Cicatrix (1/?)
A/N: This first chapter isn't quite as dark as it WILL eventually get, but I'm just now getting into it, so hold tight.
****
Hermione jolted awake, her eyes snapping open and focusing immediately on the crack running the length of the ceiling above her head. She felt as if a weight had settled on her chest, crushing her lungs. The smell of smoke lingered in her nostrils as she breathed in. She fought the sudden urge to claw her way out of the blankets, to get away from the crush of emotion rising in her body.
"You're awake," Ron said simply as she sat up, swallowing hard. He was standing by the window, one long arm resting on the window frame, face bathed in ghostly daylight. Rain tickled the glass, the soft plink-plink of it hitting consuming the sound of her panicked breathing. Ron tilted his face in her direction, his eyes dead, mouth set in a grim line. "You drugged me."
"I drugged myself too. Neither of us were going to sleep after..." she trailed off and squeezed her eyes shut, summoning her strength. "We needed the sleep. We have a lot to do."
"I didn't dream," Ron said heavily.
"It was a potion for dreamless sleep--"
"I wanted to dream, Hermione," he interrupted her, turning back to the window and resting his forehead on the cold, fogged glass. His feathery red hair clung to the wet glass, hiding his face from her view. "I wanted--"
He made a choking noise and gripped the window frame so hard the wood made an ominous creaking sound. Hermione slipped from the bed, a chill draft curling around her bare legs. She touched Ron's shoulder, sliding her hands up his neck. He turned to her without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her tight with his lean chest. Hermione closed her eyes and sank against him, leeching the warmth from his body.
She was exhausted, dreamless sleep or no. Her body was sore, fingernails split, and hands cut from digging through the rubble of Grimmauld Place. Her thoughts were racing and she couldn't seem to control them.
Harry was dead.
She didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was all there, the hard facts of the situation undeniable and inescapable. She wished, not for the first time, that she could ignore reason and go with her instincts. Her instincts told her that Harry was alive--he'd always managed to scrape through and survive before. She'd come to count on that. No matter what, Harry always came home, beaten and bruised but alive.
It hardly seemed possible that his luck had finally run out.
There was a hard tap on the fogged window, calling her attention away from Ron's bare chest, where she spied the dark shape of a flapping barn owl outside. Ron let go of her as she threw up the sash, allowing the owl to swoop in and make a small circle of the room before fluttering down beside her on the windowsill. A letter was tied to his leg and as Hermione went to take it, the bird gave a small, feeble hoot and ruffled its wet feathers.
"Ron, get some water and some Owl Treats..." she commanded absently, wanting to read the letter before Ron could get a chance. She had a feeling she knew what was in it and she needed a moment to formulate a plan of action and possibly intercept Ron before did something stupid.
Ron sighed and left the room as she tore the letter open, unrolling it and scanning the short lines. She recognized the handwriting and the seal immediately. It was from the Minister of Magic himself, but despite that, she wasn't comforted by the words inside. She closed her eyes again, asking for yet more strength. She was going to need it.
"You might as well tell me what it says, Hermione. I'm not going to do anything stupid," Ron said from the doorway, popping some Owl Treats and a small dish of water onto the windowsill for the Minister's barn owl, which immediately slurped a mouthful of water and then tore into an Owl Treat with relish.
Hermione reluctantly turned to Ron and handed him the letter. He scanned it and then lifted his chin. "Dad doesn't know where she is? And she never arrived in Dublin? Well, that's ever so much help, isn't it?" His voice was acidic and thick with anger.
"Ron, they're trying. Ginny has to be somewhere--she wouldn't just disappear!"
"She is somewhere, Hermione. The Death Eaters have her and they've tortured her and killed her to get Harry's location. There is no other way that they could know where he was. You know it, I know it," Ron said through his teeth, tossing the letter down on the bureau and sinking onto the bed. "My sister and my best friend are dead."
"You don't know that. Ginny could still be alive..."
"There is no way Ginny would have given up Harry's location without them torturing her first. If she isn't dead, she's better off that way," Ron said in a soft, strangled voice, burying his face in his hands. "If she's still alive I'm going to find out where she is and if she's not, then I'm going to kill every last one of those bastards who did it."
Hermione flinched away from the raw anger and despair in his voice. Anger welled in her chest and she didn't even pretend to fight it down. "Of course you are, Ron. And I'm going to help you."
Ron looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. Apprehension flickered across his face. "I--"
He was cut off as another owl swooped into the room, knocking the water dish from the sill and making the other owl squawk and flutter up to the top of their wardrobe. The owl landed on Ron's leg and stuck out her leg. He snatched the letter free and the bird took off through the open window once more. Ron ripped it open and read it aloud.
"'Dearest Ronald and Hermione, don't bother looking in the Daily Prophet for news. We're keeping it quiet over here, at the request of the Ministry. It will cause widespread panic if the wizarding world finds out that Harry is dead. I can't tell you enough how sorry I am for his loss. I am also aware that Ginny is missing. That, we are reporting and I'm hoping that by spreading the news of her disappearance, our readers will recognize her and send us information should they spot her. I don't know what to say to either of you. It seems condolences are not enough. I'll just say that I'm here for you should you need me and you have the full backing of the Daily Prophet in whatever you do. Don't bother writing back. Just know that my thoughts are with you. Love, Luna.'"
