Disclaimer: Many characters, thoughts, ideas, etc do not belong to me, nor do I make any claim that they do. So there.
Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay! Exams came and went (I got all A's expect for a tiny little C+ in Japanese) and then Christmas came and went and somehow, writing this chapter became like pulling teeth. But it's done and I have a clear outline for the next one, so all is right again. Thanks for all the wonderful comments since the last chapter; they've kept me going.
Dedication: To Christin, a new inductee into the Fan Fiction club. Check out her Harry Potter story; her author name is C. Shumaker. The Creative Writing department at our college is about to give her a degree next semester; I think you'll like her work a lot;)
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An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
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"Well, I'm in Gryffindor and I have nipples." - My friends and I....it would take *way* too long to explain.
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He woke to something warm wetting his scalp through his hair. Harry opened his eyes; sometime during the night, he had fallen asleep. His cheek was pressed against Hermione's breast. For a moment, he thought he might still be in the arms of a delicious dream. He sat up suddenly when he remembered where they were. The Hospital Wing. The morning after the attacks.
Harry looked down at her. She was as she had been for nearly twelve hours. Pale and silent. Only now...tears streamed down her cheeks despite her tightly shut eyelids.
"Hermione..." He ran a thumb over her cheekbone. "Come on, sweetheart. Just open your eyes....please."
"Ah, good. You're awake, Harry." He could sense the comforting presence of Dumbledore behind him before he heard his voice.
Harry withdrew his hand. "She's not, though." He glanced over his shoulder, past the old wizard. All of the Hospital Wing's beds were full of the children who had been attacked. Some of them were just sitting up; others were already standing. But they were all conscious. "Why isn't she?" He ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Why won't she wake up?"
Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I could tell you, Harry. But even Madam Pomfrey doesn't know. She's at a loss, what with even the Mandrake potion not working."
Harry wiped his eyes under his glasses and took Hermione's hand again. "What *do* we know?"
"Hagrid is still inspecting the grounds, but we've not yet ruled out the possibility that they might have flown here." He paused. "Of course...that would mean they knew our exact location, which would mean..."
"Which would mean that they were former students," Harry finished for him. "But we knew that already, right? I mean...this is obviously a spell's doing." He swallowed. "What they've done to her. But what kind of spell and how is it that everyone has recovered, but her?"
Dumbledore hesitated. "I believe Hermione is under a form of the Cruciatus Curse. But rather than physical pain, she's been forced into a state of mental torture. All of the children have told me about the terrible dreams they experienced while under the spell. Far worse than any normal nightmares."
As Dumbledore spoke, Harry rubbed his thumb in circles on the soft back of Hermione's hand. "But they all woke up. They escaped the nightmares. She's still locked into them. Why? Why her??"
"I do have an idea." The old wizard spoke with immense regret. "The curse put on her was far stronger than the children." He lowered his voice. "Whoever did this wanted to make her suffer most of all."
"I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt someone as good as Hermione. I mean, what did she ever do to..." Fear gripped Harry's throat, preventing him from speaking for several long moments. "Oh no..." He shook his head. "No, no, no...it can't be that...I mean, this is why I left, so this wouldn't..."
"Harry, her parents are Muggles. And the children targeted were all Muggle-born."
He was beyond hearing. "They're after me. They're using her to get to me. This is all my..."
"Don't do that, Harry." Dumbledore was firm. "Taking the blame isn't going to help her at all."
Harry nodded, but deep inside, the guilt had already taken its hold on him. The fear that if it weren't for him, Hermione would be just fine, wasn't going anywhere.
"Professor Dumbledore, sir." Hagrid appeared, virtually from nowhere, behind them. Harry hadn't even heard him enter the room. He looked more grim than Harry could ever recall having seen him look
"Where is the boy?" the old man asked.
"Just outside. He's bin askin' 'bout his mum. I told him a wee bit." Hagrid sighed. "Do yer think it'd be good fer him ter see her like this?"
