Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and her various corporate partners. I own nothing, and I am making no profit by my little ventures into the shadowy realms of fanfiction. I do so purely for enjoyment. I would, however, like to thank JKR for allowing us all to play in her sandbox.
AN: There's some strong language in this chapter. I think it still falls within the PG13 rating, but if you disagree, let me know and I'll consider changing the rating to R.
OoOoO
Harry Potter and the Knight of the Radiant Heart
II
With a muffled groan, Harry Potter once again became aware of the world. With his eyes still closed, he found that he was lying down on a firm mattress and that the sharp odor of cleaning chemicals hung in the air.
Looks like I'm in the hospital wing, Harry thought to himself, why am I here this time?
The dryness in his mouth and throat was the next thing to really register in his somewhat confused mind. He let out a dry, rough cough that stung his throat. Before he even thought of searching for something to drink, a straw was placed up against his lips, and Harry took a long pull of cool, refreshing water. Only then did he open his eyes.
The blur that he found sharpened into the familiar features of the Hogwarts hospital wing as someone perched his glasses on his nose. Harry turned his head to the left to discover that someone was one Luna Lovegood.
"Hello Harry," Luna said in her dreamy voice, "it's good to have you back. We were worried that the Nargles would keep you for a while yet."
Harry simply stared at the wide-eyed blonde for a moment before asking, "Luna, how did I… why am I here?"
"Well, Harry," Luna replied in a tone that Harry thought she might use for addressing very small children, "when a mommy loves a daddy very much, and if she doesn't have a headache at the time, and if she hasn't misplaced the key to her chastity belt, then they do what comes natural, just like the birds and the bees do. Although, now that you mention it, I never really understood why the birds and the bees would want to have sex with each other, especially since some birds eat bees. I wonder if it's normal to kill and eat your potential mates…"
"What?" replied Harry, "what are you…? No, not that, I mean, why am I in the hospital wing?"
"Oh, well that makes much more sense. You're here because you almost died in the Department of Mysteries of course."
Harry drew his eyebrows together in puzzlement for a moment, trying to make sense of Luna's statement and the jumble of hazy memories in his head.
And then it all became clear.
Flying to the Ministry.
The Death Eater ambush in the Hall of Prophecies.
Furious spell casting and desperate chases.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Sirius…
"Oh Merlin… Sirius…" Harry breathed out as his eyes began to fill. He felt Luna reach out and clasp his hand. Harry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, not wanting her to see him cry, but a few errant tears escaped down his cheeks nonetheless. Luna remained quiet, simply allowing Harry the time he needed to shed his tears for his godfather.
Sirius, I'm so sorry.
After a few short moments of silent crying, Harry wrenched his hand out of Luna's, a sudden anger overtaking his sadness. With a sniff he wiped his face and cast a glance around the rest of the hospital wing.
"What about the others?" Harry asked. "Where's Hermione and Ron?"
Luna didn't respond, but rather glanced down to the other end of the hospital wing where two separate beds were curtained off from prying eyes. Her eyes then returned to Harry.
"Neville and Ginny are sitting with them. Neville had it pretty rough for a little while, what with his being put under the Cruciatus Curse and all, but he's feeling much better now. Madam Pomfrey thinks Ron will be alright once he wakes up, but doesn't really know when that will be. Hermione…"
Luna's soft voice trailed off as she once again glanced at one of the curtained-off beds and something clenched in Harry's chest.
"What about Hermione?" Harry insisted.
"I'm sorry, Harry, things don't look very good."
Harry took a moment to really look at Luna. For the first time he could remember, the dreamy, unaffected appearance was missing from her face. It was her eyes, he decided, there were tears in her eyes.
Tears for Hermione.
