A/N: Yeah, yeah. DitR is still being written, don't worry. But I had a need to write a dark fic for once, and this was the beginning result. I'm also trying to write more complex plots without getting them completely blown out of proportion by the end of the story ;) JSYK, this takes place five years after Harry, Ron, and Hermione graduate from Hogwarts, making them in their early-twenties. Death ensues during those five years…but you'll find out about that as you read =) And "Zeusia" is pronounce "Zuce-ee-a." I made it up. But you can probably tell where it's from, anyway. Don't worry if it's a bit confusing at first – everything will be explained as the story goes. Enjoy!
Belligerence
Chapter 01: Rain, Rain on My Face
Drenched from the pouring rain, Hermione shuddered as she slipped off her cloak, trying in vain to shake the water from it before draping it over the coat rack and grabbing her thick hair in one fist. Bending over the washbasin that had been set on the floor by the door, she wrung out her hair, twisting it as the water squeezed out. Satisfied, she flung her hair over her shoulder and stood up straight, straightening her sweater. Ginny stood in the entrance to the main hallway, one eyebrow raised in an amused expression.
"Nice of you to finally join us," the red-haired girl said.
Hermione's gaze snapped upwards and she smiled as she caught sight of the shorter girl. "Oh! Ginny, I'm so sorry, that blasted, infernal broom got blown off course and before I knew it, I was miles from London…had to fly all the back. All I've done today is run around in circles!"
Ginny smiled reassuringly, and strode across the expanse of the entryway to take her friend by the hand. "It's all right. Charlie was getting worried – but that's just Charlie for you."
Hermione returned Ginny's smile, and followed quietly as Ginny led her down the hallway. The light that swamped the entrance way quickly faded out as they turned a corner and she shivered once more. The absence of light was only one more reminder…
"Lumos!" Ginny hissed, her many-times-taped wand flickering with blue light. The severed wood was not as effective as either of them may have hoped, but it was better than nothing. Hermione looked up from the faint light as they came upon the first doorway that led off from the hallway. Ginny raised her free hand and rapped on the door with her knuckles.
It opened slowly, creaking on its hinges. Hermione peered inside curiously, but hung back in her shyness. Ginny pushed the door the rest of the ways open, sticking her head in and holding her wand in front of her. "Fred? Hermione's here."
There was a mumbled answer, but Hermione could not distinguish the words. She bit her lip, clutching her bag in both hands. The black leather felt slick from the rain, against her skin.
Ginny brought her head back out and nodded to Hermione, moving aside so that she could enter the dim, tiny room. Casting one last look back at her friend, Hermione shut the door behind her, keeping her back to the room for a moment as she gathered her will.
"Hermy?" a voice croaked from the darkness.
Startled, she whirled around, her wet hair spraying across the room. "Fred?" she asked tentatively.
Another flickering light like Ginny's erupted from the farthest-left corner of the room. Barely visible in the faint light, she could see the outline of a gaunt and once-jovial face. A wisp of frayed red hair was flopped carelessly across the forehead. "Yes," it answered.
Releasing her bag with one hand and still clutching it with the other, she slowly crossed the room, approaching the light. But Fred jumped away, whisking his wand out of sight. "I don't think you want to come any closer," he told her.
She stopped. Blinking, her shoulders drooped slightly. Please don't let it be that bad… "Why not?"
"Because you don't want to see. Even Ginny doesn't."
Hermione sighed, bending down to set her black bag on the dusty wooden floor. "Fred…it's what I'm here for. It's my job. You've got to let me see, or else I can't help you."
She heard a light snort, as though he was trying to laugh, but had forgotten how. "You can't help me now, Hermy. I wish you could. But it's too late."
She swallowed. "It's not too late, Fred. I've helped people in worse conditions than you."
"But I'll never truly be myself, will I? I'll always be what's left of my mind - what's left of our mind. It'll never be the same. My other half is gone, Hermione. You don't know what that's like. No one does."
She blew out an exasperated breath. "Fred, I'm not here for a pity party. I know you're miserable, I know you're distraught. But I know that you're Fred Weasley, and that you have more willpower than just any given man does. I know how to help you, and you stand a good chance of recovering more than you could hope. More than most people could hope."
Another snort. "Forget me, Hermione. The rest of the world already has. The curse has killed me, but more slowly than anyone can see. All I'm asking from you is to end it quickly for me."
She froze in realization. Her hands went cold and she gazed off into the darkness for a moment, perhaps hoping that she might be able to see him. But he was not to be seen. "You want me to kill you," she said at last.
"Ever the quick one," he rasped.
She licked her lips and looked upwards, as though in contemplative thought. "You know I won't do it."
Silence. There was a slight rustling, and then she heard light footsteps on the boarded floor. He was coming nearer – she could hear his breath growing in intensity, as though labored. "Yes, I know."
