where."
"Where?" Ron sputtered.
"Mr Weasley, before I tell you, you must promise me you will not run off and do anything rash. We have to be smart about this. If Harry truly is back, he is not keeping himself hidden without reason. It is safe to say, I believe, considering this past year, and then this, that he has become a bit traumatized. He may not be well. We need to approach this carefully."
Ron nodded.
"Grimmauld..." Hermione breathed her first word since McGonagall began the tale.
. . . .
The two moved carefully down the long hall as to not disturb the portrait. That old hag's wails were the last thing they needed.
It was odd to be back within these familiar walls once again. Little had changed except for maybe the inexplicable number of books spread across the foyer and anti-chamber. The only sound that could be heard in the house was from down below within the kitchen, so they made their way to the stairs first.
"Harry?" Ron called aloud, announcing them as they entered nervously. Hermione clenched tightly onto his arm. As they pushed open the door to the kitchen, Kreacher immediately whirled about.
"Mister Weasley? Mistress Granger? How..? But..? No!" his confusion spun to outrage.
"Glad to see you too, Kreacher!" Ron scoffed. But then he noticed the little old elf was not alone. There was Winky and four other small elfs all there, busying themselves in the kitchen, dressed in what appeared to be makeshift, miniature maid's and butler's costumes.
"How did you?! Master himself..!" Kreacher was aghast.
"Hermione is pretty good with wards..." Ron left it at that as he started making his way around the kitchen, inspecting suspiciously. "What's going on here, Kreacher?"
"No, no, no!" Kreacher began shooing them. "You must go! Master has forbid it! No visitors, Kreacher! That is what he told me!" the old elf seemed possessed, attempting to herd both Ron and Hermione towards the door. They had enough trouble trying to handle him, but then all the others got involved.
"Kreacher..." Hermione called out forcefully, pushing her way forward, taking hold of the little elf's hands. "Please, Kreacher. Have you already forgotten us? Surely Harry did not mean us?" her voice was soft and gentle, yet pleading.
Kreacher paused at this, contemplating her words. "Master said no visitors," the raw impulse to obey absolute.
"Yes, no visitors, only elfs!" another seconded him squeakily.
"We're not visitors, you scroungy old elf! We're Harry's friends!" Ron towered over the kneeling Hermione and elf. Kreacher shrunk back a bit.
"Ron, don't!" she pushed him back. "But he's right, Kreacher, surely you understand that. We are Harry's friends. Best friends."
The reasoning was strong and unsettling for the elf, but all he did was flap his long, crooked ears as he shook his head no back and forth.
"Whatever!" Ron said, turning away from the two. "HARRY!" Ron yelled through his cupped hands about his mouth.
"Don't! You mustn't!" Kreacher tried scrambling around Hermione to get at Ron.
"HARRY!" Ron yelled up at the ceiling again as he headed for the door to search the rest of the house.
"Foul... dirty... loud mouthed..." Kreacher began flailing his arms about, circling, trying to over-shout the shouting Ron. "Must be quiet! Must not defy Master!"
"We're not defying any Master you pea brain! Why can't you get it into that monstrous head of yours, we're Harry's mates!"
"Master Harry will not be pleased! He told Kreacher, NO visitors!" the little old elf was near frantic.
"Hermione, you've better get this elf out of my sight before I go S.P.E.W. on his arse!"
"Ron, stop, he's just trying to honor Harry."
"You're taking his side?!"Ron was appalled.
"I'm not taking anyone's side!"
"S.P.E.W.! HA! You see how they are?!"
"That's not fair!" Hermione cut across Ron with the most scathing glare she could muster.
"Get OUT of Master's house!" Kreacher shook his fist at Ron.
"Kreacher, Merlin help me I'm about to-"
"Ron, stop!" Hermione tried to intervene.
"-you stupid little elf!" Ron took a threatening step towards him.
"Despicable! Scoundrel! Ugly!" Kreacher started unleashing every insult that he knew.
"One to talk! Have you looked in a mirror, gorgeous?!"
"Ron, you can't seriously-" Hermione's efforts went in vain.
