For Want of an Ear
Jedi Goat
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Here come the explanations and loose ends, and you know what that means: extra-long chapter ahead. :P And don't forget contest results are below!
Chapter 24 – Nightmares Reborn
When they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey immediately swept over to the trio with a thin purse to her lips. She directed Fred to set his twin on a free bed and bustled off to retrieve ointment for his wounds. As soon as she had gone and Fred and Hermione had settled on the edge of his bed, George opened his eyes.
The Hogwarts champion tilted his head sideways, blearily casting in the direction of the half-veiled bed across the room. There, a black-haired figure was just visible, stilled in sleep.
"It's over now," Hermione reaffirmed quietly. "You did it, George... You finished the third task."
George rolled over and looked at Fred. He didn't seem to trust his tightening throat, so Fred only nodded to bolster her words. George cracked a smile.
"Brilliant," he croaked, and closed his eyes again.
Hermione watched while George slipped into a doze. His features betrayed strained weariness that she had only glimpsed once on his face – and had hoped never to see again – but even with blood spattering his jaw, even with dirt patching his temples, she thought she saw something else in George's face, too. For the first time she could remember, he looked almost serene.
You did it, she echoed silently, and smiled for the incredibly brave man she had come to know since November. You did what none of us could have, and I'm so proud of you, George.
Suddenly Fred's hand closed over her own. Hermione glanced sharply sideways; his eyes had not moved from his twin's face, but she felt Fred's fingers shake as they clutched a little tighter to hers.
Quietly, Hermione squeezed his hand in return. "He'll be all right now."
"Yeah..." Fred dragged a breath. "I'm glad it's over."
"Me, too," Hermione echoed, her heart aching. "Me, too."
When Madam Pomfrey strode back into sight, lips pursed, a roll of bandages and a purple bottle of dreamless sleep potion at hand, Hermione and Fred found themselves ushered aside. They paced a few steps back to placate the matron, but Fred would budge no further. Neither seemed to be aware that they were still clutching desperately to the other. Instead they watched in silence while Madam Pomfrey sealed George's cuts and fussed over his bloodied left arm.
Hermione at last pulled her eyes from where the matron poured out her dreamless sleeping draught. "Fred," she pressed carefully, "your family... They'll be worrying... You should let them know we're here."
Fred didn't move; he didn't blink away from his twin's face. "'Mione, what about...?"
Hermione squeezed his hand again. "I'll stay with him. Just a few minutes, Fred. I'm sure he'll have a long story for us in the morning, but right now, we should let him sleep."
Still Fred hesitated. At last, though, he sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped. "All right. I'll be back in a few."
He turned toward the ward door; then he paused again, and suddenly he had come back toward her. Without a word he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, fiercely.
"Thanks..." he said gruffly, "for bringing us upstairs when you did... If we hadn't stopped him..."
Hermione nodded, cutting off his trailing voice. Fred cleared his throat and strode back to the door, and soon his footsteps had faded down the hall.
In his absence, Hermione perched on the edge of George's bed. He lay as if asleep, but the goblet of purple potion sat untouched on the bedside cabinet. Tentatively she touched his hand; his knuckles were bruised.
"George?"
"What happened?" he rasped.
Hermione checked over her shoulder; Madam Pomfrey had retreated to her office, and Harry was still sleeping. Nonetheless, she laid out a silencing ward with her wand before settling beside George again. Once more, she took his hand.
"When you sent up red sparks in the maze, Professor McGonagall went and brought Harry – well, Harry disguised as you – out. I volunteered to take him up to the hospital wing. He only had a half-dose of Polyjuice, so I tended his wounds and kept him under the cloak until it wore off, and then I called Dobby."
She smiled at the look on his face. "He's sworn to secrecy, of course. I told him to keep watch, and as soon as you, disguised as Harry, came out of the maze, he was to take the real Harry to the hospital wing."
Hermione took a breath. "When he heard you through the mirror, Sirius immediately went to the Aurors with a tip about the Death Eaters. He went straight to Kingsley Shacklebolt; he's Dumbledore's man, so he knew he could trust Sirius. I don't think Sirius told him about Voldemort – just that there was talk of Death Eaters planning a ritual in that graveyard. Kingsley has no love for Death Eaters walking free, so Sirius didn't have a problem convincing him.