Ron crumpled the letter and Hermione took a deep breath. "That was nice of her. Luna was always a good friend."
Ron just nodded his head and tossed the letter onto the floor. He studied his bare feet for a moment and then spoke up. "We have to start now, Hermione. We've waited long enough and the trail is just going to get colder the longer we wait. We need to find Ginny now."
"I know," Hermione said, gathering her hair into a bun and reaching for her robes. She pulled them on as quickly as she could, trying not to think about much of anything.
"Why did she insist on being his Secret-Keeper? Why did we let her do it?" Ron asked suddenly, making Hermione stop and turn to look at him again. "She couldn't have known how dangerous it was..."
"Of course she knew, Ron. Ginny wasn't--isn't--stupid. She wanted to do it because she loved Harry. It made her so happy..."
"And it got her killed. Harry let her do it and it got her killed!"
"Don't blame Harry for this, Ron! Don't you dare!" Hermione said in a sharp voice as Ron stood up once more. Her eyes flashed as he glared at her. "Don't...just don't..."
"I could have stopped them both and I didn't. I knew it was stupid--who would be the most obvious person? Her!" Ron tugged at his hair, fisting his hands and pulling his scalp tight. "Of course they went after her...even if they didn't know she was his Secret-Keeper, they still would have gone after her because Harry loved her!"
"Are you blaming him for loving her?"
Ron's expression flickered, pain evident in the stormy brown of his eyes. "Maybe I am, Hermione. Maybe I am."
****
The wounds on his legs were hot and itchy, the torn cloth of his trousers sticking to skin, pulling and twisting with every painful breath he took. His broken ribs caused lances of fire to sear through his middle. His hands were numb and his fingers felt thick. The rubbing of the ropes around his raw wrists was a minor irritation now.
He wanted something to drink--his mouth was warm and dry and his lips were so cracked the air flowing over them was painful. He felt hot and cold at the same time and his neck hurt. He wished he could lie down, or at least pop his shoulder back into place to ease the steady ache it was causing.
The room was still blurry and by then he'd figured that his glasses were long gone. His mind stuttered in small circles over and over again. He was going to die there. He knew this, felt it in his gut.
He just wished death would move a bit faster. He was so damned tired of waiting.
He didn't know how long he'd been in there, tied to that chair. There were no windows to show the passing of time and even if there were, he would have no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious. His head drooped onto his chest, pain racing up and down his body from a combination of hurts; his broken ribs battling with his dislocated shoulder.
A small click and the light step of hard-soled shoes on wood made him snap back to attention. Immediately he peered into the dusty air, searching for movement among the blurred half-shadows and dark humps around him. A shadow in the shape of a woman separated itself from the others and walked deliberately forward, stopping to crouch in front of him.
He knew this face, this heavy-lidded, dangerously beautiful face. Her thin lips curved into a wicked sickle grin as she leant forward, coming sharply into focus and making him recoil in his chair. His shoulder screamed, but he made no sound as he glared at Bellatrix Lestrange.
"The little baby woke up, eh?" she said in her horrible mock-baby voice, dead eyes flashing. "Fort you were dead, Potter."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry managed to rasp through his dry throat. His body gave an involuntary shudder, muscles seizing up, head pounding. The pain in his scar intensified, causing fresh tears to spring to his eyes. He fought the pain down and glared at her.
"Always a stubborn little, hero, aren't you Potter?" she asked quietly, lifting a hand to trace the jagged red stain of his scar. At her touch, the pain intensified threefold and it took everything in him not to cry out against it. She withdrew her hand and pulled her wand from the folds of her black robes, pointing it straight at him. "Now that you're awake and not dead, we're going to have a little fun."
"Are we? Would Voldemort like that, you think?"
"He wants you broken, Potter. Broken and brought down like the sniveling dog you are before he kills you."
"And where is he now?"
"Never you mind, Potter. The Dark Lord will come for you in the end--he knows what the Prophecy said now and he knows, he knows you aren't strong enough to kill him this time. He's going to win." He didn't respond, even though fear was growing in his gut. He knew then that his scar was burning so much because of where he was.
Voldemort knew he'd been captured, finally captured by his most loyal Death Eater and he was beyond pleased. One thought, one he'd been trying to force down since he'd woken up, came to the front of his mind once more. Pain and worry flickered in his eyes as he tried not to meet Bellatrix's hooded gaze.
What had happened to Ginny?
He was afraid to ask; afraid he knew the answer already, afraid of a million things that had nothing to do with himself and his situation. Bellatrix saw the fear in his eyes and her sharp smile widened.
"You're wondering how I knew where you were, aren't you?" Harry just glared. She was just playing with him, baiting him. They both knew the only way she could have found out where he'd been was if--
But Harry didn't want to hear it. He wanted to die before he heard the thing he was most afraid of.
"She told me, Potter. She told me where you were, spilled all your little secrets," Bellatrix said. Harry shook on his chair, more than just muscle strain making him do so. His heart felt like it were going to burst like his head. His scar burned anew; sweat pouring down his too-hot, too-cold face.
