Chapter 7: Another Day in the Life.
Harry and Ginny bolted into the Burrow, wielding their wands. Harry turned to Ginny as she barred the door. There was panic in his eyes, fear for the lives of his closest friends, fear for the well-being of his adoptive family, and fear for the woman he loved. He wouldn't let it unnerve him, he couldn't. He needed to keep a cool head, but every time he looked at Ginny, flashbacks from the Battle of Hogwarts flooded him. In a desperate gesture, he grabbed her and kissed her one last time.
"Go upstairs, Ginny, get your parents! We can't do this alone; we need their help! Get Ron and Hermione! I'll hold them off!"
He had to shout over the sounds of explosions outside. It sounded like the Death Eaters were setting everything ablaze, breaking through the wards surrounding the house. He realized, as his sense of dread increased, that he had all but echoed his father's final words, the words that were now running through his head against his will.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! I'll hold him off!"
Ginny immediately ran upstairs, calling out for help all the while. Harry unlocked the back door, thankful the Death Eaters were taking their time, savoring the moment. He opened the door and took a deep, calming breath. He counted ten Death Eaters, and likely fifty Dementors. He was right, he couldn't face this alone, but he had to try. He thought of Ginny, of his parents, and of his best friends. He aimed his wand into the dark sky.
"Expecto Patronum!"
As he incanted the charm, the great stag burst through the Elder wand. It cantered into the swarm of Dementors that were closing in on him, threatening to surround him. The Death Eaters charged.
"That's a stag, it's his! I've seen him cast it, myself!"
Harry didn't have time to recognize the familiar, overtly-feminine shout. All he heard was the call to arms, and all he saw was nearly a dozen curses close in on him, some were meant to stun, some were meant to torture, and some, the more sinister, were meant to kill. Harry answered them, and dove aside to avoid the green lightning that had always plagued his worst nightmares. He got back to his feet, prepared to duel. He cast a ward between them, willing it to hold them off long enough.
"Protego Maxima!"
The Death Eaters, it seemed, had come prepared, and they amost immediately blasted through the ward. Harry heard a distant thundering from the top of the stairs as he sent multiple stunners into the barrage of spells flying back and forth, parrying everything he could. He made eye contact with the squat woman and saw red. Dolores Umbridge, a Death Eater, after all she had already done. He cast another Patronus, trying with all his might to battle ten foes, but they were much more of a match. He was being overpowered, and a spell slipped through his defenses, gashing his wand arm deeply. He stumbled to the ground as blood soaked his shoulder, and suddenly the help he needed was right beside him.
"Harry, are you okay?!" Arthur shouted.
"Hold the house! Cast Patronuses! someone go fight from the window in the dining room! Hermione, Ron, go check the front, see if it's clear!"
The Death Eaters pushed forward, trying to fend off the new barrage of spells. Harry felt the Anti-apparition warding take hold over the Burrow as Ron and Hermione darted into the sitting room. He knew they thought they were going to win. He needed to fight. He needed to fight with everything he had. He aimed his wand at Umbridge, who was doing the most damage.
"Stupefy!"
Blocked. . .
"Confringo!"
Blocked. . .
"Sectumsempra!"
Blocked. . .
Harry stepped out of the door, running towards her, distracting the others. He sent another Blasting Charm at her.
"Trying to kill me, Potter? I always knew you were a rotten little shit, you need proper punishing." She giggled.
"Whatever I am, what does that make you?"
"I am justice!"
"I've had enough of your delusional prejudices, Umbridge." Harry spat, quite impatiently.
She screamed again in rage as they began to duel again. Their wands tore through the air with speed and agility, they fought each other, nearly to a stalemate, but Umbridge was slower at closer quarters. Harry saw as Molly blasted Pansy Parkinson off her feet. Then Hermione returned to the fray, coming to duel at her friend's side, with tears in her eyes and blood all over her hands. She started dueling with Rabastan Lestrange, the man that had helped torture the Longbottoms into insanity. Harry was still attempting to overtake Umbridge with all of his might, sending what felt like every spell he had learned at her until, finally and ominously, she collapsed under his stunner.Three were down, he stunned Rodolphus, who had been distracted by the gash that appeared across his brother's chest. Hermione's successive curse hit the man full in the face and he fell.
