Respective Counterparts
Summary: When Harry finds himself thrown across the infinite void between worlds, his female best friend — and godfather too — are whisked along for the ride. This is a story where they try to adjust to their new reality, while discovering important facts about themselves along the way. H/Hr, Adventure, Drama and Romance, multi-chapter (WIP) fic. Set in OotP forward; heavily AU after the hop.
Disclaimer: Did I single-handedly become the world's first billionaire author, after being rejected by twelve individual publishing companies? If not, I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make any money whatsoever from this story. Any OC's in this tale are mine, though.
Author's Note: Alrighty guys, here you are — my first attempt at a multi-chapter H/Hr story. I wrote this for the Jily Meets Harmony challenge proposed by the H.M.S Harmony discord — the link to join the cord will be in the A/N at the end of the chapter.
I took heavy inspiration from JKR's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix book for the scenes before the dimensional hop. Just wanted to point that out for those of you who didn't notice.
Hope you all enjoy this tale; feel free to leave a review or drop me a PM if you did!
Right, enough of my ramblings. On with the story!
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Chapter One
Trapped
Somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 18/06/1996…
It had been a trap.
The all-too-real vision — of his godfather, Sirius, being tortured at the hand of the Dark Lord — had merely been a well-executed illusion; a mental farce, specifically designed to lure Harry into its unyielding grasp and snare him tightly.
The raven-haired Gryffindor, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to not listen to his best friend's ardent suggestions and protestations of just pause for a few minutes and think, Harry! Consider the truth of what you see — couldn't it just be one of Voldemort's tricks?
He had, instead, dismissed her concerns; recklessly rushing to the Ministry of Magic with frantic thoughts of his godfather's safety running rampant through his mind.
And, of course, Hermione being…well, Hermione, had followed behind him — all the way from Hogwarts and into the Hall of Prophecies, deep in the Department of Mysteries' depths — without a single whit of hesitation, despite her knowing for a fact that doing so would greatly reduce her chances of seeing the sunrise the next morning.
His friends, his infuriatingly stubborn, yet still very dear friends, had fearlessly accompanied the bushy-haired Gryffindor, and had consequently been caught in the trap as well.
The young wizard cursed violently under his breath, thinking guiltily that he should have listened to his best friend's wise words — after all, when had she led him wrong before?
Voldemort's sly ploy had succeeded — Harry, selflessly barrelling into the DoM with the chivalrous intentions of rescuing his godfather, had walked right into the hands of the Dark Lord's goons like an oblivious mouse crawling towards the cheese on an old-fashioned mousetrap.
Because of his arrogance, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna — who had all vehemently refused to remain at Hogwarts — now faced near-certain death, vainly fleeing for their lives within the bowels of the Department of Mysteries.
Their footsteps pounding heavily on the pitch-black floor beneath them, the little ragtag group of Gryffindor fifth years sprinted through the aisles of the Hall of Prophecies; the henchmen and followers of the Dark Lord furiously chasing after them and the small crystal ball full of a misty-white, cloudy substance safely tucked in one of Harry's many pockets.
It seemed inevitable that the Death Eaters would eventually catch up to them, rip the little prophecy from his limp body and deliver it to the worst Dark Lord of modern times; all while laughing hysterically as spells promising unimaginable pain flowed freely from their wands—
Harry shook his head sharply, snapping himself back into the present.
Now was not the time for such thoughts.
The hairs prickled on the back of his neck and Harry instantly reacted; a Protego snapping into existence behind the fleeing group. The bright orange spell — what he thought was a Piercing Hex, but was probably something much, much worse — splashed harmlessly against it.
However, the messy-haired teen could feel the drain such a large shield imparted on his magical reserves.
"We need to split up!" he shouted, quickly checking that the prophecy was still safe and intact.
"Ickle baby Potty!" a haunting voice sing-songed; madness and the slightest hints of frustration toning it. "Wherever might you be? You can't hide from me!"
Harry tried his hardest to ignore it, gritting his teeth; his mind blank but for the feeling of adrenaline flowing through his system and the persistent thought of left foot, right foot, left fo— DUCK! Continue; left foot, right foot pounding in his mind.
Hermione hastily shot off a spell – "Reducto!" — into an aisle on their left. The Death Eater, who had been stealthily trying to cut them off, was forced to do that smoke transformation thing and disappeared into the gloomy space above the towering stacks.
"Okay, mate — how are we doing this?!" Ron bellowed back, his long, lanky legs letting him easily keep pace with the rest of the group.
Noticing an intersection coming up rather quickly, Harry made a split-second decision.
"Ron, you'll go with Luna; Neville, you'll go with Ginny. You're with me, Hermione. Once we get to that intersection, separate and meet up in that room of rotating doors in about twenty minutes!"
His friends nodding their assent, the young wizards and witches pressed on to the junction, the sounds of powerful enchantments whining against the onslaught of misaimed spellfire echoing in their ears.