Standing stockstill, she swallowed as she felt his breath on the back of her neck. "Then why did you want me here? Why did you tell Ginny to owl me?"
There was silence for a moment longer – even the sound of his hard breathing had vanished. But then, inches from her ear, she heard him again. "Because you have what I need."
Gasping, she whirled to the source of the voice, just in time to see his face only inches from hers, tipped back and sucking on a vial. In his hand was her black bag, opened and the contents spilling onto the floor. She thrust out one hand, wrenching the vial away from his mouth, but it was too late. The bottle was empty. Drawing away from him as his head fell forward, she dropped the glass vial to the floor and let out an earsplitting scream.
She heard the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, just as Fred's body fell to the floor, his hands cutting on the broken glass that now littered the floor. Dropping to her knees, she cradled his head in her lap, crying softly. She barely heard Ginny scream.
"We need a report on the Weasley case."
"I'm doing my best. Are you sure there isn't someone else that could cover this one?"
"Why? Chicken?"
"I prefer to think 'a bit too close to home,' but sure, why not? I'm chicken about everything else, aren't I?"
"You were a Gryffindor, of course you're not."
"Honestly, though – are you sure I'm the only one qualified?"
"It wouldn't be assigned to you if I wasn't."
"Ah, now who's the pompous, conceited jerk, hm?"
"And who's the lower-ranking individual in this conversation?"
"Always the last word, Zeusia. Always the last word."
"I don't care what you say, Hermione, I know it wasn't your fault. So stop blaming yourself – Fred was going downhill the entire time."
Hermione sighed as she dragged a hand through her tangled hair, wincing as her fingers caught a few strands. Ginny bustled across the kitchen, from the counter to the table, a coffeepot in one hand and two mugs in the other. She set both on the table and looked down at her distraught friend. "Really, Hermione. I knew this was bound to happen…it was just a matter of when."
Hermione's hand fell from her hair and slapped against the table. It hurt, but she made no expression. "But now you, Charlie, and Ron are the only ones left, Ginny! How many more of you are going to be cursed? How many other families have to suffer? The Malfoys have been entirely wiped out – Draco's in hiding. What could be so ghastly that it would want not only the good families dead, but the evil, too?"
Ginny shrugged noncommittally as she poured black coffee into the two mugs, and slid one across the table to Hermione. "I don't know. But the world's getting colder and darker and there's nothing that can stop it."
"Except Harry."
"Providing that he's alive, of course."
Hermione rolled her eyes, fingering the lip of her coffee mug. "Don't give me that. You know as well as I do that it can't be true. Harry would never give up that easily."
Ginny took a seat across from Hermione, pulling her own mug close to her and gazing down at the frothy liquid for a long moment. "But you haven't heard from him in ages. Would he really cut himself off from the world, like that?"
Hermione sighed, raising the mug to her lips and sipping from it, not caring if it burnt her tongue. "No, he wouldn't. But he wasn't necessarily acting like himself before he left either. So it doesn't surprise me."
"Harry's never acted like himself. He's never had a self to act like."
Hermione rose an eyebrow as she set her coffee mug down. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The red-haired girl bit her lip in thought for a moment, looking out the window at the dark night just outside. "It means…well…it means that Harry's never been able to be himself. Ever since he lived with the Dursleys. Back then, they hated anything he did, so he tried to disappear. At Hogwarts, everyone worshipped him, so he was trying to impress everyone, to always do the right thing. To be who everyone thought he was. And then, after Hogwarts…I don't know. He got lost, I think. Didn't you ever notice how introverted he became that first summer?"
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, staring down into the contents of her mug as the cream swirled relentlessly.
"I think he forgot why he was here. His life has always been about Voldemort, hasn't it? And now Voldemort's gone. Dead. His one constant in life is dead. I can only imagine the turmoil that must cause – I mean, what's his purpose now? What's he to do, the world's greatest wizard? The Boy Who Lived to Win, now the Boy Without a Job?"
Hermione lifted her gaze as Ginny finished, her face transparent as she finally let her worst fears loose. "You don't think he….Fred…?"
Ginny studied her for a moment, confused. "You mean, do I think he made like Fred and killed himself?"
Hermione nodded.
The younger girl bit her lip in thought and looked away. When she finally looked back at Hermione, her chin was set in determination. "No. He didn't. Harry's too strong-willed to do something like that. He's even more stubborn than Fred."
"But…"
"I know what I said. But I don't think that would be enough cause for him to kill himself. Harry would only let himself die if it would help others, if it would stop danger. But that cause hasn't arisen yet. So I wonder where he is."
Hermione sighed, tilting her coffee mug upwards and draining the last of the hot liquid. She set the mug down with a bang and scooted her chair back, scraping it against the floor. "Oh, Ginny, I hate to leave you like this. Will Charlie be all right?"