"She loved you, Potter."
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?" Harry burst out, unable to keep it inside any longer. Bellatrix laughed, a cold, high-pitched laugh that drained the marrow from his bones.
"I didn't do anything to her, Potter," she said. "But you might want to ask yourself whether or not you made the right person your Secret-Keeper. She seemed to be so...willing to spill your location, after all. Why did you choose her again?"
Harry felt the first stirrings of suspicion at her words. Was she insinuating what he thought she was?
"What are you saying, Lestrange?" he croaked, fear colliding with his anger.
Bellatrix shrugged, an innocent, unknowing look on her face. "Love is a terrible thing, Potter. Betrayal is even worse." Before he could fully process her words, she lifted her wand, pointing it straight at his face. "iCrucio!/i"
Harry's thoughts were lost as his scar, his bones, his flesh burned. He cried out despite himself, stomach muscles tightening as his nerves burned and twisted inside his skin. Pain so sharp and hard and terrible crept through his body, sending him spiraling back into the blackness he'd only just escaped, the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter his only companion.
****
Ten Months Earlier
High summer at Grimmauld Place was a sticky, stuffy affair. The ancient house suffered under the weight of the sun and only a strong draught of Molly Weasley's Cooling Concoction was enough to make it bearable. Even then, sweat covered his body, making his t-shirt cling uncomfortably to his back.
Across from him, Ron was picking at the remains of his Cornish hen, the healing cut over his eye thrown into stark relief by the flickering fire of the candles on the table. He'd only just got out of St. Mungo's that morning, having been seriously injured in another raid on a suspected Death Eater camp two weeks ago. Two Aurors had been killed in the raid and Ron had only got out there alive because Hermione and Harry had showed up just in time with reinforcements.
Hermione had ended up on the business end of a rather nasty curse tossed at her by Antonin Dolohov, who had got away yet again. It seemed he had a sort of a grudge against Hermione, though no one was quite sure why. This was the fifth time he'd hit her with a successful curse. Dolohov's obsession with her had (not unexpectedly) been a source of constant worry for Ron, who was sure that one day Dolohov would stop playing with her and kill her for real. Hermione had just waved him away, wincing in pain. She could handle herself, as they all knew well, but the situation wasn't something they could easily dismiss.
Hermione was still on liquid foods, but the soup before her remained largely untouched. A large bottle of St. Ankie's Medicinal Miracle (for the fighting of infections and the healing of internal injuries) was sitting next to her hand and she took a drink from it at regular five-minute intervals. Her face was pale, but she was smiling despite that. Ron reached across her and seized her cold soup, drawing it in front of himself and ladling it into his mouth.
"What?" he asked, looking up at her as she made a clucking noise in her throat.
"You could at least ask if I was done."
"You haven't touched it in ten minutes!" Ron protested, slurping the soup from his spoon with relish.
"That's not the point Ron..."
At that point, Harry tuned them both out, knowing an argument was on its way and sure enough, their voices got louder. Harry glanced at Ginny, watching as she took a sip of champagne and then turned to meet his eye. Her long red hair was unbound and fluttering in the summer breeze flowing in from the open window. His own hair was mussed and tossed over his scarred forehead, one long, coal black strand snagged on his round glasses. She smiled at him unexpectedly and he immediately clasped her hand under the table, squeezing her fingers tight in his own.
"Are you okay?" she asked, barely moving her lips.
He nodded, tossing his unruly hair out his face and glancing at the couple across from them. Ron had plunked down the spoon and there was soup on the tablecloth. He was now shouting about something completely unrelated to his theft of Hermione's soup.
"Keep talking like that, Hermione! Next time you won't be so lucky and Dolohov's going stop playing with you! Why does he have a grudge against you anyway?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Ron, but I've told you a thousand times not to worry about it. He's my problem, not yours!"
"He is so my problem! What if he kills you?"
"I hardly think that's going to happen--"
"You what? Look what he did to you this time! He could have just as easily killed you as cursed you, you know! Why am I the only one concerned here?" Ron said as he turned on Harry and Ginny sitting across from him. "Can you believe her?"
"Uh...well..." Harry started, unsure how to respond. Ron seemed to think his response was sufficient and turned back to harassing Hermione.
Ginny leaned across the arm of her chair toward Harry, her smile slipping away. "We're going to have to intercept him if we want to get to it tonight. You know how he is."
Harry nodded his head and took a deep breath, green gaze flicking to Hermione and back again. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"YES," Ginny said in a steely voice that brooked no arguments. Harry studied her face for a moment, biting down on his lip. He was unsure himself, despite the resolve in her eyes. Nodding his head again, he cleared his throat, breaking in before Ron could start off on another tangent.
"Mate, I'd hate to interrupt here, but...its time." He turned to Hermione, who was looking down at her hands. "Are you sure you're up to this, Hermione? We could wait..."
Hermione looked up and met Harry's eye. "No. I'm ready. This needs to be done." Ron made a sound of protest and Hermione turned to him with a glare in her eyes. "What now?"
"I don't think we should do this," he said steadily, not looking at either Harry or Ginny. "You know as well as I do that this will put Ginny in danger and I don't want--"
"I'm in danger anyway, Ron," Ginny said clearly, her chin set as she glared at her older brother. "If we do this then at least I'll know that Harry is safe."
