Scares and Ugly Truths: Part One

Harry waited patiently for a response. There was none. Thinking that Snape hadn't heard him he yelled louder. "Snape! I said I'm stuck!"

More silence followed, broken only by his breathing, which seemed to get louder and quicker as the seconds ticked by.

"Snape?"

Knowing that panicking was useless, Harry tried to wait calmly. But as his continued calls for Snape went unanswered, unease built.

Built, and after long minutes finally reached a breaking point. Where was he? Had something happened? Dumb question. Something must have happened, something bad, otherwise he would have answered Harry's yells. Now worried for an entirely different reason, Harry struggled against the rock, the skin of his fingers scrapped raw as he sought purchase to pull himself free. Wild thoughts spurred him on, thoughts of Snape hurt and bleeding or, Merlin forbid, dying and leaving him.

With his imagination running wild, it was natural that Harry screamed when a hand grabbed his ankle. A high pitched rather girly scream, but a scream nonetheless. He kicked out frantically but the narrow tunnel prevented him from kicking the hand free. Another hand latched onto his other ankle and after two harsh tugs, pulled him free, dragging him the few feet back out into the sunlight.

Harry scrambled to his feet, twisting free from whoever had him and fled into the jungle. He had no wand, no weapons besides his sling. Best to escape first and see who he was up against and then --

Harry slammed to a stop. He heard laughter.

It was deep and rich, coming from deep down within someone who was genuinely amused. It was also coming from the direction that he had just run from.

Suddenly suspicious, Harry made his way back. Snape was standing next to the hole, doubled over in laughter.

Harry stared at him, befuddled with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Snape got enough control of himself to speak. "Your face," he gasped, "your voice," and promptly broke down into laughter again.

Harry stared a moment longer before a grin broke free on his face. Yes, he could very well imagine.

Soon there was the laughter of two voices echoing through the jungle.

When Ron first awoke, he doubted his sanity.

Above him he had a roof that didn't leak; below, clean sheets over an actual mattress. Curled against his side was his wife, free of the cold grime that had accumulated from living in alleyways and abandoned buildings.

Turning onto his side he gently smoothed a lock of hair away from her face, noting its limp and brittle texture - knowing his was the same. Unhealthy. Last night he had stood in front of the bathroom mirror and counted his ribs. Too many missed meals, too much stress and abuse. The human body could only take so much, go so far before it cried out 'Enough!' and crumbled in on itself. They had been walking a fine line for far too long, teetering on the edge of an abyss that had no safety ropes and offered no second chances.

Ron was tired.

In the light of the early morning sun, he watched Hermione sleep. As always he found strength in her presence, the solidity of her friendship.

Hermione gave a small sigh and pressed her face into the pillow, relishing the feel of clean cloth through the haze of sleep. Ron smiled, taking pleasure in watching so simple a comfort, one their circumstances had long denied.

She dozed for a few minutes more then awoke with a small gasp, disorientated by the familiar yet alien surroundings. Knowing what was going on Ron clasped her hand to his chest, letting her orientate herself.

When she had calmed, Hermione frowned in disgust at her panic. "I can't believe I -"

Ron laid a shushing finger against her lips. "You weren't the only one."

The soft admission brought a gentle smile to her face. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" she said quietly and unashamedly traced the tip of her finger along a scar that graced Ron's left cheekbone.

He echoed the move, tracing a scar that ran up her chin and split her lower lip. This tracing of scars was almost a ritual between them, an acknowledging of that which others labeled as ugly or pitiful --a way of remembering. Harry had taken no shame in his scar; they would take no shame in theirs.

The moment of quiet broke when Ron's stomach growled.

Hermione arched an amused eyebrow, but experience of true hunger tempered the teasing she once would have indulged in. "They probably serve breakfast at the same time they did during the school year." House elves worked on a schedule and rarely changed it. "We should go down."

Instead of agreeing, Ron seemed to pull into himself. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"What's wrong?" Hermione prodded gently, confused.

His face tightened as if in pain. "Did you see the look on McGonagall's face yesterday?" he asked quietly.