Ginny shrugged. "He was expecting it, too. I imagine he'll be distraught, but he'll recover. We still have each other, after all. And Ron won't find out for another week, not till he gets home from Austria. I imagine he'll be the worst, but Charlie and I will be okay then, so we can help him. Don't worry about us, Hermione. We'll survive."
If you're lucky
, Hermione couldn't help thinking. But she blinked and nodded, moving across the room to embrace Ginny in a tight hug. "You're the closest thing I ever had to a sister, Ginny. I wish you were. But I'll always think of you as one."Ginny offered her a watery smile as she pulled away. "Same to you. You better get going, I imagine you have a dozen more stops to make before calling it a day."
Hermione nodded and ducked her head shyly as she bustled down the dark hallway to the entryway. "Accio cloak," she muttered, and her cloak flew from the coat rack, settling itself on her shoulders. She pulled the cords tight, tying them in a double knot around her neck. She glanced back down the hallway to see Ginny still sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded in the halo of light that the kitchen fire gave off. She sighed, grabbing her broomstick from its spot beside the doorway, and opened the door.
Relieved to see that the rain had slowed, she closed the door behind her, and set off for her next destination.
"Harry, you've been assigned to a new case."
Harry's emerald eyes lifted anxiously, hoping for the best. "Fred's all right, then?" he questioned.
Zeusia turned to look at him then, her expression completely devoid of emotion. "No. Dead."
Harry blinked then, his limbs going numb. He wanted to ask why, how; he wanted to beg her to tell him that it wasn't true – no…that wasn't it. He wanted to scream. But his throat was numb and his lips were glued shut. Forcing back his rising rage, he swallowed thickly and nodded.
Zeusia furrowed an eyebrow, peering down at the twenty-something sitting before her desk. "You're learning. I'm proud."
Harry looked away, finally finding his voice. "I'm not learning anything. I'm just getting better at hiding."
"Exactly. You're learning."
He sighed, sinking lower in his chair. Zeusia was always full of one riddle or another, but this one scared him. This one confirmed his worst fears – they were trying to toughen him up, to ready him for any tragedy that could possibly be flung his way. People were going to die…that he knew. Fred wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last.
"Don't worry, it wasn't your fault. He killed himself this time."
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, but his dread didn't go away. Fred was the first suicide – that, he had to admit. He leaned his head back on the chair, closing his eyes as he let out a slow and deliberate breath. Mentally, he ticked off the names in his head…
Percy
. Freak broomstick accident. Harry was suspicious of fraud, though. No one else believed it.Mr. and Mrs. Weasley
. Killed at Fred and George's graduation. Forty students had lost their families that day. Voldemort had made his final blow, crumbling sections of Hogwarts and wreaking havoc wherever he felt like it. Enraged, Harry had set out to find him, to seek revenge. He hadn't succeeded that year. It took him a year to avenge their deaths. But in that year…Bill.
Killed by Death Eaters when they broke into Gringott's. Harry had yet to understand the details of this one, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to know.Lavender
. She had been at the graduation the year that Voldemort attacked. He wasn't quite sure why, but thought it had something to do with a summer internship with Professor Trelawney.And, he thought he felt that all-too-familiar twist in his stomach, Cho. It was too painful to remember her death.
And now Fred.
" – You'll have to adjust to your living conditions, of course, but I imagine you've gotten better at that in the past few years," he heard Zeusia say.
He lifted his head groggily, squinting at her. "What was that?"
Zeusia cast him a ruthless glare. "Weren't you listening?"
He sighed, taking his glasses off to rub the lenses clean. "No, I wasn't. Too busy mulling over the sudden death of a good friend, that's all," he retorted.
Zeusia stood up, slapping the manila folder she was holding to her desk, and crossed to the window that overlooked London, the stars prominent over the artificial city lights below. "This isn't the time for pity, Potter. Plenty of people in this organization have lost everything they ever had, and never once complained. You have no place to expect pity from me, or the rest of your co-Belligerents. All I'm asking is for you to set aside personal issues and focus on the task at hand. This isn't pre-school anymore, Potter."
Harry bit his lip and looked away, glasses now settled back on his nose. A chunk of dark hair fell into his eyes, but he made no move to swipe it away. "I know it isn't," he answered.
"So stop expecting me to go easy on you. You've always been the best, I know. But you aren't, here. You're still new, you're still good, but you're not the best. This new assignment will be a challenge for you."
Harry glared at Zeusia's back for a moment, but the anger he felt quickly passed and he gazed down at his lap disinterestedly. "So what's the assignment?" he asked.
She crossed back to her desk, picking up the manila folder. Extending her arm, she held it out to him as she sat down. He took it, but did not bother to open it.
"A new rebel organization was formed a few years back, but it comes from a different angle than the Belligerents do. It's based on restoring the resources we have and counseling the wizards we need. Your friend, Hermione Granger, was drafted into it a few years back. You might be familiar with it because of her, but I don't doubt that she was sworn to secrecy."