Dumbledore looked at Harry. "What do you think?"
Harry hesitated, but only for a moment. "Let him come in. I'll be right here with him."
In the space of only a minute, his son had approached the bed and stood next to him, looking down at his mother's still body. Harry watched him very closely. After a long time, little Harry turned his face up. "When will she get better?"
"I don't know," Harry replied, truthfully. "Someone's put a curse on her..." He swallowed. "It could be awhile."
"But she will wake up, right?"
Harry bit the inside of his cheek. "Of course she will. Your mother is...she's the strongest woman I know."
Little Harry glanced back down at his mother. "Professor Potter...do you think that if I talked to her, she could hear me?"
"I don't really..." He paused. "I think you should definitely try, Harry."
Dumbledore backed up a few steps. "We'll give you a minute, lad," he told the boy.
"Could Professor Potter stay? Please?"
A smile peaked out from the snowy depths of Dumbledore's beard. "Of course. Hagrid, let's go, shall we?" The two men quickly left.
His son climbed up on the bed next to Hermione. "Mum?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?" When she failed to even flutter an eyelash, little Harry sighed. "I hope you can." He stopped and looked up at Harry. "What do I say, Professor?"
Harry knelt next to the bed, to be at his son's eye level. "Just talk to her. That's all we can do."
"All right." Little Harry drew in a valiant breath. "Mum...if you can hear me...please wake up. Please? I'll do anything, I promise! I'll clean my room every day...I won't run in the hallways...I'll even be nice to Miss Belle." His chin wobbled. "Just please wake up." Harry put a hesitant arm around his son. Little Harry sniffed. "I don't think she can hear me, Professor."
"I wish I could tell you for sure," Harry replied whole-heartedly. His son lowered his red head; his shoulders trembled. Harry tightened the arm around the boy. "It's all right to cry, you know. Truth be told, I did a bit of that myself earlier."
Little Harry leaned into his shoulder. "I'm afraid she won't wake up, Professor. Just like Dad didn't."
"Your mother is strong, Harry."
The child rubbed at his eyes. "So was Dad." He glanced up at Harry. There was an awkward beat of silence. "Your eyes are the same color as mine."
Harry blinked, noticing the emerald color of his son's eyes for the very first time. "Yes. They are."
If the boy found anything unusual about this, he said nothing. Rather, he returned his cheek to Harry's shoulder. "If Dad were here, he'd make everything all right again."
On a sudden, but instinctive impulse Harry wrapped his arms around his son, hugging him fiercely. "It *will* be all right," he whispered. "I promise."
**Hermione...come back to him. He needs you. Come back to me. I need you.**
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She awoke in a large, flat, mist-covered field. As she regained her bearings, she realized she was standing in *the* place. The place where Harry had nearly been taken from the world, from her, forever. The sight of the final battle with the fully restored, deadly powerful Voldemort.
One hand pressed her chest; she looked down. Instead of her skirt and blouse, she was clad in her old school robes. She put a hand to her head; her hair was bushy and wild. Her fingers flew back to her throat, but no rose quartz necklace greeted them. She stood on shaky legs. Was she alone?
There was a loud snap. She spun around. No, she definitely wasn't alone. Through the fog, she could just make out two dark shapes. As she walked closer, the pieces of her memories came together. Harry. Voldemort. Facing off, wands raised. Ready to kill one another.
Her mouth opened. "Harry!!" she screamed.
His head swung to the side. Blood covered one side of his face, flowing freely from his freshly re-opened scar. He waved his free arm at her. "Get out of here, Hermione! Now!!"
"No! I won't leave..." Her voice faded as Voldemort raised his wand even higher. "Harry..."
"Hermione, go! Please!! I can't protect you if you don't...."
"Harry, look out!!!"