"You know the rest, I suppose. Sirius came straight to Hogwarts to meet with me afterward. He was so worried about you; he said you were fighting Voldemort." George said nothing to that, so Hermione went on bravely. "We'd just seen Dobby off with Harry when we saw Crouch had gotten hold of you. Sirius wanted to track you upstairs straightaway. We would have, but," and here she allowed a sheepish smile, "Fred found us first. He'd been to the hospital wing and back looking for you. By then, the pitch was in chaos. So I told him Professor Moody had you, and he followed us upstairs. We might have to explain some things to him later, but, it seemed like the best option at the time."
"You came just at the right time," George echoed. He breathed deeply and a wince flickered over his features. "So...your plan worked, then. The Ministry knows he's back... Voldemort doesn't have Harry's blood... Crouch's outed..."
George turned his head and gazed blearily at where Harry lay across from them.
"Madam Pomfrey gave him a good bit of sleeping draught, earlier," Hermione reported quietly. "He'll be out until tomorrow, at least. We should have our stories worked out by then."
When George didn't react to that, she squeezed his hand and said warmly, "Your part is done now, George. Just try to get some sleep now. Sirius and I can handle the rest."
He made an indistinct noise in his throat. "The memories..." George cleared his throat. "You gonna give him the memories now?"
"If you're ready. If you're not strong enough –"
"They'll be asking questions soon as he wakes up," George cut her off with a grunt. He forced himself up against the pillows; Hermione steadied his shoulders. "Better now than later."
Hermione nodded, waiting for him to gather himself. Then, as George closed his eyes, she gently touched her wand-tip to his temple.
"You'll have to do this on your own... I don't have a pensieve handy."
George's brow furrowed. Hermione watched him anxiously. She didn't need Legilimency to imagine what he now saw in his mind: the graveyard looming in the dusk, the Death Eaters convening, Voldemort himself rising anew; yet, it would be an invented, gapped memory that they provided to Harry. Inaccuracies, he could excuse as his own exhaustion.
When George reopened his eyes, Hermione pulled away with a silvery filament attached to the tip of her wand.
"That should do... He'll know what he's up against, at least." George forced a weak smile, but he was exhausted, more clearly than ever.
Hermione left him and crossed to Harry's bed. Nevertheless, as she stood over the fourteen-year-old figure of her best friend, a lump rose in her throat. She hated to do this. She hated to burden him with the knowledge that he alone could wage this war against Voldemort.
But, she didn't have a choice, either. Whether any of them liked it or not, war was what they had on their hands now. Biting her lip, Hermione bent forward and whispered the spell; the tip of her wand glowed and the silvery strand of thought sank into Harry's consciousness. He stirred for a moment in his sleep, and Hermione's breath caught; but then he was still and serene once more.
At that moment, under the effects of the dreamless sleep potion, Harry Potter looked just like any other fourteen-year-old boy. How could he be the one destined – no, burdened – to save the world?
"Oh, Harry..." Hermione whispered. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
She brushed his unruly hair off his forehead and kissed him, gently, before she set his repaired glasses on the nightstand next to his wand. Then she returned to where George sat, solemn and drained.
"We've done it, then," he said when she neared. He didn't quite look at her. He had his hands buried in his hair; one drifted over the old gap of his left ear. "We've started the next war."
Hermione didn't get the chance to answer. At that moment, there was a sudden commotion near the door, and Hermione turned to glimpse what seemed to be the entire Weasley family running toward them. Fred reached George's bedside first: before anyone could stop him, he had wordlessly clambered onto the mattress next to his twin and crushed him in a hug.
Hermione looked around. Percy, Charlie, and Bill hovered, all quite pale. Mrs Weasley dabbed at tears in her eyes; Mr Weasley's hand rested on her shoulder. Ginny and Ron inched toward Harry's bed.
"Oh, Georgie, we're so very glad you're safe." Mrs Weasley mopped her eyes on her sleeve. "You wouldn't have heard. Harry...he took the Cup, but it was a Portkey, and...and he saw You-Know-Who come back to life..."
She warbled and trailed off. Percy took up the tale. "Someone tipped the Ministry off, so the Aurors were able to rescue him in time. Mr Shacklebolt gave the announcement. No one took it very well, to say the least... No one could have expected it..."