Harry's mind went back to the Department of Mysteries. Dolohov's wand slashing through the air as it unleashed a bright purple flame. That violet fire striking Hermione across the chest. Her mouth forming a quiet little "oh" of seeming comprehension before she collapsed to the floor in a silent, unmoving heap…
Harry quickly sat up in his bed and threw off the thin sheet that was pulled up to his armpits. He ignored the sharp pain in his stomach as he swung his legs around and placed his bare feet on the cold tile floor. With a new sense of determination in his movements, Harry pushed himself to his feet, only to find the room beginning to spin around. He closed his eyes and reached out with his right hand to steady himself against the bed. He stayed like that for a moment to allow the spinning to come to a stop. And then, clad in his light blue hospital gown, Harry Potter slowly shuffled over to the curtained off bed that Luna had glanced at.
When he arrived, Harry pulled back the curtain to find a sad scene. Madam Pomfrey was in the midst of a whispered but serious conversation with Professors Flitwick and Sprout at the far side of the enclosure. Sitting in a chair and looking very tired was Neville Longbottom. His hair was in complete disarray and dried blood stained the front of his shirt. He was paler than normal, with deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. But Harry's eyes only dimly registered these details as he stared at Hermione.
Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her generation, was lying pale and motionless in a hospital bed.
Her chest rose and fell at an unnaturally slow rhythm. Around her head were several dimly colored magical lights, no doubt conjured by the matron to help diagnose the girl's condition.
Harry slowly approached the side of the bed and took Hermione's hand.
It was cold.
"Mister Potter!"
Harry dragged his attention away from Hermione to see the three adults staring at him.
"I said," began Madam Pomfrey in a stern voice, "what are you doing out of bed? Those wounds to your abdomen will never heal straight if you go moving about so soon."
Instead of replying to the matron's questions, Harry turned his eyes back to Hermione and asked, "What's wrong with her?"
In a somewhat softer tone, Pomfrey replied, "We're not really sure. We can't seem to identify the spell which struck the poor girl."
"When is she going to get better?"
The only thing that met this question was silence.
"I said," Harry began more forcefully, "when is she going to get better?!"
"Mister Potter… Harry," began Madam Pomfrey, "we're doing everything that we can, but we just don't know what's causing the problem. We've been able to slow the progression of the curse and the damage that it's causing to her internally, but without knowing exactly what is causing it in the first place, well, we're at a bit of a loss as to what to do next."
"It was a purple flame," replied Harry. "A purple flame cast with a slashing motion, it hit her diagonally across the chest."
"We know, Harry," said Professor Sprout in a soft voice, "Neville already told us."
"So you'll figure it out, right? You'll be able to stop the curse; you'll be able to fix her, right?"
Once again, Harry's questions were met with silence.
Harry hastily dropped Hermione's hand as if stung. He squeezed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists as anger once again filled him. His whole body filled with tension.
"Mister Potter, please, you need to return to your bed…"
Harry spun on his heel to face the opening in the curtain. He was met by Luna and Ginny, who had obviously come to see what all the commotion was about. Harry pushed his way between the two girls and began making his way toward the doors of the hospital wing. He would have broken into a run, but the sharp pain in his abdomen wouldn't let him.
Just then the doors opened, and in strode Albus Dumbledore.
"Professor!" shouted Harry, irrational hope filling him at the sight of the aged Headmaster, "thank Merlin! You'll be able to fix her, right? Please tell me you know what to do."
Dumbledore looked down at his student with a faint, sad smile on his lips.
"Harry, it's going to be alright."
"I don't care if it's going to be alright!" screamed Harry, as he continued along his emotional rollercoaster and anger filled him once more, "I want somebody to fix her!"
"I assure you, we're doing everything we can to…"
"But there's got to be something else," Harry began pleading, "this is Hermione! She has to be okay. She… it's… not her too. She can't die too."
The old Headmaster approached and put his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Harry…"
"Don't touch me!" Harry exclaimed as he violently pushed the old man's hand away as the anger came back again. "Do something useful! Fix Hermione! Why won't you do something useful? Why don't you ever do anything useful?! All you ever do is speak in riddles and avoid giving straight answers. You've been avoiding me all year when I needed your help. Now Hermione needs you, and what? Are you just going to ignore her too? Do something, you bloody bastard! For once in your damn life, do something!"