"But you won't be! Every Death Eater will be looking for Harry's Secret-Keeper and you're going to be the most obvious target. Its not exactly a secret that you're both...close. Make me his Secret-Keeper instead."
Ginny made a small noise of impatience. "Ron, how thick are you? Everyone knows that you're his best mate, Hermione too! And you're both in danger everyday. It's much more likely that you'll be caught than I will. I'm never in danger unless I'm with one of you three!"
"That doesn't matter! Your relationship with Harry is going to get out sooner or later and they'll come for you anyway just because of that. They'll hurt him any way they can. I don't want you to do this," Ron said in a decisive tone.
"That's the problem, Ron. It's not up to you. This is between Harry and I and he wants me to do it too. Don't you, Harry?" Ginny said, turning her attention back on him. He was once again caught in the warm brown of her eyes, a lump rising in his throat. "Harry?"
"Ginny...maybe Ron's right. Maybe you shouldn't do this. We could get one of the Order...or maybe your dad..."
"No!" Ginny said sharply, pushing her chair away from the table and upsetting her glass of champagne, which tottered to the floor with a splash and a crash. "We can't trust anyone in the Order--not really. It has to be one of us, someone we know isn't a spy and would never turn on us."
Hermione said in a soft voice, "Harry's parents thought Pettigrew was trustworthy and look how that turned out."
"Are you saying one of us would betray each other?" Ginny asked sharply, glaring down at the older girl, her eyes blazing.
Hermione met her gaze and sighed softly. "Of course not, Ginny. I don't think anyone here would be a spy, not ever. I'm just trying to look at both sides of the situation. We all agree that things are getting too dangerous and that he does need a Secret-Keeper. If Dumbledore were still alive then there would be no doubt that we'd use him, but as that isn't the case..."
"Get to the point, Hermione," Ginny said sullenly, pacing the room, sweat beading her upper lip. "Are you saying that you don't want me to do this either?"
"No, not precisely. The fact is, whoever his Secret-Keeper is will be in danger, no matter what. Are you truly sure you're ready to face the consequences of this, Ginny? Do you love him enough to risk your life for him?"
Harry watched the three of them, feeling as if they were talking about him like he wasn't there. A knot of worry had formed in his stomach and was now working its way toward the lump in his throat. He spoke up, not looking at Ginny, his heart aching. "Ron's already said it. She's risking her life by being with me in the first place. Hell, being my friend is a dangerous thing. I get people killed when they get too close to me..."
A small sob escaped Ginny's throat and he lowered his gaze, staring at a healed scar on his hands, a remnant of the night Dumbledore had died. The air was suddenly not just hot, but suffocating too.
Hermione was the first to speak. "No you don't, Harry. You know that's not true..."
"Do I, Hermione? My parents, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, and Neville--tell me I'm imagining it! I dare you."
Everyone flinched at the sound of Neville's name. The wounds of his death were still fresh and they throbbed painfully. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it closed once more, unease in her eyes. Ron's hand touched her shoulder and she lifted her own to cover it.
Harry stood, looking down at them both. "I can't do this right now."
And with that, he turned on his heel and marched past Ginny, hitting the stairs at a run. The door to his room flew open as he pointed his wand at it and he sprinted inside, his heart hammering in chest. He waved his wand over his shoulder for the door to slam shut behind him, but the sound of it hitting the jam never came.
He whirled around and found Ginny standing there with a stony expression on her freckled, slightly sunburned face.
"What in hell do you think you're doing?" she asked him in a cold voice, stepping into the room and closing the door with a slam that made the house rattle around them. "You promised you weren't going to do this anymore."
"Do what?"
"Blame yourself for every fucking thing that's ever happened in this war!"
"How can I not?" he said, pacing across the room to stand against the wall, his eyes closed so that he didn't have to look at her. He didn't think he could handle looking at her at that moment. His heart was aching horribly, his stomach in knots.
"Because you know it's not your fault--its You-Know-Who's! He did it all, Harry!"
"Voldemort did it trying to get to me! That's why they're all dead!" Harry said with a note of rising anger in his voice. He'd heard this argument from her many times before and didn't think he could handle it just now. He wanted her to go away and leave her alone. Whenever she was near him, he felt weaker somehow, not in control of himself or his emotions.
He loved her so much it hurt sometimes and he knew she felt the same.
"Harry, I could argue with you about this for the rest of your life. I'm not going to try to convince you that it's not your fault though. You obviously won't listen to me," Ginny said, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He looked down at her, seeing the fire in her brown eyes and the anger written plainly on her features.
"I do listen to you, Ginny. But I can't change the facts. Being with me is dangerous. I'm scared of what might happen to you."
"We've gone over this--I'm not scared. I want to be your Secret-Keeper. Can you trust me?" Her eyes went soft, tears welling, blurring the brown of her eyes. Harry touched her face and smiled sadly.
"Of course I can. I love you and I trust you," Harry said, bending to kiss her, claiming her mouth as her arms went around his neck. A smile of satisfaction was on her lips as he pulled away and something else.
Something glinted in her eyes, something he could never name.