Percy, too, trailed off. In the near silence, the Weasleys took turns hugging their haggard Hogwarts champion – or at least attempting to, since Fred wasn't letting anyone else near his twin. Hermione left the family their space and instead drifted to the far window. On the horizon, the Quidditch stadium blazed brightly against the darkness. She wondered if people were still out there, how they were reacting to the news...
Hermione pulled out of her thoughts to notice a large black beetle creeping out of a crack in a sill. She reacted: she snatched up the insect in one hand as she pulled the enchanted vial she'd been holding onto from her pocket. Safely stowed and capped, Hermione eyed the beetle with its round marking around its eyes, and she allowed a tiny smirk.
She'd been wondering when Rita Skeeter would show up.
Hermione tucked the vial back in her robes and turned back on the ward to check if anyone had noticed her capture; a moment later, she realized she needn't have worried, for everyone's attention was on the explosion of voices out in the hall.
A tight-lipped Madam Pomfrey hurried from her office, and Hermione heard her muttering as she swept past. "What on earth -?"
The hospital wing doors banged open. Professor McGonagall, red-faced, gesticulating furiously, marched into the hospital wing. All her focus was intent on the shaggy man at her side.
"– don't know what you were thinking! He was their spy, he could have told us how he managed it -!"
"Sirius?" said Ron incredulously. "What're you -?"
"What's going on?" Percy overrode him, staring toward the doors. Behind Professor McGonagall and Sirius Black, an unusually sombre Professor Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room.
"There was a spy at Hogwarts," Kingsley intoned. "Barty Crouch Junior was posed as Alastor Moody. He appears to be the one responsible for...what Mr Potter went through tonight."
Mrs Weasley's hands flew to her mouth. Before any of them could respond, Professor McGonagall interceded heatedly.
"And we would know more if Sirius hadn't – hadn't –"
Hermione looked around at Sirius, wide-eyed; her stomach had clenched uncomfortably, and the way Sirius's lips drew into a grim frown confirmed her suspicions.
"He struggled," Sirius explained himself tiredly, a hint of irritation tingeing his voice. "He was armed. He wouldn't have hesitated to kill me himself if I hadn't acted."
"You could have disarmed him!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "There was no need to kill him, he was a valuable source of information regarding – regarding tonight!"
"The Aurors caught several Death Eaters tonight," Sirius answered, with a respectful nod toward Kingsley. "They'll question them, I'm sure."
"I am afraid what is done is done," Professor Dumbledore interceded quietly. "Rash as Sirius may have been, if he had not tracked down Crouch when he did, he most certainly would have endangered the lives of many students."
He paused and looked around the room. The gathered witches and wizards appeared to be frozen in time, watching McGonagall and Sirius's debacle. Now Dumbledore's calm words broke the spell.
"Poppy, I will ask you to go downstairs with Minerva. You will find the real Alastor Moody in the trunk in his office, in much need of your attention."
"Yes, of course," Madam Pomfrey said, hastening out of the room. Professor McGonagall offered a stiff nod and followed.
Then Dumbledore cleared his throat. "There is much work to be done. We are all aware of what tonight means... Voldemort, I am afraid, is among us again. In very short order, I fear he will have summoned his old forces. Arthur, Molly – I trust I can count on you and your family?"
"Of course," Mrs Weasley said tersely; her husband nodded. The Weasley children save George followed Dumbledore's eyes to their parents, and though Hermione saw the curiosity in Ron and Ginny's shared glances, no one interrupted.
"Kingsley," Dumbledore turned to the Auror, "I know we have friends in your department. There will be more who can stand silent no longer after tonight, I believe."
Kingsley nodded.
"Sirius." Dumbledore now looked at the Marauder. "I want you to gather the old crowd. We must meet, as soon as possible. The Ministry soon will begin to twist the truth. Please do forgive me for saying so," he added to Kingsley with a polite nod. "But my faith in our current, ah, leader has been waning for some time now. I must say, he did not look pleased tonight."
"His time grows short," predicted Kingsley with his usual solemnity.
"You can count on me," Sirius said, with a wink in Hermione's direction. "I'll have the Order on alert in no time."
At that moment, Fred jumped in. "The Order?" he echoed Sirius. "What're you on about? What's the Order?"