But he looked too late. Laughing all the while, Voldemort let loose with his final curse. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
She watched, helpless, as the greenish light shot out of Voldemort's wand. It hit Harry square in his chest. He threw his head back and screamed in agony. Voldemort's laughter failed to drown out the sounds of Harry dying. Harry's legs gave out under him; he hit the ground with a sickening thud. With the final bit of energy he had, he looked over at her. He tried to speak, but before he could form the words, he was gone.
"Harry?" Her voice was tiny compared to the enormity of the silence. Harry's body...it was so still. So bloody.... "Harry?" Her stomach ached; Hermione bent at the waist, clutching her arms around her body. "No...no, no, no, no. No....please." Tears clouded her vision and choked her. "No...this isn't..." She swallowed. "This isn't how it ends." Hermione turned on Voldemort. "This isn't how it's supposed to end!!"
"Ah, but we're on my time now." Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry's body. "I can do whatever I want. I can bring him back." With a flick of his wrist, Harry opened his eyes. He struggled to his feet and looked at her. His emerald eyes were alive and well. Voldemort grinned. "And I can take him away again." He waved his wand, striking Harry down once more.
"STOP IT!!!" Hermione screamed as she watched Harry die a second painful death. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Stop!! Please!!!"
Voldemort laughed. "But it's such fun!!" He approached her, extending one bony arm out and cupping her chin. His fingers were cold and felt like a snake's skin. "Welcome to my world, little Mudblood. The world that exists only in your nightmares." He rose Harry again and prepared to strike. "I hope you'll hate it here."
****
"Harry."
"No...I don't need to rest."
Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips. "Harry Potter. Do not make me repeat myself. You have been here for five days and I've barely seen you eat." Her nose wrinkled. "Much less bathe. Now if I have to, I will get Professor Dumbledore to order to take care of yourself, but I'm hoping you'll simply realize that, admirable as it is, watching her for every waking moment isn't going to speed along her recovery one bit."
"I'm not leaving her." Harry readjusted his grip on Hermione's pale hand. "She's in pain; I can feel it. God only knows what's going on in her mind." He shook his head. "No, I can't go. I won't go."
The older woman sighed. "You know I would send for you if she happened to..."
"I'm. Not. Leaving."
"You were *much* more cooperative when you were a child!" Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms. "If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for the boy."
Harry turned his head to look at the medical witch. "Harry? What about him?"
"He's been wandering the grounds like he was one of the ghosts. Not that anybody's minded, of course." Her tone was sad. "Most of the children are gone now. Parents have been pulling them out, left and right. Especially the Muggle parents."
He glanced around the Hospital Wing, noticing for the first time in nearly a week how quiet and empty it was. "What about classes?"
"Suspended indefinitely." She bustled around the bed and took up Hermione's other wrist to check her pulse. "Never thought I'd see the day when someone would bring down Hogwarts."
Harry's eyes flashed. "No one's brought down Hogwarts."
"Yes. Well..." Madam Pomfrey gently set down her patient's arm. "About the boy. There hasn't really been anyone to look after him in the past few days. If you won't leave her side to take care of yourself, at least look in on him. Poor tyke...losing both parents..."
"Hermione's not lost," Harry reminded her, firmly. He ran his thumb across the backs of Hermione's knuckles. "All right. I'll check on him." The woman lifted an eyebrow. "After I take a shower."
"And...?" she prompted.
"And eat something."
Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Off with you then."
Harry reluctantly set down Hermione's hand, but not before he raised it to his lips. "I won't be long," he promised her. He stood and stretched his cramped muscles. "You'll call..."
"The very second she starts to stir, Harry." Madam Pomfrey pointed to the door. Harry took the hint and headed out of the Hospital Wing.
Thirty minutes later, after he was showered and dressed in fresh clothes, he found himself heading for the Great Hall. Little Harry wasn't in his apartment; that had been the first place Harry had checked. He breathed a little sigh of relief to find the boy seated at one of the magically repaired tables, picking at a plate of food. There were several students, a couple of Griffindors and Hufflepuffs, eating a quick breakfast. Most of them had boxes and trunks piled next to their benches, obviously ready to return home as soon as they ate.