Harry glanced around, and saw a masked figure who was in an intense battle with Molly, who had stepped out of a hole that had been blasted into the Burrow wall. Their wands twirled and swished through the air, and Molly was gaining the upper ground, forcing him to retreat step by step under her own series of spells, which were bombarding offensively towards the man, but he was just teasing her. Toying with her like a cat playing with its dinner. He laughed as he cast a curse of his own, breaking through Molly's Shield Charm.
It seemed like the whole world stood still, and everyone ceased fire as Molly was blasted off her feet by a well placed spell, she crashed into the wall and fell to the ground, where she remained, quite still. The remaining Death Eaters laughed maniacally as they resumed their duels, fueled by the momentum swinging their way, brimming with a newly found confidence, if only shortly lived. Arthur let out a cry like a wounded animal and bounded out to resume his wife's duel. He was overwhelmed by grief, emotion, and raw, untapped magic. Harry ran to join him, dueling back to back with Arthur, facing a foe of his own, and trying to protect Molly from Corban Yaxley, warding the immediate area surrounding her.
"Trying to protect the blood traitors and mudblood? How very appropriate for an old fool's protégé!" He taunted him, laughing, swatting away Harry's offensive spells. Harry only fought harder, remaining silent, trying to block off his mind.
Light from every different spell was flying in every direction, filling the backyard. He was dueling two at once, and he overcame one, but his relief was short lived as he was put under the Cruciatus by Yaxley. The Death Eater laughed as Harry writhed around on the ground in pain, and he finally lifted the curse. Harry got up weakly, aching and bloody. He looked around. Chaos was raining down on a burning Burrow, the home he had never had. The Dementors had long since been held at bay, and finally retreated. Fear still gripped Harry's heart. Where was Ron? He made eye contact with Yaxley and began, once again, to duel.
"You know, Potter, you make a good challenge. I like that. Avada Kedavra!"
The curse barely missed Harry as he dove aside to evade it. He heard the man Ginny was dueling crumple to the ground and she turned her wand towards Yaxley, hitting him from behind with a stunner of her own, forcing the Death Eaters that remained to retreat. They fled back to the shadows, like cowards, knowing that the battle was lost, but the damge was done. Harry felt numb.
"Ron!" Hermione screamed, bounding into the Burrow. Harry raced in on her heels, nearly petrified. She looked hysterical. They reached the destroyed sitting room where his limp body lied prostrate, and she collapsed next to him; she rolled him over and shook him. "Ron, Wake up!"
"Is he alright, Harry? Tell me he's alright!" Ginny demanded, she was pale and covered in dirt and sweat, trembling head to foot, but thankfully she was unscathed.
"I. . . I don't know. . ." Harry drew his wand. Hermione was simply crying over their best friend.
"Do something!"
He placed his wand to his best friend's warm, bandaged chest. . .
"Renervate!"
Harry began to panic as nothing happened, he began fearing for the worst. He bit his lip, raking his brain for an answer. There had to be a spell, something that could help, anything that was safe to perform, but there was only one thing that he could think of. . . The spell from which the one he had just used had derived from. He placed his wand tip to his best mate's chest again and summoned all of the energy he could muster, willing it into the wand. His wand tip glowed a silvery-blue, and he incanted the spell as the wand emitted a surge of his own power.
"Enervate!"
The spell tore immediately through his system, ripping his own energy away, and he was already exhausted. He heard the distant shout of Arthur, ordering them to St. Mungos, and he heard the slight gasps from Hermione and Ginny, and he passed out, cold and pale. Nothing was real anymore.
* * *
Harry woke up in the hospital two days later, on the tenth of June, the day he had been so anxiously awaiting. He reached for his glasses and looked around. It was late, and the hospital was absolutely packed. The sounds of patients wincing and sobbing in pain filled the atmosphere as countless Healers made their ways around the room, attempting to tend to all of the injured people. There must have been other attacks; no other explaination could suffice. He gingerly pulled himself up, but a Healer pushed him back down.