"Never you mind," said Mrs Weasley a little too quickly. "This is no matter to be discussing in front of them, Albus –"
"They have a right to know that Voldemort's return will not go unchallenged." The twinkle had returned to Professor Dumbledore's eyes. "In any case, that is all for now: we will meet later to discuss and speculate in greater detail. Now, I believe, we should let these two rest." He offered a nod toward Harry, still sleeping with Ginny hovering at his side, and smiled at George, who was half-slumped on Fred's shoulder.
The Headmaster bid them goodnight and swept from the room, shortly trailed by Kingsley, Sirius, Mr Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. After a moment's hesitation, Percy hurried after them.
Mrs Weasley stood up. "Very well, then, it's getting late. All of you should get back to your dormitories – yes, that would be best for now." She ignored the younger children's protests and Fred's mulish expression, bustling over to George's bedside.
"Come on, now," she clucked her tongue, "it's been a long day for all of us. Get some rest. No need to worry until morning." At this, her voice softened and she brushed the hair off George's forehead, pushing the goblet of sleeping potion into his grasp.
Fred remained stiffly at George's side. "I'm not leaving."
Mrs Weasley shook her head, but it was George who quietly dissuaded him. For a moment, he grasped his twin's hand; then Fred nodded grudgingly and eased off the edge of the bed.
Fred hovered while George drank the potion and Mrs Weasley smoothed the covers around him. In moments, the potion took its effect; George slipped down against the pillows and drifted into what Hermione hoped would be his first peaceful sleep in months.
Meanwhile, Mrs Weasley was already herding her youngest and Hermione toward the door.
"I'm sure you'll be allowed back first thing tomorrow morning," she said briskly.
Mrs Weasley saw fit to follow them all the way to the portrait of the fat lady, as though they might double back the moment her back was turned. Her watchful eye lingered until Ron mumbled the password and they had trooped through the passage. Then the door snapped shut on her worry-lined face, and Hermione turned her attention on the Gryffindor common room.
No one, it seemed, had gone to bed in the hours since the third task had ended. The room buzzed with terror and rumours, and Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender all leaped up and accosted Ron with questions.
"Is it true, Harry's seen You-Know-Who?"
"He's back?" squeaked Lavender, very white in the face.
Already Lee Jordan and the Gryffindor Chasers were wading through the crowd toward them. Hermione sighted Dennis Creevey standing up on the arm of a couch for a better look at the group of them.
They're waiting for Harry. They're all worried about him, Hermione thought, before a hand closed on hers and drove all thought of the anxious Gryffindors from her mind.
Fred dragged her away from the confusion and queries. When they stood in the shadows of the boys' stairwell she turned and peered up into his expression. The fresh pain he couldn't quite hide from his gaze, she had expected; but the determined clench to his jaw gave her pause.
"'Mione," he said in a rush, "I need your help."
She opened her mouth, but words died on her lips when Fred opened his fist and showed her the bit of crumpled gold foil that George had given him in the moments before Mrs Weasley forced them away.
Thousands of miles from Hogwarts, deep in the clutches of twisted wood, a hooded man panted and puffed down an invisible trail. The moon had cloaked itself in dark clouds, but he needed no light; his master had forbade him light in this forest filled with wild, prying eyes.
The man heard a wolf howl and shivered. He was getting close.
The ramshackle house appeared out of a tangle of bowed yews. The man halted, clutching his side, and stared at the shack: its empty sockets stared back, deep and black. The house was so old that its timbers had sagged and twisted upon one another; in parts the roof had caved and left empty gaps gazing at the starless sky.
On the door, a twisted hunk of black metal had once been a serpent. The hooded man did not dare touch it, but passed his hand over the ornament. Locks clicked; the door hissed and expelled a cloud of dust, and the snake's head cocked to the side as it creaked open.
The man hunched his shoulders and shuffled inside.
His wheezing pierced the murky silence as he made his path by memory. Stubs of candles lined a table in the middle of the room and he withdrew his wand with some fumbling, and he hissed a curse before lighting the candles.
The glow eased him somewhat. His nose curled at the wetness of mildew and ages of must and the stink of something rotten in the corner; but he did not question his master's wishes, and so he shuffled to the hearth and stooped to prod, grumbling, at the damp logs.