All eyes in the hospital wing were staring at Harry in the wake of his outburst. All eyes, that is, except for the two that Harry wanted to see open more than just about anything at that moment. But Hermione's eyes remained closed as she laid in her cold, motionless oblivion.
Not wanting to be around anyone anymore, and hating the way their eyes stared at him in shock, Harry resumed his motion toward the exit. He threw open the door, slamming it loudly against the stone wall and made his way out of the hospital wing. He had to just get away from it all.
"Bloody, fucking Dumbledore," Harry seethed as he wound his way through the castle, heedless of any sort of direction, or the fact that he was only wearing a hospital gown, not that he really cared. "Bloody Pomfrey… fucking Sprout… useless, the lot of them… can't even figure out one damned curse."
Harry stopped and suddenly changed direction, deciding to head up to the Astronomy Tower. Hopefully he could get some air up there. Or maybe just scream at the sky until his lungs gave out. Within a few minutes, he was trudging up the stairs at as fast a pace as the pain in his stomach would let him. He didn't really care about the now constant, sharp pain that emanated from his abdomen. All he really cared about in that moment was his anger.
"Fucking Bellatrix Lestrange. Bloody Dolohov and his bloody curse. It's their fault. They did this to Hermione. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill them all. Every last bloody Death Eater, I'm going to kill them all."
At last, his anger had worked itself into a rage as Harry reached the top of the tower. He threw open the door and stepped out onto the roof. But to his surprise, he was not alone.
Standing at the far end of the tower, gazing up at the night sky with his hands clasped behind his back was the figure of a man. The sound of the door slamming against the wall drew his attention to Harry. His head snapped over to regard the newcomer, while his hand went to the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip.
Harry didn't recognize this strange person at first. Besides the sword, he was wearing some sort of wide, metal collar over his dark blue but rather nondescript clothing. The collar extended down a few inches to cover some of his upper chest and back. Attached to the collar were two other pieces of armor that covered his shoulders. His short, gray hair and matching goatee framed a handsome face marred by several old scars. Brown eyes peered at Harry with steely intelligence, seeming to take him in all at once, and measure him against some unknown standard.
In the end, it was the sword that betrayed the man's identity to Harry.
It's the old knight, Harry thought to himself, Great. The memories of his chase and battle with Bellatrix came back to him: the old knight appearing in a brilliant explosion of magic; his coming to the rescue during the duel with Voldemort, saving the day. This old man probably saved Dumbledore's life as well as Harry's own.
But honestly, Harry really didn't care.
"Great! Bloody well fantastic! I can't even get some bloody space to myself to rant and rave and scream at the sky! What the hell are you doing here, anyways? Don't you have a damsel to be rescuing somewhere?"
The old man just raised one eyebrow and continued to regard Harry in silence.
"Typical," continued Harry, "just stand there and stare at me like all the other bloody idiots downstairs. They can't do anything either… useless, the lot of them… just like bloody useless Lestrange. I'm going to kill that bitch when I find her."
Harry paced back and forth on the rooftop, ranting and raving in his rage and anger, almost oblivious to the presence of the old knight watching him.
"I'll make her pay. I'll make Dolohov pay. I'll kill them if Hermione dies. I'll kill them for taking her away from me…"
As Harry continued his diatribe against anything and everything that came to mind, the demeanor of the old knight shifted.
"What's this you speak about someone dying?" the knight asked.
Harry stopped and spun on his heel, facing the man.
"What do you care?" Harry spit out venomously, "Why would you give a damn about my friend, lying on her death bed downstairs because some areshole put her there? Bloody Death Eaters curse a sixteen year old girl an inch from death just because she followed me to the Ministry…
"Oh God…"
Harry gasped and leaned against the parapet, his rage evaporated only to be replaced by despair.