(end chapter)
****
A/N: This first chapter isn't quite as dark as it WILL eventually get, but I'm just now getting into it, so hold tight.
****
Hermione jolted awake, her eyes snapping open and focusing immediately on the crack running the length of the ceiling above her head. She felt as if a weight had settled on her chest, crushing her lungs. The smell of smoke lingered in her nostrils as she breathed in. She fought the sudden urge to claw her way out of the blankets, to get away from the crush of emotion rising in her body.
"You're awake," Ron said simply as she sat up, swallowing hard. He was standing by the window, one long arm resting on the window frame, face bathed in ghostly daylight. Rain tickled the glass, the soft plink-plink of it hitting consuming the sound of her panicked breathing. Ron tilted his face in her direction, his eyes dead, mouth set in a grim line. "You drugged me."
"I drugged myself too. Neither of us were going to sleep after..." she trailed off and squeezed her eyes shut, summoning her strength. "We needed the sleep. We have a lot to do."
"I didn't dream," Ron said heavily.
"It was a potion for dreamless sleep--"
"I wanted to dream, Hermione," he interrupted her, turning back to the window and resting his forehead on the cold, fogged glass. His feathery red hair clung to the wet glass, hiding his face from her view. "I wanted--"
He made a choking noise and gripped the window frame so hard the wood made an ominous creaking sound. Hermione slipped from the bed, a chill draft curling around her bare legs. She touched Ron's shoulder, sliding her hands up his neck. He turned to her without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her tight with his lean chest. Hermione closed her eyes and sank against him, leeching the warmth from his body.
She was exhausted, dreamless sleep or no. Her body was sore, fingernails split, and hands cut from digging through the rubble of Grimmauld Place. Her thoughts were racing and she couldn't seem to control them.
Harry was dead.
She didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was all there, the hard facts of the situation undeniable and inescapable. She wished, not for the first time, that she could ignore reason and go with her instincts. Her instincts told her that Harry was alive--he'd always managed to scrape through and survive before. She'd come to count on that. No matter what, Harry always came home, beaten and bruised but alive.
It hardly seemed possible that his luck had finally run out.
There was a hard tap on the fogged window, calling her attention away from Ron's bare chest, where she spied the dark shape of a flapping barn owl outside. Ron let go of her as she threw up the sash, allowing the owl to swoop in and make a small circle of the room before fluttering down beside her on the windowsill. A letter was tied to his leg and as Hermione went to take it, the bird gave a small, feeble hoot and ruffled its wet feathers.
"Ron, get some water and some Owl Treats..." she commanded absently, wanting to read the letter before Ron could get a chance. She had a feeling she knew what was in it and she needed a moment to formulate a plan of action and possibly intercept Ron before did something stupid.
Ron sighed and left the room as she tore the letter open, unrolling it and scanning the short lines. She recognized the handwriting and the seal immediately. It was from the Minister of Magic himself, but despite that, she wasn't comforted by the words inside. She closed her eyes again, asking for yet more strength. She was going to need it.
"You might as well tell me what it says, Hermione. I'm not going to do anything stupid," Ron said from the doorway, popping some Owl Treats and a small dish of water onto the windowsill for the Minister's barn owl, which immediately slurped a mouthful of water and then tore into an Owl Treat with relish.
Hermione reluctantly turned to Ron and handed him the letter. He scanned it and then lifted his chin. "Dad doesn't know where she is? And she never arrived in Dublin? Well, that's ever so much help, isn't it?" His voice was acidic and thick with anger.
"Ron, they're trying. Ginny has to be somewhere--she wouldn't just disappear!"
"She is somewhere, Hermione. The Death Eaters have her and they've tortured her and killed her to get Harry's location. There is no other way that they could know where he was. You know it, I know it," Ron said through his teeth, tossing the letter down on the bureau and sinking onto the bed. "My sister and my best friend are dead."
"You don't know that. Ginny could still be alive..."
"There is no way Ginny would have given up Harry's location without them torturing her first. If she isn't dead, she's better off that way," Ron said in a soft, strangled voice, burying his face in his hands. "If she's still alive I'm going to find out where she is and if she's not, then I'm going to kill every last one of those bastards who did it."
Hermione flinched away from the raw anger and despair in his voice. Anger welled in her chest and she didn't even pretend to fight it down. "Of course you are, Ron. And I'm going to help you."
Ron looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. Apprehension flickered across his face. "I--"
He was cut off as another owl swooped into the room, knocking the water dish from the sill and making the other owl squawk and flutter up to the top of their wardrobe. The owl landed on Ron's leg and stuck out her leg. He snatched the letter free and the bird took off through the open window once more. Ron ripped it open and read it aloud.
"'Dearest Ronald and Hermione, don't bother looking in the Daily Prophet for news. We're keeping it quiet over here, at the request of the Ministry. It will cause widespread panic if the wizarding world finds out that Harry is dead. I can't tell you enough how sorry I am for his loss. I am also aware that Ginny is missing. That, we are reporting and I'm hoping that by spreading the news of her disappearance, our readers will recognize her and send us information should they spot her. I don't know what to say to either of you. It seems condolences are not enough. I'll just say that I'm here for you should you need me and you have the full backing of the Daily Prophet in whatever you do. Don't bother writing back. Just know that my thoughts are with you. Love, Luna.'"