Then the bark hissed and sparked and light flared across his watery vision. Something that might have once been a smile edged toward his lips as he rose – but then his eye caught the shadow detaching from the wall behind him.
The hooded man's body went rigid; his nose twitched and the stink washed over him anew. He cursed. Even stinking like the mangy mutt he was, he should have recognized that man before he stepped forward and let the firelight dance along the sharp edges of his sunken face. A grim smile twisted the interloper's lips.
"I've been waiting for you, Wormtail."
"P-Padfoot." The hooded man skittered away from the fire. He still had his wand in his gloved hand and he held it awkwardly aloft as Sirius Black advanced. The man he had once called a friend had not aged well, Peter Pettigrew thought. He leered down at him like a skeleton.
Peter smiled even as his voice trembled. "Wh-what a surprise this is. You're late, Padfoot: a few hours ago my master would have given you a much warmer welcome."
"Then send your master my deepest regrets." Sirius's voice rumbled low like a canine's growl as he circled. His steady steps lifted patches of dust at his feet. "And regret I do. I would have loved to give the Dark Lord the welcome he deserves."
"You would have been wise to join him with me," said Peter, lifting his head, a little more arrogant now.
Sirius barked a laugh. His voice echoed back across the dilapidated shack, and Peter flinched despite himself. "Ah, Wormtail, you know I was never wise. That, I don't quite regret. ...Now what about this cozy place? I suppose none of the other Death Eaters know you're hiding your ugly mug up here."
Something flickered in Peter's eyes. Sirius turned back to face him with a wry grin. The look was colder than the one he had worn as a teen. "Let me guess. Your master sent you here, didn't he? He needed someone to guard it, and you were the only one who came to him."
Peter's nose twitched again. "I – I don't know what you're talking about. My master gave me –"
"Don't waste the effort. I know about the ring." Sirius lazily brandished his wand and Peter took an involuntary step back. His eyes went to the mantle; Sirius's grin broadened.
"Don't bother looking, either. It's gone now."
A trickle of sweat beaded on Peter's brow; he whimpered. "Sirius..."
"Ah, yes, the precious gift your master gave you. I wonder what he'll do when he knows it's gone. I suppose you won't look like his faithful servant then. This is mercy, really, undeserved mercy –"
Peter lifted his wand at the same time as Sirius; his wide eyes shone in the gloom. For a moment they hung, breathing heavily, holding each other at wand-point. Then Sirius barked a laugh.
"This brings back memories, doesn't it? It's been thirteen years, Wormtail, and you know I'm not a patient man."
Peter hesitated, and in that moment Sirius lunged: he pinned the smaller man against the wall and Peter felt the wand-tip jab against his wide throat. He swallowed and his eyes flitted toward the door.
"You'll pay," Sirius growled. "You'll pay for James, and for Lily, and for all the lives you've made hell since then. By God, you'll pay, Pettigrew!"
Peter's face had purpled. Sirius had trapped his wand, but he had one last resort Sirius didn't know about. He slipped his right hand free of its glove; a flash of silver in the firelight was Sirius's only warning before Peter's gilded fist closed around his throat.
"You made a mistake, Padfoot," he relished, wheezing. Sirius was the one gasping now, his wand lowering as he scrabbled to unclench the silver fingers' grip. In a dark surge of feeling Peter tightened his grasp. "This...is my master's gift. You should have seen him, Padfoot: trembled in his presence. My master is powerful. More powerful than any of you, even Dumbledore, could hope to be."
Sirius didn't have the breath to answer him. A cold sneer curled Pettigrew's lips as he watched the taller man thrash and heave in his grasp. Once, he would have cowered at the mere mention of Sirius Black, a desperate man, a man with nothing to lose and vengeance to gain. Now, he allowed himself to chortle.
"What have you become, Sirius? You were once the strongest of us: you, and James. And now you meet the same sad end."
It was as though he had snapped the last straw. One instant, Sirius was wheezing and weakening against his closing fist; the next, Sirius had plunged one hand within his robes. Not for his wand, no, Peter had seen him drop his wand. Instead his fist clamped over Peter's left hand and held something, a smooth stone, trapped between their joined palms.
At first Peter was too startled to react; but this had to be some trick, Sirius was never without his tricks, so he yanked away and cursed. Sirius held their fists firmly together. The stone pressed into his skin was like ice.