"Now, Mr. Potter, you need to relax. You'll be okay. Take this potion." The kind faced Healer forced a goblet into his hand. "It will restore you back to full health. The spell you performed on Mr. Weasley was quite dangerous, and took most of your energy."
"Did it work?" He asked groggily before downing his potion.
"Yes, it did, but he still will be here for quite a while. He's on the mend." She declared in a slightly noticable foreign accent.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "And Mrs. Weasley?"
"She is asleep. She only suffered a few broken bones and a mild concussion. Nothing that some Skelegro and a couple pain relieving potions couldn't fix!" The Healer smiled at him and informed him that she would be back with another potion.
He laid on his hospital bed for a moment, taking in his surroundings. A creepy sense of Déjà vu began to overwhelm him. He felt like he was just waking up again, just after the Battle of Hogwarts. He felt the same sense of self-loathing, guilt, and remorse that he felt only a little over a month ago. Everything, it was all his fault. The Weasleys had suffered enough already without him bringing more pain into their house. No, they hardly even had a house anymore, thanks to him. They would be better off without him. He noticed that they had all apparently been to visit, and had left him the newspaper on his bedside table, along with a few boxes of Chocolate Frogs and other sweets. He grabbed the newspaper and began to read, hungrily. He needed answers.
England Under Attack! Death Eaters Look to New Leader!
Where is Kingsley Shacklebolt?
Written by: Rita Skeeter, newly reinstated lead journalist for the Daily Prophet.
Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, 38, is at a loss for words as terror grips the nation, and seems to have lost the old spark he used to have as an Auror. He is currently heading up, or should I say, fumbling through, an investigation into the attacks on Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Ottery St. Catchpole, Godric's Hollow, and Hogsmeade. Attacks that were with no doubt performed by the maniacle extremists toting the moniker of "Death Eaters". Eye witnesses of the attacks tell us that nearly fifty Death Eaters were involved, of which, only nine were captured and are awaiting trial, due in part to the apparent lack of Auror motivation to come to the aid of our citizens. Head Auror Gawain Robards and Lead Auror John Dawlish, in fact, were seen by many to be actively avoiding their duty as responders in such a crisis. By extension, they thereby delayed the departure of the entire Auror Department. When will they learn?
Not only does our Minister not know how to deal with the massive upcoming threat of another allied attack by Dementors and Death Eaters, but he also has no leads on finding the current abode for the Death Eaters, nor has he no leads on the copious amounts of Dark artifacts stolen from Borgin and Burke's, who are both now dead. Murdered mercilessly in their shop. The Death Eaters are now steadfastly rising to more power in the United Kingdom. It truly is a shame to say that this is all going down on Minister Shacklebolt's resume.
Reliable sources from within the Ministry of Magic itself declare in unison that the new, and very temporary, interim Minister of Magic has been shut up in his office all month, avoiding the rest of the Ministry. What are we to make of this, when, in fact, he would rather spend time awarding Orders of Merlin to war survivors and discussing a future at the Ministry with young Harry Potter, 17, than taking care of the wider wizarding world? What good is a Minister who fires most competent employees from previous regimes and ignores potential threats from wanted criminals? It sincerely casts doubt that he is even trying to find them. It is my deepest regret to inform the wizarding world, and our Daily Prophet readers, that Shacklebolt might soon be asked to leave office. I, for one, am calling for his immediate resignation.
For more on Shacklebolt's alleged Ministry interference during the past year, see page 6. For more on Harry Potter, see page 2. For more on the attacks across Britain, continue reading. . .
As Harry threw the paper down in anger, the Healer returned with his potion and informed him that he could leave after drinking it, which he was grateful for. St. Mungo's had always made Harry feel on edge. In retrospect, all hospitals did, as his Uncle Vernon had always threatened him with a week's worth of hard labor and beatings if the nurses found anything suspicious. The Dursleys. His blood boiled just thinking about the lot of them. Dudley, Harry supposed, was a different case now, but his Aunt and Uncle, that wretched old bitch, Marge? Every time they were mentioned his lips contorted into a scowl. After he swallowed his potion, who's foul taste only pronounced his scowl, Harry made his way over to the Intensive Care unit in the Spell Damage ward, brooding already, only to find a severly battered Ron with Hermione, who looked like she hadn't left his side in days. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.