Ron crumpled the letter and Hermione took a deep breath. "That was nice of her. Luna was always a good friend."
Ron just nodded his head and tossed the letter onto the floor. He studied his bare feet for a moment and then spoke up. "We have to start now, Hermione. We've waited long enough and the trail is just going to get colder the longer we wait. We need to find Ginny now."
"I know," Hermione said, gathering her hair into a bun and reaching for her robes. She pulled them on as quickly as she could, trying not to think about much of anything.
"Why did she insist on being his Secret-Keeper? Why did we let her do it?" Ron asked suddenly, making Hermione stop and turn to look at him again. "She couldn't have known how dangerous it was..."
"Of course she knew, Ron. Ginny wasn't--isn't--stupid. She wanted to do it because she loved Harry. It made her so happy..."
"And it got her killed. Harry let her do it and it got her killed!"
"Don't blame Harry for this, Ron! Don't you dare!" Hermione said in a sharp voice as Ron stood up once more. Her eyes flashed as he glared at her. "Don't...just don't..."
"I could have stopped them both and I didn't. I knew it was stupid--who would be the most obvious person? Her!" Ron tugged at his hair, fisting his hands and pulling his scalp tight. "Of course they went after her...even if they didn't know she was his Secret-Keeper, they still would have gone after her because Harry loved her!"
"Are you blaming him for loving her?"
Ron's expression flickered, pain evident in the stormy brown of his eyes. "Maybe I am, Hermione. Maybe I am."
****
The wounds on his legs were hot and itchy, the torn cloth of his trousers sticking to skin, pulling and twisting with every painful breath he took. His broken ribs caused lances of fire to sear through his middle. His hands were numb and his fingers felt thick. The rubbing of the ropes around his raw wrists was a minor irritation now.
He wanted something to drink--his mouth was warm and dry and his lips were so cracked the air flowing over them was painful. He felt hot and cold at the same time and his neck hurt. He wished he could lie down, or at least pop his shoulder back into place to ease the steady ache it was causing.
The room was still blurry and by then he'd figured that his glasses were long gone. His mind stuttered in small circles over and over again. He was going to die there. He knew this, felt it in his gut.
He just wished death would move a bit faster. He was so damned tired of waiting.
He didn't know how long he'd been in there, tied to that chair. There were no windows to show the passing of time and even if there were, he would have no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious. His head drooped onto his chest, pain racing up and down his body from a combination of hurts; his broken ribs battling with his dislocated shoulder.
A small click and the light step of hard-soled shoes on wood made him snap back to attention. Immediately he peered into the dusty air, searching for movement among the blurred half-shadows and dark humps around him. A shadow in the shape of a woman separated itself from the others and walked deliberately forward, stopping to crouch in front of him.
He knew this face, this heavy-lidded, dangerously beautiful face. Her thin lips curved into a wicked sickle grin as she leant forward, coming sharply into focus and making him recoil in his chair. His shoulder screamed, but he made no sound as he glared at Bellatrix Lestrange.
"The little baby woke up, eh?" she said in her horrible mock-baby voice, dead eyes flashing. "Fort you were dead, Potter."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Harry managed to rasp through his dry throat. His body gave an involuntary shudder, muscles seizing up, head pounding. The pain in his scar intensified, causing fresh tears to spring to his eyes. He fought the pain down and glared at her.
"Always a stubborn little, hero, aren't you Potter?" she asked quietly, lifting a hand to trace the jagged red stain of his scar. At her touch, the pain intensified threefold and it took everything in him not to cry out against it. She withdrew her hand and pulled her wand from the folds of her black robes, pointing it straight at him. "Now that you're awake and not dead, we're going to have a little fun."
"Are we? Would Voldemort like that, you think?"
"He wants you broken, Potter. Broken and brought down like the sniveling dog you are before he kills you."
"And where is he now?"
"Never you mind, Potter. The Dark Lord will come for you in the end--he knows what the Prophecy said now and he knows, he knows you aren't strong enough to kill him this time. He's going to win." He didn't respond, even though fear was growing in his gut. He knew then that his scar was burning so much because of where he was.
Voldemort knew he'd been captured, finally captured by his most loyal Death Eater and he was beyond pleased. One thought, one he'd been trying to force down since he'd woken up, came to the front of his mind once more. Pain and worry flickered in his eyes as he tried not to meet Bellatrix's hooded gaze.
What had happened to Ginny?
He was afraid to ask; afraid he knew the answer already, afraid of a million things that had nothing to do with himself and his situation. Bellatrix saw the fear in his eyes and her sharp smile widened.
"You're wondering how I knew where you were, aren't you?" Harry just glared. She was just playing with him, baiting him. They both knew the only way she could have found out where he'd been was if--
But Harry didn't want to hear it. He wanted to die before he heard the thing he was most afraid of.
"She told me, Potter. She told me where you were, spilled all your little secrets," Bellatrix said. Harry shook on his chair, more than just muscle strain making him do so. His heart felt like it were going to burst like his head. His scar burned anew; sweat pouring down his too-hot, too-cold face.