And then, so suddenly that he yelped, a silvery light flared across the shack. There were shapes – Peter's eyes flitted left and right – shapes forming out of the light, so bright that he had to shut his eyes.
"What I've become?" rasped Sirius. Peter's hold had slackened on him, but only slightly; Sirius's other hand gripped tight to the fingers at his throat. "Look at what you've become. Look!"
He roared again with fierceness he shouldn't still have, and Peter flinchingly obeyed. He opened his eyes just a crack, poised to shut them again, to finish Sirius and be over with this –
But the colour drained from his face, and even his silver hand faltered.
"J-James," he whispered. "L-Lily..."
They stood over him. Silver and wraithlike, the figments stood as if they had not aged a day in the long thirteen years since he had last laid eyes on them. James, tall, proud, bold as only a youth can be; and Lily beside him, lovely and gentle, as she had always been to the smallest of the Marauders.
The ghosts' lips moved. Peter did not hear them. He only had focus for their eyes. Their eyes terrified him.
His old friends' eyes were filled with pity.
He thrashed and begged Sirius to stop the illusion; he stumbled backward and clapped his hands to his ears and howled, curled on the floor.
"I had to do it! You – you would have done the same!" he cried to James, who advanced with an arm outstretched, utter pity in eyes that had once gleamed. "You don't understand! He would have killed me... H-he would have k-killed me..."
The ghosts were gone. Only Sirius stood over him now. The grim man massaged his raw neck with one hand while the other held a wand steadied at Peter's chest. He tried to worm away and felt as though his body had turned to lead. Sirius had him under an immobility spell.
"W-will you kill me now?" Peter forced his numb lips to move. "W-would you kill your old friend, too? Then you'd be no better than me, Sirius."
Sirius grimaced and aimed a hard kick at his ribs. Peter would have recoiled, if he could: his chest seared and he coughed. Wet blood dripped from his lips. By the way his quickening breathing hurt, Sirius had broken at least two of his ribs.
"It would be too kind for me to kill you," Sirius spat at him. He wavered above the cowering rat, fighting to breathe; the marks of Peter's fingers burned red against his flesh. "No, rat. We'll let them judge. They've dealt with worse than you."
The fear and the pain and the weight of Sirius's spell had Peter hard-fought to breathe. He wheezed desperately and his dewy eyes watered.
"Sirius...please, Sirius..."
Sirius's eyes flashed. "Don't speak to me like we're still friends, rat." He turned on the house and bellowed: "Dobby! Kreacher!"
Two soft pops accompanied the arrival of the house-elves at Sirius's side. The one on the left leered at him, caressing an amulet at his throat. Sparks flickered in front of Peter's eyes.
"Here's the rat. You know what to do."
The elves gripped Peter with their long, bony fingers. Peter's eyes found Sirius a last time and he opened his mouth, a hateful scream on his lips; but then there was a sharp crack, and his world faded to black.
Alone in the Gaunt shack, Sirius wearily crouched and picked up the Death Stone. He turned it over slowly in his hands: once, twice, three times.
"I'm sorry," he croaked when the silver light filled the room again, "to use you like that, Prongs... To make you watch that..."
James Potter set the shadow of his hand on his shoulder; looking up into his old friend's face, Sirius saw acceptance and faith in James's steady nod. A lump rose in Sirius's raw throat.
"Thank you," echoed the voice he had not heard in thirteen years.
Then the light, and his two friends, were gone.
"You know, we're probably breaking a dozen school rules right now," Hermione panted.
She stumbled after Fred across the blackened grounds and heard him chuckle up ahead; his hand tightened on hers.
"Oh, it's far more than a dozen, I can assure you. We manage that on an off day."
Hermione only huffed.
The moon had slipped behind a shroud of clouds overhead. She could barely make out the flare of his hair in front of her as they walked. A heavy silence hung in the air, punctured by the haggard rasp of their breathing. Nevertheless, Fred maintained a steady pace in front of her, angling away from the blazing castle windows.
Soon they had made it through the gates, under the beseeching stares of its winged boar guardians. Then they stood, breathless in their daring, and Hermione chanced a glance backward. Up on a hillside as smooth and black as glass, the castle's windows glimmered like a thousand candles.