"Oh Ron," Hermione said with a note of exasperation. "Of course she was going to be angry, she --"

"No, not that. It was while you were talking with Professor Binns. Her face, it was," Ron trailed off and looked at her with haunted eyes. "It was as if she had never seen me before."

He paused, a tear slipping down his face. "Have we changed so much?"

Heart twisting, Hermione pulled him closer, drawing his head to her shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. She did not answer. Some truths could not be coated with a lie, nor could they be borne when uttered aloud.

When they had finally dressed and reached the Great Hall, breakfast was already in progress. So was a minor commotion at the head table. There was a man and two teenagers deep in discussion with Dumbledore.

Hermione looked at them blankly as she entered, wondering what students were doing at the school. School did not begin for another week. She was a few feet inside the room when she realized that Ron had stopped inside the doorway. She turned to him, puzzled.

His face had gone pale. "Dad," he whispered, his voice cracking painfully.

Hermione nearly groaned aloud, suddenly realizing that the two teenagers were their younger versions. She should have expected this, of course Mr. Weasley would have contacted Dumbledore before anyone else when Harry went missing. Dumbledore must have somehow managed to put them off yesterday and they had now come seeking answers.

Hermione yanked her hood up, aware on the periphery of her vision that Ron was doing the same. They both continued into the Hall, stopping several paces behind their younger counterparts.

"Headmaster," the young Ron was protesting, "Harry just disappears into thin air and all you have to say is that it was planned? If it was he would have told us something, some hint -"

"Ron." Mr. Weasley laid a hand on his son's shoulder, the firm squeeze silencing Ron. As a father, Mr. Weasley was fairly laid back, usually possessing a mischievous nature that also showed up in his children. As an employee of the Ministry, he had an intimate understanding of the need for secrets and was well versed in reading the shadowy bits of information that could grace conversations.

"I'm sure the Headmaster has his reasons and that Harry is in good hands, whose ever they may be," Mr. Weasley said neutrally.

Dumbledore, wise to what was going on, nodded innocently and selected a lemon drop from a small box next to his glass. "Indeed, I can definitely assure you that Harry is in the most capable of hands at the moment." His eyes briefly flickered to the right, perhaps unintentionally, where further down the table there was an empty chair, the one that usually seated the school's Potions master. Harry was with Snape.

"I know that this is most upsetting," Dumbledore continued kindly, looking at the teenagers, "but there really is nothing that either of you can do at the moment. When the situation changes and Harry is able to return, I promise I will let you both know immediately."

Dumbledore then snapped close the lid of the lemon drop box, snapped it with a finality that seemed to grow to giant proportions as the sound echoed through the eerily silent Hall. His eyes flickered over the teenagers and then settled warningly on Mr. Weasley, the message clear. Keep them out of this, or it will be their lives.

"Thank you Headmaster," Mr. Weasley said, the thanks echoing on two levels. "We'll be waiting at the Burrow if anything changes."

The teenagers looked at both the Headmaster and Mr. Weasley as if they had lost their minds and moved as if to press the issue. Hermione took that opportunity to head to the table and take a seat on Dumbledore's left, Ron following behind her, both knowing that they looked ominous in their dark robes. As expected, the young Ron and Hermione silenced immediately. They had no idea who the strangers were and would not risk saying anything that could bring more trouble to Harry. Even Mr. Weasley looked upon them with suspicion, but he took advantage of opportunity to steer their younger versions out of the Hall and towards home.

Ron and Hermione hesitantly pulled their hoods down.

"You know that will not deter them," Hermione said. "If anything, they will be more determined."

"True, but the less information they have, the longer it will take them to find the answers."

"Why didn't you tell them what's going on?" Ron asked.

Dumbledore sighed then glanced at the rest of the teachers. Hermione realized that they must have already had a meeting this morning to discuss what had been found during the night. That knowledge was hurtful, but understandable. Dumbledore had his suspicions that they were not sharing everything and he was correct.

"Let's finish breakfast and continue this discussion in my office with Professor Binns," Dumbledore said quietly.