"That's my girlfriend, Harry, remember?" Ron said weakly, trying to smile. "You're dating my little sister." Harry gave a slight smirk and Hermione blushed a brilliant red.
"You had us all in a right state; we thought they had done you in." He said in a soft, shy voice. A voice that, if anything, sounded defeated.
"Naw, they aren't that talented, are they? thanks for saving me." Ron mumbled in a slur, due to a lack of front teeth. He was still practically cross-eyed from the attack.
"Don't worry about it; I was very obligated."
"I'm glad you're awake, Harry, you scared us. That spell, well, it's extremely dangerous, you know that! You read it, Magick Moste Evile. Using one's own energy to restore those effected by Dark Magic, there's a reason it isn't used anymore. Merlin's pants, Harry, Is there anything you need?" Hermione said all of this very quickly. She threw her arms around Harry's neck and buried her face in his chest, crying silently. She was obviously very worried about him.
"Peace and quiet." Harry replied gently. They sat in an awkward silence. Hermione only looked more worried.
"Harry. . . Don't -"
"I need to go." Harry interrupted in that dull, empty voice that seemed to ring in the silence. "Right, I'm going back to the Burrow."
"Harry, wait!"
Harry ignored Hermione's worried voice and merely kept walking, he reached the door and shut it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning for support on the metal frame. It was nearly midnight and he needed to get a move on. He couldn't miss the deadline. He had to become an animagus, sooner rather than later. He made his way down to the lobby and flooed to the Grimmauld Place, landing in the dusty fireplace of the derilect London townhouse. Harry wrinkled his nose, there wasn't anything else for it.
"Kreacher!"
A slight crack announced the now-loyal house elf's arrival. He still wore Regulus' locket proudly, displaying it over his tea towel toga. Harry looked at him solemnly, the elf looked on the verge of tears. Harry stepped out of the fireplace and knelt down beside him, patting him on the shoulder. The elf trembled at his touch, as if expecting to be beaten.
"M-Master called?"
"Yes, Kreacher, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
"Kreacher is bound by law to obey his young Master Harry's commands. . ." He said, looking confused. Kreacher, if anything, wasn't used to this kindness.
"I was wondering if you could go get my things from my room at the Burrow. It's all in a room off of the third floor landing. I need my clothes, my ingredients, my school supplies, books, and my owl."
"Yes, M-Master." Kreacher bowed, and with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.
Harry quickly stood up, brushing himself off, and made his way around the house. He lit the oil lamps that lined the walls with his wand as he examined the old house. Yaxley had really done a number on it, but he was pleased to see that the damage wasn't so bad that it couldn't be fixed. In fact, he was absolutely thrilled when he saw that the portrait of Walburga Black had been burnt to a crisp. He was merely glad that the despicable Death Eater wasn't the most barbaric. Nevertheless, if only one thing was for sure, he did still have a fair amount of hard work set out for him. He would need to make this place livable again, that is, if he was indeed going to live here. At that moment, Kreacher arrived, laden with all of Harry's possesions.
"Kreacher has arrived with Master's school things, clothes, and comforts." The elf declared in his bullfrog voice. He still looked apprehensive.
"Excellent, Kreacher," Harry replied dully, "Right, I need my silver bowl and my Mandrake leaf. I need to step outside for a moment."
Kreacher busied himself with retrieving Harry's requested items, which he did with great haste. He quickly presented them to his Master.
"Great. Thanks, Kreacher. Now, I'm sure you're tired, but I really need this place cleansed and tidied up." Harry began, hating himself even more for even giving this order. "We're going to be living here for a while, and it needs to be in it's best condition. Also, if I'm not up by dawn, please wake me. That is impotant."
Kreacher teared up, "Master is coming to live in the House of Black? Kreacher will clean all night, he will! It must be spotless!"
Harry chuckled halfheartedly, and turned towards the rear of the house. He stepped through the backdoor and sighed. It was going to be a long night for Kreacher.
