Note: The characters and world still belong to Rowling.
Tuesday, May 5, 1998; late afternoon
The hotel was just as Hermione remembered, quaint and clean, but not overpriced. They were even running a special that allowed her two nights with what money she had. Perhaps that would be enough time to safely make contact with the Order and rejoin them. If not, it would give her a day to find a job somewhere that would let her help out day by day.
As soon as they were settled in, she sent Mimsy to fetch the papers - The Daily Prophet, Le Paris Chouette, and a local muggle paper to get an idea of things. With her gone, it was the perfect opportunity to send out her Patronus. But who could she send it to and be sure she wouldn't compromise them? Did she even know for sure who was uncaptured? No. There was no one she was certain of.
Hermione pulled a book quickly from her beaded bag and spent a few minutes reading. She would send to a place rather than a person. Shell Cottage was closest, and Fleur, at least, was bound to be home. Still. She couldn't say directly where she was in case the cottage had been breached. Within moments, she had a spell and a plan.
"Expecto Patronum!" she began, but gasped and went no further when the creature that appeared was a glowing dragon instead of the otter she expected. Hermione's jaw was hanging open. A patronus didn't change randomly. As far as she knew, the only way to change them was through a deep and true love. What the hell had happened that she didn't remember? And now what? Her otter patronus was well known. If this dragon showed up claiming to be from her, they might not believe it. She barely believed it.
Hermione sighed. There was no changing it back. Whatever had happened to her must have been significant. It was disturbing to realize she didn't know what that was, but nothing she could do anything about right now. As the dragon swooped around the room, she tried to refocus and work out her message, "Bill, Fleur, or any friends from the Order, this is Hermione. I have escaped, but fear I am being followed. I need someone to meet me at Au Vieux Paris d'Arcole at 7pm to determine safety." She brandished her wand again and watched her dragon swallow the message as she chanted, "Nuntia Rem Loco Shell Cottage." The dragon flapped its wings and flew off.
She had two hours before she would need to be back at the cafe. She didn't have money for more food there, so she intended to stand across the street until she saw someone arrive. And keep her glamour up. She hoped she was being overcautious, but she just couldn't be sure.
Suddenly, Mimsy popped back in, her arms full of papers and a couple of grocery bags. "Mimsy gets dinner and yours papers, Mistress Hermione."
Hermione was taken aback. She had been prepared to go hungry tonight. The food at the cafe was more than she had been accustomed to in a day while they were on the run. "Thank you, Mimsy, but you didn't need to do that. How...how did you pay for food?" The question was somewhat idle as she began flicking through the local paper since it was on top. She should have started with the Prophet but she was almost afraid of what she might find there.
"Mimsy use Master's account to buy…"
"Mimsy, no! We can't use some Death Eater's personal account to buy food. He is a Death Eater, isn't he? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be able to figure out where we are!"
The little elf looked mortified. She grabbed for a lamp to hit herself with. It was only Hermione's experience with Dobby that allowed her to catch the lamp before she could. "You may not punish yourself, Mimsy! That's an order," Hermione said. Her breathing was panicked, but she knew she had to calm down. And help Mimsy calm down. "It's ok. It's ok. They won't even know exactly where we are, just somewhere in Paris. They already knew that probably, right?"
For some reason, Hermione had felt a pull toward England that she didn't think had anything to do with homesickness. It felt almost like a gossamer thread of magic tying her to something. Whatever that something might be, there was a wistful longing attached to it as well. It was barely a feeling, but now and then she would notice it, and somehow she felt like it could be followed to her if whatever was on the other end was used properly. The thought made her shudder, but she tried to refute it with logic. She knew of no magical items that would do such a thing. Anyone who found her would likely have just caught the mysterious 'Master' and discovered he had sent them to his Paris property. "Let's just eat while I catch up on the news."
Mimsy had brought a veritable feast. Hermione had every intention of stretching it out for several days under a stasis charm. They began enjoying tonight's portion as she perused the papers. The local paper indicated there had been a rise in crime, a number of unexplainable deaths and kidnappings in the area. The muggles were baffled, but for a witch the answer was obvious. Voldemort had followers or at least sympathizers in the area. She would have to be even more careful. The French magical news was focused on the aftermath of the battle. That many Undesirables had allegedly been captured, but Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, among many others, were still at large. She gave a sigh of relief. That feeling was less certain when she came to The Daily Prophet. The front page headline read "Undesirable #1 On Death Bed?" with a picture of Harry looking pained. Of course Hermione knew that picture was from fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament, but it had been manipulated enough to make her gasp at first sight.
Hurt or not, Harry was alive. Ron, too, it seemed. She couldn't wait to see Bill or Fleur for confirmation. At 6:45, she assured Mimsy she would be safe and headed to the cafe, standing across the street, and watching diligently for someone she knew.
A couple of hours later, she returned to the hotel room feeling defeated. Perhaps they had been called away from home for some reason. No Death Eaters showed up, so at least Shell Cottage hadn't been overtaken. She would try again tomorrow, after she had some sort of job for the day. Meanwhile, she let Mimsy fix her tea and fuss over her. She couldn't really stop her, and it honestly felt good to feel like someone cared. House elves were people, too, even if the little elf only cared because she was brainwashed to treat her that way.