Fred pulled her back to the present. "Ready, Granger?"
She turned back and eyed him nervously. Fred laughed. "I'm much better at this now. I promise."
"Solemnly swear?" she challenged.
Fred raised an appraising eyebrow, but did not falter. "I solemnly swear I will not splinch us both, on my honour as a short Weasley."
Hermione conceded and let him pull her close, his hand warm and steady on hers. He counted off for her benefit, and she shut her eyes; then, with a quick turn on his heel, the duo vanished.
The pop of their reappearance faded smoothly into the sounds of Muggle London. When Hermione reopened her eyes, she was looking down a narrow street of darkened shop fronts. Here and there glimmered a street lamp in the gloom; at the end of the street, Hermione glimpsed the flare of a car's lights before it rumbled past.
Fred consulted the bit of gold foil in his fist and squinted up at the sign on the corner. "Getting closer. C'mon."
She saw Fred had his wand in hand. Out of caution she drew hers as well, though she prayed she wouldn't have to use it off school property as she crept after him through the shadows.
Hermione saw him first. A rustle of motion passed through a circle of light up ahead and she seized Fred's wrist. The shiftiness of the man's movements drew her suspicions at once. She could almost sense his fear from here.
Fred, meanwhile, growled faintly and redoubled his strides. Hermione found herself panting to keep up with him as they swung around the corner onto the main road, glimpsed the flare of a vibrant cloak before the man had gone down the steps to the Underground.
Now they slowed and followed down the stairs more cautiously. The burst of light in the underground tunnel made Hermione squint. The man had gone, but Fred started down the twisting corridor without hesitation. Hermione's heartbeat mirrored her quick footsteps and she was just wondering, frantically, what they would do if a Muggle stumbled upon them now when a cold draft ruffled her hair.
They had stepped out onto the underground platform, crossed by empty train tracks. It was too quiet: Hermione's skin tingled.
"Stupefy!"
Hermione yanked Fred behind the shelter of a pillar as a flash of red light shot over their shoulders. But the spell had illuminated the ashen face of their quarry, and Fred stepped back into view.
"Not much of a welcome, is it?" he voiced wryly. His voice echoed too loudly on the deserted platform.
Ludo Bagman attempted a weak laugh and lowered his wand. "Ah...it's you, Weasley. I was expecting someone...someone else."
"Were you really?" Fred said lightly, not at all lowering his wand. "Funny we should run into you here, then. Last I checked, you still owe us our money."
"Do I?" Bagman said. He studied Fred carefully in the gloom. "As I remember it, your brother, not you, made a deal with me. Ah... I heard about his injuries. A pity, that..."
Fred took another step forward. "Don't talk about George." Something had shifted in his voice, and Hermione had no pity for Bagman when he took a step back. "Give us our money, Bagman."
"Now, now, Mr Weasley, no need to get testy," Bagman said with a little chuckle. Hermione was not fooled.
"Fred -!" she cried in warning, just as Bagman raised his wand; Fred was faster.
"Expelliarmus!"
Bagman's wand flew out of his grasp and clattered against the tracks below them. He swore loudly and lunged at Fred instead. In an instant, the fierce Beater resurfaced from amid the years Ludo Bagman had let himself go. Fred didn't stand a chance when the larger man bore down on him, seized his wand arm, and yanked it back.
Hermione heard the sharp crack of bone; her boyfriend yelled, and his wand rolled uselessly across the floor.
"Fred!"
She whipped out her wand and held it, trembling, on Bagman's broad shoulders. A thousand retributions echoed in her mind, but she silenced them with the knowledge that a single spell on her part meant the underage wards would bring the Ministry down on them. This was so stupid, she thought furiously, stupid and ridiculous, and why had she listened to Fred in the first place?
The answer came to her at once: George. Because George knew his brother better than even her. George knew Fred was at once worried and furious, and George knew that if Fred didn't vent himself somehow now, he might explode.
So Hermione lifted her chin and stared Bagman down.
He spared only a glance for her. Somehow, he knew that she couldn't touch him. He hefted Fred's arm a little higher above his head – Fred hissed through his teeth – and spoke.
"How old are you, boy?"
"Seventeen," Fred snarled.