"She loved you, Potter."
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?" Harry burst out, unable to keep it inside any longer. Bellatrix laughed, a cold, high-pitched laugh that drained the marrow from his bones.
"I didn't do anything to her, Potter," she said. "But you might want to ask yourself whether or not you made the right person your Secret-Keeper. She seemed to be so...willing to spill your location, after all. Why did you choose her again?"
Harry felt the first stirrings of suspicion at her words. Was she insinuating what he thought she was?
"What are you saying, Lestrange?" he croaked, fear colliding with his anger.
Bellatrix shrugged, an innocent, unknowing look on her face. "Love is a terrible thing, Potter. Betrayal is even worse." Before he could fully process her words, she lifted her wand, pointing it straight at his face. "iCrucio!/i"
Harry's thoughts were lost as his scar, his bones, his flesh burned. He cried out despite himself, stomach muscles tightening as his nerves burned and twisted inside his skin. Pain so sharp and hard and terrible crept through his body, sending him spiraling back into the blackness he'd only just escaped, the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter his only companion.
****
Ten Months Earlier
High summer at Grimmauld Place was a sticky, stuffy affair. The ancient house suffered under the weight of the sun and only a strong draught of Molly Weasley's Cooling Concoction was enough to make it bearable. Even then, sweat covered his body, making his t-shirt cling uncomfortably to his back.
Across from him, Ron was picking at the remains of his Cornish hen, the healing cut over his eye thrown into stark relief by the flickering fire of the candles on the table. He'd only just got out of St. Mungo's that morning, having been seriously injured in another raid on a suspected Death Eater camp two weeks ago. Two Aurors had been killed in the raid and Ron had only got out there alive because Hermione and Harry had showed up just in time with reinforcements.
Hermione had ended up on the business end of a rather nasty curse tossed at her by Antonin Dolohov, who had got away yet again. It seemed he had a sort of a grudge against Hermione, though no one was quite sure why. This was the fifth time he'd hit her with a successful curse. Dolohov's obsession with her had (not unexpectedly) been a source of constant worry for Ron, who was sure that one day Dolohov would stop playing with her and kill her for real. Hermione had just waved him away, wincing in pain. She could handle herself, as they all knew well, but the situation wasn't something they could easily dismiss.
Hermione was still on liquid foods, but the soup before her remained largely untouched. A large bottle of St. Ankie's Medicinal Miracle (for the fighting of infections and the healing of internal injuries) was sitting next to her hand and she took a drink from it at regular five-minute intervals. Her face was pale, but she was smiling despite that. Ron reached across her and seized her cold soup, drawing it in front of himself and ladling it into his mouth.
"What?" he asked, looking up at her as she made a clucking noise in her throat.
"You could at least ask if I was done."
"You haven't touched it in ten minutes!" Ron protested, slurping the soup from his spoon with relish.
"That's not the point Ron..."
At that point, Harry tuned them both out, knowing an argument was on its way and sure enough, their voices got louder. Harry glanced at Ginny, watching as she took a sip of champagne and then turned to meet his eye. Her long red hair was unbound and fluttering in the summer breeze flowing in from the open window. His own hair was mussed and tossed over his scarred forehead, one long, coal black strand snagged on his round glasses. She smiled at him unexpectedly and he immediately clasped her hand under the table, squeezing her fingers tight in his own.
"Are you okay?" she asked, barely moving her lips.
He nodded, tossing his unruly hair out his face and glancing at the couple across from them. Ron had plunked down the spoon and there was soup on the tablecloth. He was now shouting about something completely unrelated to his theft of Hermione's soup.
"Keep talking like that, Hermione! Next time you won't be so lucky and Dolohov's going stop playing with you! Why does he have a grudge against you anyway?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Ron, but I've told you a thousand times not to worry about it. He's my problem, not yours!"
"He is so my problem! What if he kills you?"
"I hardly think that's going to happen--"
"You what? Look what he did to you this time! He could have just as easily killed you as cursed you, you know! Why am I the only one concerned here?" Ron said as he turned on Harry and Ginny sitting across from him. "Can you believe her?"
"Uh...well..." Harry started, unsure how to respond. Ron seemed to think his response was sufficient and turned back to harassing Hermione.
Ginny leaned across the arm of her chair toward Harry, her smile slipping away. "We're going to have to intercept him if we want to get to it tonight. You know how he is."
Harry nodded his head and took a deep breath, green gaze flicking to Hermione and back again. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"YES," Ginny said in a steely voice that brooked no arguments. Harry studied her face for a moment, biting down on his lip. He was unsure himself, despite the resolve in her eyes. Nodding his head again, he cleared his throat, breaking in before Ron could start off on another tangent.
"Mate, I'd hate to interrupt here, but...its time." He turned to Hermione, who was looking down at her hands. "Are you sure you're up to this, Hermione? We could wait..."
Hermione looked up and met Harry's eye. "No. I'm ready. This needs to be done." Ron made a sound of protest and Hermione turned to him with a glare in her eyes. "What now?"
"I don't think we should do this," he said steadily, not looking at either Harry or Ginny. "You know as well as I do that this will put Ginny in danger and I don't want--"
"I'm in danger anyway, Ron," Ginny said clearly, her chin set as she glared at her older brother. "If we do this then at least I'll know that Harry is safe."
