Ch. 10 Side Effects
Hermione stood on the bluff overlooking the ocean. Winds whipping off of the surf buffeted her. She wasn't cold, even shivering slightly. A warming charm, along with a flannel housecoat, and spare jumper kept her comfortable.
The shivers were from her hands: an unfortunate side effect from the repeated Cruciatus curse. Bill didn't know how long it would last – or if it would ever go away. He said she would have to ask a healer at St. Mungo's in the Magical Damage ward if they knew the answer. But for now, she would make do.
She leaned on the walking stick in her left hand, relishing the support it gave her while the wind whipped around her. Her right hand held a different kind of wood. No matter how close or far from Ron she was, she held that monstrosity in her right hand, wondering if the battle earned wand in her hand would bend to her will. 'Am I strong enough to master this one? Am I smart enough to make it yield?'
Her original wand was lost, somewhere between the Forest of Dean and Malfoy Manor. 'They probably snapped it once they realized it was mine,' she thought bitterly. 'If they confiscate wands from normal muggleborns, what would they do for mine, Undesirable number two?'
At some point, when Ollivander was healthy enough and well enough to talk, she would ask him his opinion. She would also have to test it and see if it would work well for her, of if she would need another one before anything else happened.
Fourteen days had passed since they arrived at Shell Cottage. Twelve since she first awoke. Ten since she was able to tolerate being lifted by Bill and Ron to the loo across the hall for a much needed bath, courtesy of Fleur and Luna. It was bad enough that Ron saw her in her knickers and bra – he was rather bashful admitting to that – but he made it worse by offering to help her in there. Mortification seared her memory of that conversation. She tolerated through furious blushes when the other two girls helped her in the tub. She was in no condition that first day to do anything to help herself.
Nine days since she was barely strong enough to sit up in the bed with assistance. The three blankets that engulfed her weren't enough to keep her warm that first day. Only Ron could warm her with a gentle touch of his hand on hers. It wasn't bad, since Ron sat on the bed with her, talking, before Harry broke into the room wanting to discuss what they needed to do next. Poor Hermione had to endure that row between her best friends, before Bill came in and shut that discussion down in a hurry.
She lay back down in the bed once Harry left the room, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back on her shoulders. The hand knitted afghan was comforting, even if she was constantly cold now.
Sleep claimed her before Ron returned, snuggling into the blankets with her to keep her warm and comfortable. Ever since that fateful day, she could never get warm enough. Socks, flannel bedclothes, flannel housecoats – nothing was warm enough. Only Ron's touch would do.
That afternoon, Ron and Harry finished their row out in the dunes. Fortunately, no blows were had – just red faces and sore throats. They came back and sat quietly with her while Luna brushed her hair. Hermione wasn't one to relish girly indulgences, but Luna brushing her hair after a bath was exquisite. What was nicer was that Luna helped her with her bath, keeping her company and talking about wistful things. Hermione knew she had problems too, but didn't want to push the diminutive blonde on what happened also. 'Someday,' she thought, 'we'll be able to share, if we survive.'
Six days since she was told what happened after they apparated from the Forest of Dean to visit Xenophilius Lovegood – and what happened afterwards. Everyone was there, save Ollivander. He was still extremely weak and having trouble. Bill spent much time helping him since Ron was taking care of Hermione mostly. Hermione shook a touch harder, recounting the telling of what happened.
She knew that they withheld many details from her. She could see it in Ron's eyes when Harry was talking about what happened – and how she got the burn on her chest, the carving on her arm, and the scar on her neck. When Harry told them how she got the scar on her neck, she became violently ill and begged Ron to take her up to the bed. He didn't hesitate to carry her all the way, hearing her weep until they were in their room and sealed off from the rest of the gathering. Only then could she sob like a child.
He never left her side.
She scratched at the one on her neck without realizing it. It was covered, a dressing to keep the salt and sand out of it while it continued to heal. She had matching dressings on her arm and on the burn on her chest. It didn't itch when she had the atrocious smelling green paste on it. Neither did the carving on her arm, which didn't make sense. Bill said that since it was so complicated, he couldn't stitch it. It would have to heal naturally. Wounds usually started to heal after a day if they were stitched or otherwise attended to. It should itch if it was healing. 'So bothersome.'
One day since their arrival could she toddle around their property with the walking stick in her hand. Bill asked her not to go past the wards, since he didn't want her to get lost. The house was under a Fidelus Charm, and Bill was the secret keeper. He didn't tell anyone else save Fleur and Ron.