She was just crawling into bed, shortly after 9:30, when the pain began. It wasn't acute; it wasn't even hers, she was quite certain. But she felt a deep sense that something was very wrong and someone she cared deeply for was hurting. There were phantom pains throughout her entire body. She was panicking, but this time it was Mimsy who calmed her down. She went to her little pillowcase bag and pulled out some sort of cream. She rubbed it gently on Hermione's chest over her heart, her stomach, and down her left arm. Mimsy didn't explain a thing, just said it would help. Hermione couldn't argue with the results. She still had that uneasy feeling that something was desperately wrong somewhere, but she no longer felt pain. Exhausted, she slid under the covers and into a restless sleep.
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Tuesday, May 5, 1998; evening
Draco was screaming along with his compatriots. Lord Voldemort was furious that they had allowed the Order of the Phoenix access to their very headquarters. Worse, a prisoner had escaped. The second one of the day. He had attacked his followers as a whole first - Draco had no idea it was possible to crucio so many people at once. Now the Dark Lord was concentrating on the two who had lost those most valuable prisoners - Draco himself, and his Aunt Bellatrix. He couldn't believe someone had actually escaped her. That it was Longbottom was even more astounding.
Draco didn't have time to think about it. His brain was rattling every time a new spell hit him. The Dark Lord had moved on from crucios to slicing hexes, crisscrossing his body in bleeding slivers. Each cut was small, but all of them together were making him light-headed from blood loss. Some moments he heard himself or Aunt Bella begging for mercy. He knew his Lord was often speaking at him, and was probably angry he wasn't responding. He hadn't heard any of the words Voldemort was saying for some time now, but he did notice that other Death Eaters were closing in around him. Without his wife, he was essentially worthless. Perhaps they were going to kill him now after all.
He soon wished they would. He certainly didn't want to think about what they were doing to his body now. Only one prisoner had been gained tonight. Fenrir Greyback caught an Auror named Tonks. There was something else important about her, but Draco couldn't focus enough to recall. She wasn't Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom, but she was high enough in rank to gain Greyback something he wanted. Watching Draco be knocked down a few pegs was also apparently something Greyback wanted. He and some of his lackeys began beating him, kicking him, perhaps slapping him with a belt. He felt someone spit on him.
His brain felt detached from his body. Too much fear. Too much pain. He wanted to pass out, thought he had once or twice. They had to be ennervating him repeatedly. It was quite late when he thought he was finally going to be allowed the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. He heard Lord Voldemort's voice above him, but couldn't make sense of the words. He wanted an answer? Draco didn't have any answers. That was fine apparently. The snake would show him what he should have answered. The snake. The snake.
Impossibly, Draco forced his eyes open. The snake Nagini was making her way toward him, her body slithering excitedly. Merlin, she was going to eat him alive. He couldn't even track how much pain he was already in, but the terror of watching her glide toward him was enough to make him scream and beg. The last thing he remembered before blackness enveloped him was the snake's fangs lunging toward him.
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Wednesday, May 6, 1998; afternoon
Severus was frustrated. The first three potions he had tried hadn't worked. He had consulted with Madam Pomfrey when she came down to check on him and help Slughorn pack up. The pompous windbag refused to work with a Death Eater, or even be in the potions lab while he was there, so Headmistress Sprout was moving him to The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade until he could stop being such a baby or until Severus was done. That's how he thought of it, at least.
Putting aside the gleeful thought that he had run off that buffoon, Severus put his mind back on task. Perhaps he could reverse the Draught of Living Death and bring Potter back with that. No one had ever taken even a weakened Avada without it outright killing them, except Potter, of course. He had no idea why the boy wasn't dead this time, so it was hard to know what might work. Dumbledore would undoubtedly babble something ridiculous about love. Severus rolled his eyes.
Since making his way into the potions lab, he had been able to dose himself with Pepper Up Potion and Pain Potions until he was walking around just fine and more than capable of taking care of himself. Still, he had let Goyle stay and sent the boy on a number of errands. He debated now if he should send him to get food. His stomach was rumbling and none of the brewing potions needed anything.
He looked carefully at the overgrown boy staring into space over by the wall. He had not spoken a single word. Madam Pomfrey had confided that she thought something very traumatic happened to him during that last battle. Goyle had never been bright, but he was unable or unwilling to communicate at all now. In some ways, it made him ideal for fetching things - a handy thing for Severus to have around even if he was doing much better.
But. The boy wouldn't be able to explain to the house elves what he wanted, so instead, Severus beckoned.
"This batch will be brewing for some time." He started to walk out the door, then turned impatiently, "Are you coming for dinner or not?" With that, he led the way to the kitchens, the boy lumbering at his heels.
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Wednesday, May 6 into Thursday, May 7; afternoon until after midnight
There was another meeting early tomorrow. Everyone was supposed to be resting tonight. Though she was worn out from the raid last night and the intense emotions surrounding Charlie's almost-rescue, Ginny was using her rest time to bake pies again. She was having no better luck. But dammit, she needed to put her stupid love into the stupid pies. For Harry. For everyone.