* * *
Despite the late hour of the night, Harry could be found outside of the overgrown and unkempt garden in the backyard of number 12, Grimmauld Place, thankful that it was a cloudless night. He brought Freyja out with him, and she flew graciously from her perch on his shoulder as he gazed solemnly into the sky. The pure light of the full moon gracefully illuminated the earth. He reached into his pocket, producing a single mandrake leaf. He examined it closely, having not paid much thought to how large it was, not to mention how long, rough, and uncomfortable this next month would be, and hopefully it was only going to take a month. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, shoving the leaf in his mouth grudgingly. If anything, it was worse than he had expected. Prickly, the little fucker was. "Merlin, I see why already." He thought. "Why would anybody want to do this?" He folded the leaf over with his tongue and sat down next to the silver bowl he had set out to collect the dew. It can't have touched human feet or sunlight if it had just fallen straight into the bowl. There was nothing for it, he would just have to set the bowl outside every night, and tuck it away in a dark place with it's lid during the day.
He gathered his things and made his way back up into his godfather's old house, the ancestral house of Black. He made his way into Sirius' old room and performed a cleansing charm on the whole room, and one on the bed. He felt a pang of guilt, as he had remembered asking Molly how it was done, he didn't even want to think about the Weasleys right now. They had lost their sense of security and shelter because of him. He laid upon the old bed, trying to empty his mind of all thought. He sighed as he set his alarm for five in the morning and charmed his watch for extra ensurance. He quickly drifted into an unusually light, dreamless sleep.
* * *
"Hermione, go home. People need you. You aren't much a help hovering over me day and night. I'll be fine."
"Don't be so daft, Ronald, you can barely see straight and you still can't lift your wand high enough to find out which way is north!"
"Come of it, do you really think the Death Eaters are going to attack the Hospital?"
"They might try to! We don't know anything, only that they want revenge. You are Harry's best mate. What better way to get it?
"No one is going to attack me, or even try to use me while I'm in this state. I look like a broken toy!
Hermione sighed. He really was a stubborn arse, and nothing she could say would convince him. She moved aside as a Healer with a shoulder-length roan mane and a rough stubble moved in with a steaming goblet. The man proceeded towards Ron as Hermione stood by, watching impatiently. Ron murmured his thanks and drank from the goblet deeply. Judging from his expression, as was the usual when it came to restorative potions, he looked like drinking the potion as quickly as possible was the best route to take. Indeed, when his face reappeared, he looked merely moments away from retching. He handed his goblet back with a flushed face, sending the impatient Healer on his way to the next patient. Once the young couple was ensured privacy again, Hermione moved back towards Ron's hospital bed, perching next to him. She gently stroked his overgrown hair out of his eyes.
"'Mione, just look at you. You can't stay here for a whole fortnight, that's how long they said it would take to heal me." Ron resumed their previous conversation. "Go get some rest, go eat. Find Harry and bring him back around, Merlin knows he's off sulking about everything."
"Harry will be okay. Are you sure you don't need me here?" Hermione placed her hand gently over his ribcage, finding solace in the feeling of Ron's rhythmic heartbeat.
"Positive."
"Alright then, but I will still come see you every day."
"Deal." Ron said, an air of finality impressively filling the air.
"I love you, Ron." She said, for the first time in living history.
"I feel the same for you, Hermione, I've loved you for a while.
Hermione grinned as she left her perch on the bed, she merely kissed his cheek, whispering, "I know." and she walked away.
As she exited the ward, Ron sat in disbelief. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Even as a new Healer entered the ward, his thoughts never stopped revolving around Hermione. He couldn't believe his luck, he was in the hospital, stuck in St. Mungo's for a fortnight, but he was still happy. In fact, he wouldn't rather be anywhere else right now. The lights dimmed as he drifted off into a peaceful sleep. He didn't even notice as a rush of energy entered his body and fogged his mind.
"Imperio!"
The imposter only whispered the curse, nearly inaudibly, as he walked back past the door to exit the ward. The war was only just beginning, and the Death Eaters were on their way to becoming stronger than they ever were these past four years. He would make sure of it. After Voldemort had died, it was almost survival of the fittest, and Dolohov had come out on top, uncontested. The new leader of the revolution, so be it. He could only hope his faith wasn't unfounded, it would cost him everything.
* * *
Let me know if you find any errors in my writing through a PM, I needed to get this up, so I didn't proof read quite as well.