"But you won't be! Every Death Eater will be looking for Harry's Secret-Keeper and you're going to be the most obvious target. Its not exactly a secret that you're both...close. Make me his Secret-Keeper instead."
Ginny made a small noise of impatience. "Ron, how thick are you? Everyone knows that you're his best mate, Hermione too! And you're both in danger everyday. It's much more likely that you'll be caught than I will. I'm never in danger unless I'm with one of you three!"
"That doesn't matter! Your relationship with Harry is going to get out sooner or later and they'll come for you anyway just because of that. They'll hurt him any way they can. I don't want you to do this," Ron said in a decisive tone.
"That's the problem, Ron. It's not up to you. This is between Harry and I and he wants me to do it too. Don't you, Harry?" Ginny said, turning her attention back on him. He was once again caught in the warm brown of her eyes, a lump rising in his throat. "Harry?"
"Ginny...maybe Ron's right. Maybe you shouldn't do this. We could get one of the Order...or maybe your dad..."
"No!" Ginny said sharply, pushing her chair away from the table and upsetting her glass of champagne, which tottered to the floor with a splash and a crash. "We can't trust anyone in the Order--not really. It has to be one of us, someone we know isn't a spy and would never turn on us."
Hermione said in a soft voice, "Harry's parents thought Pettigrew was trustworthy and look how that turned out."
"Are you saying one of us would betray each other?" Ginny asked sharply, glaring down at the older girl, her eyes blazing.
Hermione met her gaze and sighed softly. "Of course not, Ginny. I don't think anyone here would be a spy, not ever. I'm just trying to look at both sides of the situation. We all agree that things are getting too dangerous and that he does need a Secret-Keeper. If Dumbledore were still alive then there would be no doubt that we'd use him, but as that isn't the case..."
"Get to the point, Hermione," Ginny said sullenly, pacing the room, sweat beading her upper lip. "Are you saying that you don't want me to do this either?"
"No, not precisely. The fact is, whoever his Secret-Keeper is will be in danger, no matter what. Are you truly sure you're ready to face the consequences of this, Ginny? Do you love him enough to risk your life for him?"
Harry watched the three of them, feeling as if they were talking about him like he wasn't there. A knot of worry had formed in his stomach and was now working its way toward the lump in his throat. He spoke up, not looking at Ginny, his heart aching. "Ron's already said it. She's risking her life by being with me in the first place. Hell, being my friend is a dangerous thing. I get people killed when they get too close to me..."
A small sob escaped Ginny's throat and he lowered his gaze, staring at a healed scar on his hands, a remnant of the night Dumbledore had died. The air was suddenly not just hot, but suffocating too.
Hermione was the first to speak. "No you don't, Harry. You know that's not true..."
"Do I, Hermione? My parents, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, and Neville--tell me I'm imagining it! I dare you."
Everyone flinched at the sound of Neville's name. The wounds of his death were still fresh and they throbbed painfully. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it closed once more, unease in her eyes. Ron's hand touched her shoulder and she lifted her own to cover it.
Harry stood, looking down at them both. "I can't do this right now."
And with that, he turned on his heel and marched past Ginny, hitting the stairs at a run. The door to his room flew open as he pointed his wand at it and he sprinted inside, his heart hammering in chest. He waved his wand over his shoulder for the door to slam shut behind him, but the sound of it hitting the jam never came.
He whirled around and found Ginny standing there with a stony expression on her freckled, slightly sunburned face.
"What in hell do you think you're doing?" she asked him in a cold voice, stepping into the room and closing the door with a slam that made the house rattle around them. "You promised you weren't going to do this anymore."
"Do what?"
"Blame yourself for every fucking thing that's ever happened in this war!"
"How can I not?" he said, pacing across the room to stand against the wall, his eyes closed so that he didn't have to look at her. He didn't think he could handle looking at her at that moment. His heart was aching horribly, his stomach in knots.
"Because you know it's not your fault--its You-Know-Who's! He did it all, Harry!"
"Voldemort did it trying to get to me! That's why they're all dead!" Harry said with a note of rising anger in his voice. He'd heard this argument from her many times before and didn't think he could handle it just now. He wanted her to go away and leave her alone. Whenever she was near him, he felt weaker somehow, not in control of himself or his emotions.
He loved her so much it hurt sometimes and he knew she felt the same.
"Harry, I could argue with you about this for the rest of your life. I'm not going to try to convince you that it's not your fault though. You obviously won't listen to me," Ginny said, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He looked down at her, seeing the fire in her brown eyes and the anger written plainly on her features.
"I do listen to you, Ginny. But I can't change the facts. Being with me is dangerous. I'm scared of what might happen to you."
"We've gone over this--I'm not scared. I want to be your Secret-Keeper. Can you trust me?" Her eyes went soft, tears welling, blurring the brown of her eyes. Harry touched her face and smiled sadly.
"Of course I can. I love you and I trust you," Harry said, bending to kiss her, claiming her mouth as her arms went around his neck. A smile of satisfaction was on her lips as he pulled away and something else.
Something glinted in her eyes, something he could never name.
(end chapter)
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