Upon reaching the intersection, Harry seized Hermione's hand and yanked her towards him, bolting down the left-most passage. A brief glance over his shoulder revealed the retreating forms of his other friends, each going down their respective paths and soon disappearing out of sight.
Harry turned to his left to check on his best friend, intending to enquire if she was okay.
But he stopped, his mouth freezing in its open position.
Something felt off; as if there was some part of his sensory system failing to register any information—
Then, he noticed it.
The noise.
Or, rather, the absence of noise.
The Hall of Prophecies had suddenly dropped to complete silence; only the rapid slap slap slap of the two Gryffindors' shoes upon the dark smooth tiles and their heavy breathing permeating the all-encompassing quiet.
As one, Harry and Hermione slowed their pace down until they came to a complete stop, listening carefully for any hint of their pursuers.
"Hermione?" whispered Harry, glancing around nervously with his wand clenched in his grip. "You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm good," she replied in an equally quiet voice. Her brown eyes trailed over the seemingly endless shelves, filled to the brim with crystal balls — most a cloudy white; some completely black. "Where did all the Death Eaters go?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Perhaps his goons chased after the others…"
She nodded in response, keeping her senses primed for any hint of Voldemort's followers.
The duo continued walking for about five minutes in the eerie, deathly quiet stillness of the Hall of Prophecies; their eyes darting around furtively and their hearts pounding a staccato rhythm in their chests.
Spotting a doorway in the far distance, Harry nudged Hermione with his shoulder and silently nodded towards it.
She tipped her head in a sharp nod and the two swiftly proceeded towards it; neither Gryffindor noticing that they still retained an equally tight grip on the other's hand.
"Stop right there, Potter," a smooth, silky voice purred from directly in front of them. The slightest silhouettes of pure darkness shifted at the edges of their vision.
Harry and Hermione both froze, horror etched into every cell of their bodies.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
The Hall of Prophecies, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 18/06/1996…
"While a little exercise for the body is always favourable, the time for games is now up. You will give me the prophecy, and no one shall be hurt."
Multiple figures, dressed in robes of the deepest black, emerged from the shadows of their gloomy surroundings. Each had their face hidden by a silver mask, shaped into a bone-white skull, and had taken up positions around the pair of young students, boxing them in from all angles.
Harry quickly rotated in a complete circle, trying to discover the amount of Death Eaters who had surrounded him and his best friend.
He counted no less than eight.
The figure on his nine 'o'clock stepped forward, its face mask dissipating like smoke in the wind at the slightest touch of its wand, and the aristocratic features of Lucius Malfoy were revealed to the world.
He held out his hand, transferring the ornate cane in its grip to his other. "The prophecy, Potter. Give it to me."
Harry raised his chin defiantly. "And if I don't want to give it to Moldyshort's goons?"
The shadowy figures swelled up in righteous indignation, the more wand-happy among them going for their magical weapons to punish the Gryffindor for his impertinence.
One in particular threateningly stepped forward; the outline of the robes allowing Harry to guess that it was a female hidden within.
The high, incoherent screech of rage that emanated from therein confirmed that the figure was, indeed, a witch.
"How dare you disrespect the Dark Lord!" the figure screamed angrily.
Her hood fell back, the skull-shaped mask promptly disappearing; revealing the almost elegant features of one Bellatrix Lestrange. They would probably have been attractive; had they not been warped by fourteen unforgiving years spent in Azkaban and twisted with unimaginable fury.
She bared her teeth, reminiscent of a rabid dog. "You will suffer for your insolence, stupid boy! Cruci—"
Malfoy suddenly seized her arm, wrenching her wand to point at the ceiling. The sickly red, half-completed Unforgiveable harmlessly travelled into the impenetrable gloom above them.
"No, Bellatrix! The Dark Lord specifically ordered that they shall not be put in their rightful place until the Prophecy is secure," he hissed, staring balefully at the crazed woman.
Bellatrix glared right back, baring her teeth at him too. She ripped her arm out of his grasp with a disgusted sniff.
"What, so ol' Tommy boy said you can't hurt the ickle Gryffindors? Oh, what a shame," Harry taunted. It probably wasn't conducive to his and Hermione's continued good health, but he just couldn't resist.
The female Lestrange screeched again, fighting against Malfoy to get to the Boy-Who-Lived. A snap of his fingers resulted in two other robed figures grabbing hold of the woman and attempting to restrain her.
He turned back to the two Gryffindors, visibly holding himself back from attacking them too.
"Alright, then. Potter," the man spat, fixing his harsh, cruel gaze upon the two teenagers. Hermione whimpered slightly in response, burying her head in Harry's back. "Hand it over. Now. This is your last chance, before I'll forcefully take it from you."
Silence fell upon the group, the tension thick enough that one could cut it with a butter knife. Harry's eyes darted around, his mind trying and failing to come up with a viable escape method.
Luckily, Hermione had not been coined the Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age for nothing.