Harry approached his son quietly. "Is this seat taken?" He pointed to the long, empty bench. The boy shook his head and Harry sat next to him. "What are you eating?"
"The house-elves sent up kippers." His voice was listless. "But I don't like kippers."
"What would you like?"
Little Harry shrugged. "I'm not really hungry."
"I see." Harry looked down at the golden plate in front of him. Without any fanfare, it suddenly filled with eggs, bacon and grilled tomatoes. "Would you like some of mine?"
His son couldn't hide the interest in his eyes when he spied Harry's bacon. "You don't mind, Professor Potter?"
"Not at all." Harry transferred most of his bacon onto the boy's plate. "You need to eat. Your mother would have a fit if she thought you weren't eating properly."
Little Harry cut into his bacon with some spark of enthusiasm. "Is Mum all right? Hagrid told me I could go see her as much as I'd like, but..." He swallowed. "I don't like seeing her like that. Is that wrong of me, Professor?"
"No." Harry poked his fork through a tomato. "It's not, Harry."
"But, she's all right, isn't she?"
He saw no point in lying to the child. "She's not worse. But she's not any better either."
The boy lowered his fork. "I see." He pushed away his plate. "Thank you for your bacon, Professor." He started to climb off the bench.
Harry swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "Wait a minute. Where are you going?" Little Harry raised his shoulders. Harry stood up, abandoning his breakfast. "I have an idea. Do you still want to learn to play Quidditch?"
Little Harry's green eyes lit up. "Of course!"
"Well then...there's no time like the present." Harry put a hand on his son's shoulder. "The main courtyard should be fairly empty. Meet me there in ten minutes. I just need to get the chest."
Fifteen minutes found a very eager ten year old Harry and a slightly nervous twenty-eight year old Harry out in the open courtyard of the school, dragging along a heavy chest. "I assume you've seen at least one Quidditch match before," Harry asked.
"Oh, I've seen lots! Dad loved Quidditch. He taught me what all the balls were when I was five. We used to go to all the Chudley Cannons games played in England. And we were supposed to go to the World Tournament last year...it was in France, but..." The boy stopped. "Dad died the week before the games started."
Harry knelt in front of the chest and opened it up. It rocked with the movements of the restrained Bludgers. "I remember the day Ron made it onto the Gryffindor team. He was Chaser...a damn good one. But I'm sure he told you all about it."
Little Harry nodded. "I think he wanted me to be a Chaser someday, too. But I want to be a Seeker."
"You do, do you?" Harry smiled. "It's the toughest job of all."
"Exactly."
Chuckling, Harry plucked the Golden Snitch from its compartment within the chest. He held it out to his son. "Let it go and follow it with your eyes. A Seeker has to be able to follow the Snitch no matter where it moves or how fast. The entire game depends on the Seeker's ability to track the nearly untrackable."
The boy released the Snitch into the air. His eyes darted about as the Snitch flew circles in front of him. "I didn't know it was this hard to see."
"You'll get used to it," Harry assured him.
Little Harry's brow furred in concentration. He continued to follow the Snitch with an intense stare. "Professor Potter...Dad said you went away. Where did you go?"
Harry sat back on the grass. "Um...all over. I went off to see the world, I guess you could say. I had never seen anything farther than Scotland in my whole life."
"Do you like the rest of the world?"
"I liked most of it," Harry replied. He looked up at the looming spirals of the castle. "I still think this is the best place in the world, though."
Little Harry dropped his gaze as the Snitch flew out of his sight. "Did you come back because Dad died?" Harry shook his head. "I think my dad missed you."
"Why do you...say that?"
The boy shrugged. "I bet he would have been happy that you came back."
"Harry..." He phrased his question carefully. "Could you tell me what you remember....about the day he died?"
It took a moment for his son to reply. "Dad was in the middle of this really big thing at work and when he finally got a day off, he wanted to do something really fun." Little Harry drew his knees up to his chest. "Sometimes, we'd dress up and go into London, pretending to be Muggles. Mum didn't really like to do it, but only 'cause she's too good at it."