Hermione knew she wasn't strong enough yet to do anything else. Harry insisted that they start planning their next move, but Hermione was still easily exhausted from simple exertion. He would get frustrated, Ron would yell, and their planning session would reduce her to anguish. She feared that they would have to leave her behind if she couldn't pull her weight with them.
Someone would step in at that point to calm the guys down.
She was in bed this morning, trying to rest after she was awoken again from her tormented nightmares. Ron snored while snuggling in bed with her. Not a night passed since she woke that he wasn't nestled in the bed with her, dressed too warm for his personal tastes. His mere presence kept her nightmares away. He said she kept his nightmares away too. Too much had happened since his brother's wedding not to find any reason to keep the nightmares away – and catch some much needed sleep.
The temptation to have Ron sleep in less than his jumper was a growing problem. She lay in the bed next to him, looking at her ginger knight sleeping next to her. Ever the gentleman, he hadn't tried anything. He was content for words and holding hands.
She wished he would.
So instead of trying to go back to sleep at half six this morning, she slid out from his warm embrace, and dressed quickly. Her flannel pajamas and her housecoat weren't enough against the morning chill of the surf, so she changed into denim trousers, a thin jumper, and another one on top of it. An overcoat topped the rest of her attire.
She put her hand under her pillow, feeling the walnut wand slide into her fingers. It was cold like everything else, and didn't feel right in her fingers. She grasped it hard, forcing her will onto it. She would master it one day.
Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand. Memory tickled her, one that was being particularly illusive. Logic that never failed her before was troublesome now. Clues to their next task were just on the tip of her mind.
Cackles froze her. She stood there almost paralyzed, hearing the voice piecing her ears.
"How did you get into my vault?" a screech tore through her mind.
Pain. Burning. "Where did you get that from?"
Burning. Pain. Sherry mixed with sweat made her nauseous. "We found it."
"How did you get into my vault?"
"We've never been in your vault."
Crucio!
She flinched involuntarily, anticipating the resulting pain associated with that word.
'Memory can't hurt you,' whispered her father's voice. 'But they can help.'
"You have been inside my vault at Gringott's. Tell the truth, Tell the Truth!"
"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"
"…what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"*
A warm hand closed over her own. She jumped, spinning around and pointing the wand right in Ron's chest. "Hermione, it's me. Ron. Lower your wand!"
She blinked, realizing that she nearly hurt him in panic. She lowered the wand, feeling the shame that she didn't know it was him at first. A lump in her throat held back her recriminations.
"Come here. I'll protect you."
She collapsed into his waiting arms, feeling warm for the first time all morning. Safety lay in his embrace.
He kissed the top of her head. He was unafraid to show her what he felt, and she was accepting of his actions. "When I woke this morning, you were out of the bed."
She tightened her arms around his narrow waist, feeling the hips protruding over the top of his trousers and through his bulky jumper. "I couldn't sleep anymore. I think I've slept too much lately and my mind gets bored."
He chuckled. "You're probably bored to tears now listening to me most nights while you fall asleep."
Years of emotional torment washed away the second he broke her ribs the second time. Bill healed her broken bones five days after she woke once the threshold of the dark magic residue was gone. Hermione squeezed him as hard as she could. She wouldn't tire of this, not after waiting so long for it.
"Hey, what's got into you? Are you upset?"
"I know what we have to do."
"You do?"
She nodded while still holding onto his lean torso.
He pulled back, tipping her face up to his. "So share, my brilliant witch."
"Ron!"
They turned and saw Harry trudging through the beach scrub that lined the property. "Why are you out here this early? Bloody cold out here."
Ron looked back down at the witch in his arms. A huge sigh escaped him. "You ok?"
She nodded before turning her attention to Harry. "Let's go inside. I'm chilled, but I know what we need to do next."
"Really?" he replied in shock.
Hermione looked down at the wand in her hand. The walnut and dragon heart string wand in her hand represented the worst day of her life – and also the next step in saving the world she chose to live in. The paranoid monster unwittingly helped them.
'Courage, dear. Life is painful, and worth it.' She missed her Dad's voice.
'Yes, Dad. I won't fail you.'
She looked up, and Harry stepped back. Determination hardened her features.
Holding Ron's hand in her left, and her battle wand in her right, she took the first step in picking her path, and strode back towards the cottage.
A/N: Quotes borrowed in fair use from the HP7: DH book, American Version. – D.G.