He nodded. He had remembered Hermione speaking of it more than once at dinnertime. But she had never named it.
"It's called WAR. Wizards Aiding Rebels. A sort of ironic name, but I digress. Anyhow…I need you to become our inside member."
Harry rose an eyebrow. "Not spying, I hope."
Zeusia offered him a weak smile. "No, not spying. We just need a Belligerent employed in their organization to keep tabs on them. They've managed to escape any Ministry guidelines, and they're quite unorthodox. We highly doubt that they'd ever be tempted to the Dark Arts – that is what they're fighting against, after all. But we sometimes wonder how they get involved in certain situations."
"Certain situations?" he asked. Hermione had never mentioned this juicy little detail…
Zeusia nodded. "They'll show up at most inconvenient times – in places that they weren't even supposed to be aware of or alerted to. Their leader is nameless – he or she prefers anonymity. We do know that Sirius Black is involved with them, and that you're well-acquainted with him, no? So between him and Hermione, you should fit in rather well, making you our best candidate. Do you accept?"
Harry sighed, rolling his eyes at her formalities. It was standard issue to always request an assignment from a Belligerent, not order it. But Zeusia may as well been threatening to curse him, if he said no, for all of her asking. He nodded curtly.
"Good. I'll expect you here, tomorrow morning, 0700. Pack light. We've rented you a house near their headquarters and stocked it with any supplies you might need."
Harry nodded again and got up to leave, tucking the manila folder under his robes. As he approached the door, Zeusia called out to him. He stopped, turning to look at her.
And for once, Zeusia's face was not devoid of emotion – she almost wore a soft, motherly expression. Licking her lips as though about to say something, she looked away from him and remained silent.
The silent communication was enough. He smiled slightly and turned the doorknob. "Thanks, Zeusia," he said quietly, and ducked out the door before she had the chance to ask him what he was talking about. But they both knew perfectly well that she was capable of feelings. Her barriers were thicker than blood, but she could always break them when someone needed her to. And Harry had needed her to.
Hermione tossed her cloak onto her couch, groaning as she felt the warmth returning to her fingertips. Flicking her wand with one hand, she lit the candles that stood beside her door and crossed the living room into her kitchen, striding immediately to the stove. Drawing a teapot out of a cabinet, she filled it with water and set it on the stove, turning it on high. Leaving her wand lying on the counter, she collapsed onto one of the stools and buried her head in her arms.
Twelve stops in one night. This was getting to be too much. She closed her eyes and finally let her shoulders relax, tensed from the stress of the day's events. First Fred, and then the ghastly sights that always met her at the camps…
She hated the camps. Full of filth, disease, hunger, crying babies, depression, and desolation, they did nothing to help the refugees that took shelter in them. She always shuddered at the thought of how many people would be cramped into the next tent, how many deaths their young eyes had already seen…
But the camps were where she was needed most, and she couldn't run away from them, no matter how uneasy they made her. She had to remind the refugees that there was a chance, that people were fighting…that people weren't giving up, that there was still hope.
Was there still hope?
Voldemort had died five years ago. Harry had been freed from the scar's pain. The scar was almost gone now, just a thin line on his pale skin. But the pain of Voldemort's reign was far from gone. Families were still torn from their losses and Death Eaters still roamed about the country, free as could be. There was always the imminent danger. And there was always the war.
The Hogwarts War, they called it. The war that had been conspiring for a thousand years and was not about to end, anytime soon. The division of Gryffindor and Slytherin. The limbo of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The refugees that were caught in the middle.
Shuddering against the counter, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, to keep the tears from escaping. She didn't want to think about it. It had been five long years. She hadn't thought about it in those five years, so why start now?
Because your missing best friend is the only hope for victory,
she heard a voice in her mind whisper.She growled in the back of her throat, threatening the voice to speak louder – to let her mull over the desperate conditions that the Light Arts faced. But it disappeared, only to be replaced by the shrill whistle of the teapot.
She leapt up in fright, knocking her stool over. Rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, she bent over to pick up the stool, setting it upright before going to grab the pot and pour some of the boiling water into a teacup. Setting the pot back on the stove, she turned off the stove and reached for a teabag in the cabinet over her head. Dunking it into the heated water, she set the cup onto the counter and settled back on her stool.
She could have gone through the entire process much less painfully with the aid of her wand, but she had been unable to escape some of her old Muggle habits. Food, tea, and coffee all tasted better when made the Muggle way, she had always thought. Conjured food just didn't have the right flavor. Harry had always teased her about her taste in food, but his mind had changed quickly when she made him and Ron a complete four-course meal from scratch…
Sighing, she dropped her head into her arms again, and closed her eyes. There was no teapot to awaken her from her thoughts this time.