She was exasperated when she heard the door creaking open. Had she not told the damn elves enough times to leave her be? She turned to yell at them and her jaw dropped. Professor Snape and Gregory Goyle had just walked into the kitchen. She was now having a staring contest with two Death Eaters. Maybe former-Death Eaters; she wasn't sure. The important part was that she was having a staring contest with them, alone, in a kitchen filled with failed pies.
Goyle's eyes lit up at the sight of all the pies. He immediately reached for one.
"Oh don't!" Ginny cried, "They're awful. It's Mum's recipe, but they don't taste like pies should, and the stupid things are full of love but I guess nothing else that makes a pie come together right." By the end, her voice was almost a wail.
"We are here for dinner, Miss Weasley. Goyle, put that down. We'll take care of ourselves and be out of your way." Snape stuck his nose in the air as though the very scent of the pies offended him. As he walked past the row of them, however, he suddenly turned on his heel, his cape flowing dramatically around him. "Pies filled with...love, you say?"
Ginny was hesitant to answer. Snape had always been a bully, and the concept was whimsical at best. "Mum always said it was her secret ingredient. I was hoping it would wake Harry. He's always loved Mum's pies. And Mum herself. Maybe I should feed her a bad one. She might wake up just to tell me what's wrong with them." She laughed at herself for the thought, wiping away the beginning of tears before they could fall.
Snape was staring at her. "Is that all you're adding?" His tone made it sound like she was an utter moron.
"Well I've put in the bits that make it a pie, too, flour, sugar…"
"Yes, but the love," he drawled, sneering, "how are you adding it? What other special ingredients are you adding?"
Ginny snapped back, "With my magic, of course. Nothing else special, just following Mum's recipe."
Snape stormed up next to her and looked at the recipe. "A bit of rosemary for love. Molly's a genius. Add more rosemary. Let's see, sliced Adder's tongue, a bit of powdered dogwood, juice of aloe - not too much, yarrow for healing, some powdered thunderbird claw for strength, a bit of rose. Iris! Goyle, go to the greenhouse and fetch some Iris. Weasley, run to the potions lab and get these things I just listed."
Ginny was staring at him. What was he doing? Seeing the focus on his face, she suddenly knew she didn't want to argue. She hiked up her robes and ran, all the way there and back with the ingredients he had mentioned. Before long, she was back to baking - with Snape by her side. He was almost in a frenzy, he was so focused.
"Weasley, use your magic, but this time add hope as well as your love. We'll wake them as soon as these pies cool."
Ginny did as he commanded, holding her breath until she felt her magic sink in. Now they popped those pies in the oven, several tweaked just the tiniest bit with this or that, and it was time to wait.
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Thursday, May 7, 1998; wee hours of the morning
The first thing Harry was aware of was a strange but delicious taste in his mouth where there had been nothing for so very long. He hadn't been sure there ever would be again. He had been floating, hazy memories or dreams, he wasn't sure. Nothing truly significant. There was a yellow-green haze hanging around him through it all, but now it was fading, replaced by warmth, red and gold and a deep blue. There was the gentle green of rolling hills and plants. A subtle yellow from some flower. He tasted the colors and felt a wealth of longing to know what they were, where they had come from, how things were going to get better. Because they were going to. He could taste it. And love. Ginny. The love of a mother was somewhere in the background, too, but he mostly tasted Ginny.
His eyes flickered open to find her. Sure enough, Ginny was sitting next to his bed, a plate of pie in one hand and a fork in the other. Harry was confused to find Professor Snape hovering just behind her, and of course a concerned Madam Pomfrey next to him. Their faces, even Snape's, were filled with joy when Harry's green eyes swept across theirs. Ginny began crying happy tears.
Arthur appeared behind Ginny, a partially eaten pie on a plate in his hand as well. "It worked!" he shouted. Harry could hear cheering and happy tears across the hall as well. Looking over, he saw Mrs. Weasley sitting up in a bed surrounded by three of her sons. One of those pried himself away and made his way over to Harry.
"Finally!" Ron said, grinning. He shouldered his sister to the side for a moment to hug his best friend. "We thought you weren't coming back!"
Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together. "That's enough of that talk. I need to look my patients over. Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley, please go check on your mother while I check over Mr. Potter."
Harry groaned, "Please, Madam Pomfrey, there are so many things I need to know! I'm not even sure what day it is."
Madam Pomfrey spoke up, "It's been almost 3 days since the Battle. Voldemort is still out there, but his Death Eaters left once he was injured."
"Oi! That reminds me. We need to know if we can trust this git," Ron interrupted, pointing to Snape.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" his sister cried, "He just saved Harry!"
"You baked the pie," Ron returned.
"But I never would have figured out the right things to add without his help!"
"Wait," Harry said, "You've been baking pies...with Snape?" He couldn't stop laughing as Madam Pomfrey shooed them away with the promise that they would be able to talk soon enough.