"She's going to die because of me. She followed me there, even though she knew it was a trap. It's my fault. It's all my fault… Sirius… Hermione… dead because of me…"
Tears began to fill Harry's eyes once again, but he was quickly distracted by the two strong hands that gripped his shoulders and shook him.
"Look at me," said the old knight in a voice that spoke with authority. He moved his hands up to hold the sides of Harry's head and looked him in the face. "Snap out of it and look at me!"
Harry quit fighting and looked into the intense brown eyes of the old man's face, just a foot or two away from his own.
"Who's dying?" queried the knight.
"Hermione," answered Harry, "my friend Hermione. She was cursed in the battle, and the Healers don't know how to help her. She's going to die."
"Take me to her," ordered the knight.
But Harry didn't respond; he was once again beginning to gaze off into the distance, wrapped up in his own emotions.
"Boy! Snap out of it!" said the knight more forcefully and with an added little shake that managed to recapture Harry's attention. "Take me to your friend this instant."
Harry was confused, dumbfounded really. But the tone with which the old man spoke brokered no argument, so Harry found himself complying with the order he was given. He turned and led the knight down the stairs and back through the castle toward the hospital wing. The two figures walked in silence, except for the occasional hiss of pain that emerged from between Harry's lips. There really didn't seem to be anything to say.
Harry reentered the hospital wing a few minutes later with his new companion in tow to find Dumbledore in the midst of a serious discussion with Pomfrey, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape, who seemed to have come onto the scene during Harry's brief absence.
"I must notify her parents," Dumbledore was saying as they entered the room, "they should really be here should the worst…"
These words stopped Harry in his tracks.
It's my fault that she's going to die.
But the old knight didn't pause in his stride, but only continued forward to address the aged wizard.
"Headmaster."
"Sir Keldorn," replied Dumbledore, "what brings you to our hospital wing this evening? Is there something you need?"
"No," said the knight, "I thought I might be able to offer my assistance. This boy happened upon me and I learned of his injured friend. He said she was cursed and dying. What is the nature of her ailment?"
"I seriously doubt that a dressed up Muggle like you has anything to offer in the healing of a witch, no matter how polished your choice of clothing might be," drawled Snape before anyone else could respond.
"Peace, Severus," said Dumbledore, "we haven't been of much help ourselves. Poppy, would you please fill in our guest on the nature of Miss Granger's condition?"
"She was struck in the chest with an unknown curse by one of the Death Eaters," replied the matron. "We have been unable to identify the particular spell used, but it appeared to be a purple flame that slashed across her chest. The curse passed through her clothing without disruption and caused no damage to her skin or muscle tissue. But underneath, it has been severely damaging her internal organs. We've managed to slow the effects of the curse and have kept her breathing and her blood flowing with charms, but if it isn't reversed soon, her organs will begin to fail. We've sent for assistance from St. Mungo's and were just about to notify the girl's parents when you walked in."
"Take me to her," said the knight, "I may be able to help. I can, at the very least, try."
With a skeptical look, Pomfrey led the knight to Hermione's curtained off beside. The other professors came behind and Harry followed last. Inside the private area, Luna and Neville were sitting to one side of the bed, seemingly surprised by the presence of the knight, or perhaps it was at Harry's sudden return. Harry noticed that Ginny was missing, but assumed that she was sitting with her still unconscious brother.
Keldorn unsheathed his sword only to be pounced upon by Madam Pomfrey, "Now see here! I don't know what you were thinking when you said you could help, but I assure you, your barbaric weapons won't be doing any helping in my infirmary!"
"Peace, Madam," replied the knight with a tinge of amusement in his voice, "I mean no harm. The sword of a paladin is not merely an instrument of war. And Carsomyr is no mere sword. You have my word that I will not harm the girl with my barbaric weapon."
With that, he grasped the blade with both hands near the hilt, and held it so that the tip was pointed down to the floor. The knight then tilted the handle in Hermione's direction and there was a small but brilliant flash of light. Harry, as well as everyone else present save for the old knight, squinted and instinctively looked away.