"Miscreant!" Kreacher went on.
"Yeah..." Ron paused, unsure of what a miscreant was. "Well, nice pants you got there. Harry finally couldn't stand you around and want to get rid of you by giving you some clothes?!" Ron laughed hysterically at his jab as if to rub it in. He did not notice the little elf crumple from the blow. Hermione did.
Hermione dropped to her knees beside the elf again, holding him up by his shoulders. "He didn't mean that Kreacher. You know how much an idiot Ron is. All of England knows how brave you are, how you helped Harry fight, how you took care of all of us during the war. We know how brave you were for Regulus too. That locket about your neck proves it. And I like the clothes," she tried her best to reassure him.
"They're... they're not clothes!" Kreacher stomped his foot. "Kreacher does not own clothes! M-master Harry has required these as part of Kreacher's uniform!" the elf informed them none-too-happily.
"You're uniform?!" Ron blurted out.
"Yes," Kreacher grumbled. "Master Harry has forbid Kreacher from serving unless Kreacher wears the pants. Master Harry has assured Kreacher that he is not dismissing Kreacher, only requiring him to wear pants around him," the elf made the distinction through strained tears.
"Well that is bloody brilliant, Harry!" Ron clapped his hands together for his absent friend. "Too bad he didn't think of that a couple of years ago! Haha! Brilliant!"
"Kreacher..." Hermione turned the elf back to her, "Kreacher, this is not about Ron. This is about Harry. Is Harry here, Kreacher?"
The elf frowned and looked to the floor. Though he still held his old prejudices against her for being a lower Mudblood, at the same time, he was still capable of holding her in high regard as a kind, loving, and powerful witch. Kreacher had never known another in all his long years to treat his kind so, for better or worse. And he knew how his Master favored her so. In their months spent in Number Twelve during the war, Hermione had earned herself a soft spot in the old elf's cold heart.
"Kreacher, please..." Hermione begged him, seeing his doubt.
"Master does not wish to be disturbed during his studies."
"Studies?!" both Ron and Hermione asked stunned.
"Yes, Master Harry takes his studies very seriously. He is a great wizard!" Kreacher announced this with pride and admiration.
"Where is he Kreacher?" Ron demanded with more force. So much so the little elf fell back a step.
"Knock it off, Ron!" she scolded him, before turning back to the elf. "I know you care about Harry," Hermione placed a gentle hand on the elf's shoulder. "And so do we. More than anything. Kreacher, Harry is not in a good place right now... and I think you know that too."
Kreacher faltered for only a moment. "Master is in the best of places!" Kreacher pulled back in offense. "Master Harry is the greatest wizard! His humble servant takes the greatest care of him. Better than any elf could!" Kreacher began shouting at them once again.
"Kreacher, please, that is not what I meant!" Hermoine pleaded.
"Kreacher loves Harry Potter! The greatest of the Purebloods!" he screeched, his love so deep that he willfully forgot that Harry was only a Half-Blood.
"We know that," she had to work to settle the old elf back down. "We love Harry too, Kreacher. He is our friend. Doesn't everyone need their friends in times like these?"
The cat caught Kreacher's tongue before he could state another proclamation, and he deflated a bit, staring back to the floor. There was a long pause before he continued.
"All Master does is train and study, study and train. He does not eat, he does not sleep. Harry Potter is the greatest wizard ever, but even the greatest wizard must rest from time to time, should he not?" Kreacher searched pleadingly, asking for support with tears swelled in his eyes.
"Yes he does," Hermione reassured him. "We want to help Harry, Kreacher, can't you see that?"
Kreacher nodded silently. "Master needs his friends..." he said so low they hardly caught it.
. . . .
"Harry?" a voice called, rousing Harry out of the mist he was in.
The room was quite literally in a haze. If you were to have counted them, there were a total of nine, small desktop cauldrons boiling atop Buenser Fires lined up across the tables. Four much larger ones were centered on the floor. All billowed out an endless pillar of smoke and steam into an ever amassing cloud of fog. Even being a potions lair, Harry was pushing the room to its limits.