"Still far too young for this game," said Bagman, and his laugh came back, a little stronger now. "A few words of wisdom, Mr Weasley: it would do well not to meddle in places you don't belong. There are many things you are too young to understand about this world."
"Let him go!" Hermione warned. She could see Fred's face glowing like parchment in the low lighting, and behind his head Bagman had twisted his wrist at a grotesque angle. "You're hurting him, let him go!"
Bagman glanced sideways at her. "And if you are still unwise enough to meddle, you would do better not to bring your...friends down with you. Do you understand, Mr Weasley?"
What happened next, not even Hermione expected. While Bagman spoke, his eyes still on her, Fred reacted: he clenched his fist and jabbed his left elbow back into Bagman's gut, hard.
The old Beater wheezed out a breath and stooped and loosened his grip on Fred's arm. It was what he had needed. Fred wrenched himself free, whirled behind Bagman while he was catching his breath, and hooked his left arm around Bagman's neck.
Bagman scrabbled upward. He knew what Fred was trying to pull, but he was too slow. Fred clasped his right hand over his left, hissed at the pain it cost him, and wrenched his elbow taut to Bagman's windpipe.
It was over in a bare ten seconds. Bagman's face purpled; his eyes bugged; and then he was slumping forward and Fred was letting him fall to the floor in disgust.
For a moment, the only sound was the heavy rasp of Fred's breathing. His right arm hung away from his body; with his left, he swiped at his jaw.
"'Mione?"
"Yes, Fred?" she said quietly.
"Thanks for that book." He offered her a weak, wolfish grin.
They rolled Bagman onto his back. Fred would have surely kicked him into position, but Hermione had found him his wand again and he only kept it steadied on the unconscious man, left-handed, while he had her search his pockets. Hermione fumbled in the folds of his robes, trying to touch him as little as possible and feeling, somehow, that this was one of the most wrong things she had done in her years as a rule-breaker.
At last, she withdrew a too-light sack of gold. She proffered it, but Fred did not move to take the money.
"Figures," he muttered.
Hermione knew it was less than half of what he owed the twins.
Fred stared stormily at the too-small satchel, then at Bagman, then at his broken wrist, as if weighing the worth of each. At long last, he heaved a sigh.
"Let's...let's go, 'Mione." Suddenly, his voice was tired.
Hermione nodded a little too quickly. Fred snatched the money from her and stuffed it, unceremoniously, back in Bagman's robes; he jerked to his feet and held out his hand.
"Are you just going to – leave him there?" Her small voice echoed over the platform.
Fred stopped short and looked at her for a long moment in the dusky light. Nervousness clutched at her throat in the silence; on the ground, Bagman stared to stir.
"Hermione," Fred said quietly, "he's no Winky. He's not a cause for you to redeem –"
Suddenly, her temper flared at him. "He's not a Death Eater, either! You can't just leave him there, defenceless –"
"Then what d'you want me to do?"
Hermione caught herself and turned away. She drew a deep breath and clenched her damp fists. "The Ministry," she decided. "The Wizengamot will see justice done, whatever it has to be."
Still, Fred looked at her. His wrist was hurting him; he held it limp away from his body, and a familiar muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. Behind him, Bagman had started to mutter low oaths.
"...Fine. Fine, the Ministry can have him." Fred grit his teeth and lifted his wand, shooting off the winking purple sparks that would have hit-wizards on the scene in minutes.
As she watched Fred, it was George's smirk that suddenly appeared in her mind. Quibbling like an old married couple again, are you? She didn't remember where the memory had come from; maybe she had only imagined it. It was something he would say, after all, she thought with a huff.
Nevertheless, she smiled her sincere thanks to Fred when he reached for her hand. He nodded gruffly, turned away, and raised his wand.
"...Three," she heard Fred say, and with a crack, the pair Disapparated.
To be continued...
Author's Notes:
I hope this chapter cleared up some of the finer points of Hermione and George's plot. :)
I really enjoyed writing Sirius's revenge bit. Probably too much, but oh well. He's been wanting to do that for a long time.
Also, Bagman just might have hit upon Fred's Berserk Button there. Just saying.
And now, drumroll please...
Results of the Unofficial Cover Contest:
Many congratulations and thanks to KCRedPanda98, who made a lovely sketch of George and Hermione in full battle mode! :D
And, as always, please review!