Harry frowned. "London is awfully far for a day trip."
"We didn't live here then. We lived in Bedford. Dad worked in London."
"But I thought your mother had been a Professor for awhile."
Little Harry shook his head. "She started right after Dad died. We had to move here."
The older man nodded. "I see." He indicted that the child should continue.
"We were visiting Westminister Abbey and there was this big scaffold thing over the door." He tugged at the cuff of his pants. "When we walked under it, it started to fall. Dad pushed me out of the way. And then Mum." He paused. "And then it fell."
Harry leaned towards him. "It just fell? Did anyone touch it? Was there anyone around that you recognized?"
The boy's lip trembled. "I don't know, Professor. I can't remember...I just....when they pulled Dad out, I tried to get him to wake up...and he wouldn't. He wouldn't wake up."
"It's all right." Harry reached out to touch his son's rust-colored head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset."
Little Harry sniffed. "You didn't." There was a beat of silence. "I lied, Professor."
"About what?"
His son lowered his eyes, ashamed. "Someone did touch the scaffolding. Me." Before Harry could say anything, he went on, in quite a rush. "I didn't mean to bump into it! But that stupid Bronson..." He trailed off, obviously too angry to continue.
"Um...who's Bronson?"
Little Harry scrunched up his face. "Bronson Malfoy. The worst person in the whole world! He really is, Professor! He's always going on about how his dad has money and..."
Harry cut him off. "How old is he, Harry?"
"My age." The boy crossed his arms. "We went to children's school together in London. I don't think he can even read; he was always cheating off of my..."
"And his father?"
The boy blinked. "Mr. Malfoy. Dad called him Draco once."
There was no time for Harry to absorb this new piece of information. There was a small, but insistent voice from one of the balconies overlooking the courtyard. Both of them glanced up. Barely visible from so high up, Madam Pomfrey was hanging over the stone railing, waving down at them.
"She...up!!" Harry could just make out. He blinked. The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled louder. "Hermoine is waking up!"
Harry jumped to his feet. "Harry! Your mother is..."
The boy was already standing. A huge smile lit up his face. It fell suddenly, replaced by a look of concentration. Little Harry reached out and plucked something from the air. The Golden Snitch. He looked at the ball in his hand and then back up at Harry. "C'mon, Professor!"
As his son raced off into the castle, Harry shook his head. In his preoccupation, he hadn't even noticed the Snitch flying around them.
When he finally made it into the Hospital Wing, Hermione was already sitting up in bed. The greatest wave of relief washed over him to see her awake, holding onto their son with as much strength as she had. She looked up as he came in; so many emotions flashed through her eyes as they met his. It was overwhelming.
"Hermione," Harry whispered. She smiled and lowered her head to kiss the top of her son's head. He cleared his throat. "You had us all worried," he continued, in what he hoped was a light tone.
Hermione glanced back up. Her eyes were red, filled to the brim with hot tears. "I'm sorry."
He walked over and knelt next to the bed. "Please don't be." He ached to touch her, but with little Harry wrapped around her, he dared not. "I'm just glad you decided to come back to us."
"I almost..." She closed her eyes, letting the tears spill over. "...didn't." One hand moved from their son's head and sought his. Harry laced his fingers with hers and squeezed lightly. "Harry..." She drew in a breath. "I know...I know who..."
"Shh, it's all right." He dropped a soft kiss onto her fingers. "You don't have to talk right now. There'll be time later to..."
"No." Hermione struggled to sit up some more. Little Harry refused to let go of her. He buried his face deeper into her shoulder. "I have to Harry." After another breath, she pushed on. "I know who did this, Harry. I saw it all."
"Hermione..."
"It was him, Harry. *Him*!"
His scar throbbed. After a long moment, Harry spoke. "Voldemort is...back."
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To Be Continued