Harry turned to see Ginny now standing at his side, taking in the strange scene. He turned back a moment later to see the knight sheath his sword and approach the bed.
Gingerly sitting on the side of the bed near Hermione's shoulder, the knight placed his hands on her head, closed his eyes, and slightly bowed as if in prayer.
Suddenly Hermione gasped for breath, and drew in a great lungful of air. Her back arched off the bed for an instant as if she was in pain. Harry was about to lunge forward and pry the old man off of his friend when Dumbledore's hand stopped him.
A moment later the old man was back on his feet, but he now seemed a little dizzy with one hand raised to his temple. Hermione was once again lying still on the bed. Harry darted forward past Dumbledore and grabbed for Hermione's hand.
It was warm.
Harry stared, eyes almost popping out of his head at his best friend who was supposed to be lying on death's doorstep. It seemed to him that her breathing had become more normal, and that some color had returned to her face.
"Out of my way!" spoke Madam Pomfrey as she pushed her way to Hermione's bedside, her wand already moving in intricate patterns. "Everybody out this instant! I need to see to her."
Harry was about to argue when a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see the old knight.
"Come, boy, she'll be alright. I give you my word."
As everyone filed out of the curtained off area, Harry found his voice, "I don't understand. How did you…?"
"The blessings of the Light have been entrusted to me to dispense as I can. It is part of my sacred task to bring healing to those in need, especially to those injured in the fight against the Darkness. But it was not really I who worked this miracle. I merely allowed the Grace of the Light to work through me."
"What? That's nonsense," interrupted Snape, "You clearly cast some sort of wandless spell. There's no sense in trying to spin your tales of miracles and Grace and other ridiculous hogwash. Stop trying to sound mysterious and tell us, what did you do?"
"I do not appreciate being called a liar," replied the old knight, standing a bit straighter with his hand once again resting on the hilt of his sword, "especially when I have given you no cause to do so."
"Why you…"
"Peace!" interrupted Dumbledore, "peace, please! Severus, it seems to me that we should be thanking our guest for his priceless assistance in tending to Miss Granger. I do not doubt that without him here, things would still be looking quite grim right now. Sir Keldorn, you once again have my thanks, and the thanks of all Hogwarts for what you have done today."
The knight bowed his head and shoulders in acknowledgement of Dumbledore's words and then relaxed his posture. Snape, on the other hand, looked as though he had eaten something rather sour.
The emotional toll of the past hour suddenly began to press down upon Harry and he found that he was quite exhausted.
"And if I may say so, Harry," continued the Headmaster, "I would like to see you back in bed, if not for your own sake, then for the rest of us. Madam Pomfrey will be quite put out with us if she were to have one patient miraculously recovery only to have another collapse on his own two feet and do more damage to his already serious wounds."
Harry made to protest but Dumbledore cut him off, "And don't fret, we will talk soon, as soon as you've recovered enough strength to do so. I promise."
And so, with one last, long look in Hermione's direction, Harry found himself heading back to his hospital bed. He really didn't have the energy to fight about it and thus acquiesced without further argument.
A few moments later, after several hushed words, the adults, including the knight whom Harry now knew to be called Sir Keldorn, left the hospital wing to go about their business.
A short while later, Madam Pomfrey approached Harry's bedside with a Sleeping Draught.
"Alright, Mister Potter, bottoms up."
Harry took the goblet without a fuss, but before downing the undoubtedly foul and horrid tasting potion, he asked, "Is Hermione really going to be alright?"
Pomfrey's lips quirked up in a slight smile as she said, "Yes, Mister Potter. Whatever that man did has worked a true miracle on Miss Granger's condition. In a few days time I dare say she will be right as rain."
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AN: Please let me know whether or not you think the language is too strong for a PG13 rating. It seems like a fuzzy line to me.
Please leave a review on your way out. I'd like some feedback on this and want to know what you all think, even if it's just "Good story, write more," or "You suck, knights are stoopid."
Thanks for reading!