At the call of his name, the dark haired boy's head popped up from behind the column of smoke coming from the second large cauldron which sat at the middle of the room. It's flickering flames rippled shadows across Harry's sooted figure with an eerie undulation.
His now longer, unwashed black hair stuck out in haphazard directions. His clothes and face were all masked in a charred soot. Harry lifted a gloved hand to his face and pushed up his tinted goggles to his forehead. Two green eyes perfectly encircled by clean, white skin, stared back at his friend's shocked blue ones. "Ron?"
Harry's mouth gaped. "What..? How..?" he uttered as Ron wafted the smoke from his face. "What are you doing here?"
Ron coughed as he began to move about the room. "Good to see you too, mate..." Ron said as he inspected the first of the table cauldrons suspiciously.
"Don't touch that!" Harry rushed forward to push Ron back. Catching him by the shoulder and spinning him around, Ron's eyes dropped with alarm to Harry's death grip on him.
Ron could only stare at his old friend for the longest time. Harry himself looked livid.
"Harry..." Ron's voice was shaky. "It's me... it's Ron."
Harry's expression dropped from anger to... confusion? Sorrow, maybe? As his head started to shake back and forth.
"It's been awhile..." Ron suddenly forgot the words they had planned out for this. "Everything alright, Harry?"
Harry's head began to shake more fervently. "It's not safe for you here... Ron," Harry said his name with some difficulty. "You need to go."
Ron huffed at this. "I'm not going anywhere, Harry. We've come to get you out of here, you're coming back home, to the Burrow."
That look of confusion swept back over Harry's face. Home..? Burrow..? What is that? "I can't..." Harry finally said. "I've got my work here."
"Huh," Ron huffed again, looking about the room. "What exactly are you doing here, Harry?"
"Nothing," Harry responded sharply.
"Oh?" Ron said as he turned to begin his investigation once again, looking about the basement. "Definitely looks like something."
"Don't!" Harry shouted as Ron peered over on of the larger cauldrons. "It's not safe for you here. You need to go!" Harry demanded once more.
Ron sighed, looking back to his friend. "I don't want to give you the run around, Harry. McGonagall told us what's happened to you. You need to come with us. We need to talk and straighten this all out. You've got friends, Harry."
The memories came crashing back to him. What does he know? Nothing. "Get out!" Harry suddenly shouted at him.
Ron fell back a step at this as another sharp gasp came from the top of the stairs.
Harry turned towards the sob, screwing his eyes to see through the fog... Hermione. A thousand different emotions suddenly rushed through him at the sight of her.
Seeing him when they had entered, remembering all, Australia, the war, the stories McGonagall had told, she had been unable to face him. She had frozen at the top of the stairs. Ron had been gracious enough to take the responsibility upon himself.
As Harry's eyes now met hers, he saw that she had one hand covering her mouth and even from there, Harry could see the tears streaming down her face. And that look in her eyes... pity.
Anger swelled up inside him. He had seen pity and he loathed pity. How dare she! He turned back to Ron.
"Go," Harry said. "Leave!" Harry stated with a false, calm facade that hid the rage within. Another loud sob echoed from the top of the stairs, but Harry did not turn.
It was now Ron's turn to frown. "No."
"Harry, please..." that soft voice he hadn't heard in so long cracked from atop the stairs.
Ron had hardly a chance to shield his eyes from the blinding light of the spell before he was sent hurdling across the room. He was sent crashing into the bottom rungs of the stairs, breaking them. Before he had even the time to right himself, he suddenly found himself in a reverse tumble, like he was falling down, yet back up the stairs until he suddenly crashed into Hermione and they fell back out into the hall that led to the Kitchen. The door to the basement slammed closed behind them.
"Well... that went well," Ron mused as he and Hermione untangled themselves from each other.
"I told you Master did not want visitors," a voice croaked from behind them.
"Shut it, Kreacher!"
Through blinding tears, Hermione pushed herself back up and with an "Alomahora" cast so strong, the door to the basement was nearly blasted from its hinges. But the fires had been extinguished. She did not have to search the lab, she could sense it. Harry was gone again.