"Harry, I've got a plan," she murmured, keeping her voice so low that Harry very nearly couldn't make out what she was saying. Her warm breath tickled the skin of his neck, and he tried to prevent the relief from showing on his face, playing up the act of hesitating on his decision. "In about five seconds, I'm going to make a distraction. Run like hell when it happens. Okay? Shrug if you got it."
The Boy-Who-Lived shrugged his shoulders, giving the Death Eaters the impression that he had finally given up. Malfoy took another step forward, smug triumph plastered upon his face.
"Wait," Harry said suddenly, furrowing his brows. He had to buy Hermione enough time to enact her distraction. "How do I know that you won't hurt us?"
Malfoy shrugged elegantly, extending his hand further. "You and your…friends won't be injured. Too badly."
"Well, I can't accept that," he replied, feeling Hermione's arm, wrapped around his waist, briefly tighten. The distraction was ready. "There's no guarantee in that statement that we won't be har—"
A loud groaning reverberated through the Hall of Prophecies, accompanied by what sounded like the snapping of wood. The Death Eaters fearfully glanced around them, wondering what could be causing the sound.
And then the twenty-level-high shelf to Harry's left collapsed, the midpoint of the shelf folding to the floor like a structurally weak bridge finally giving up its fight against gravity and snapping in two.
Malfoy's eyes had widened the second the first prophecies started to fall out of their nests, but Hermione had already raised her wand. "Reducto maxima!"
The curse sailed into the crumpling stack and promptly disintegrated the metal and wood that came into contact with it. The bushy-haired bookworm darted through the smoke, dragging her best friend along with her; a hastily cast Protego protecting them from the falling shrapnel.
Harry threw two Bludgeoning charms in quick succession back through the gap, hearing one hit a Death Eater while the other crackled against a magical shield. Then the rack of prophecies collapsed further, sealing off the breach completely.
The teenagers bolted down the clear aisle as if the very bats of hell were right on their heels. The young witch jerked her wand at the still-collapsing rack on their right, an incantation flowing from her lips, and the high shelving suddenly began to tip to the side.
It smashed into the prophecy rack on its other side, which then impacted another, creating a cascading domino effect of epic proportions. Bellatrix's shriek of frustration was buried under the deafening crash of the metal-and-wood structures colliding together.
Harry felt a relieved smile worm its way onto his face.
"Brilliant, Hermione! Nice quick thinking," he shouted admiringly, giddy adrenaline coursing through his system. The two Gryffindors sprinted for the plain, black door, which would hopefully lead to their salvation. "How'd you do that?"
A deep shade of red appeared on Hermione's flushed cheeks. "Over…overpowered Rot…God, I'm so tired! It was a Rotting Charm, Harry."
They reached the door in no time at all. Even though he was undoubtedly scared shitless at the fact that blood-thirsty Death Eaters were less than fifty metres away from them, again, Harry just couldn't help himself.
"Dear Merlin, I'd never thought I would see the day that the Hermione Granger purposefully and intentionally destroyed countless centuries' worth of knowledge," Harry commented, an amazed tone in his voice.
He easily avoided the half-hearted swipe the bushy-haired witch made at his person.
"Whatever will come next? Flying pigs?"
An Alohomora resulted in the plain black door clicking open; the two best friends slipping through the small opening before locking the entrance shut with multiple Locking Charms.
"Well, Harry," began Hermione breathlessly, rummaging around in a small pouch at her waist. Harry placed his hands on his knees, taking in great lungfuls of air.
"If you take a look at Cashinhalter's latest paper in Transfiguration Today, you'd find that he and his Muggleborn wife somehow managed to make a hippopotamus spout wings and decide to take flight. And as hippopotami are classified in the same order as pigs — Artiodactyla, if you were wondering — technically, your favourite sources of pork can fly. If you tilt your head to the side and squint really carefully, that is."
She slipped her arm into the bag all the way until her elbow was above the seam — a fact which resulted in Harry wondering when on Earth she had learnt to perform Space Expansion charms — and eventually retrieved two vials of a maroon red liquid from its depths. She ripped the corks out of both with her teeth and offered a flask to her best friend, downing the content of hers with a slight grimace.
Having identified the liquid as Pepper-Up Potion — the steam comically blasting out of Hermione's ears, causing her hair to frizz up from the humidity and fly every which way had been quite the large clue — Harry swallowed his dose, feeling like he could run a thousand marathons as a rush of energy coursed throughout his system.
"Whoo! That really has a kick to it," Harry said, shaking his head and trying to control the irrepressible urge to start jumping up and down.
Hermione, by comparison, looked to be trying her hardest to avoid performing a gymnastic routine advanced enough to only be seen in the Olympics.
He stared suspiciously at the pouch, and only now registered what she had just said.
"When did you think of making that thing? And deciding to carry it around?" Harry asked incredulously. "And, to be honest, I'm not even surprised that pigs can apparently fly now. Should've known that a Muggleborn wizard or witch would eventually try to make that saying come true."
Hermione shrugged, placing her and Harry's vials back in her bag.
"Somehow, Harry, something occurs which puts your life in danger — without fail for every year that you've been at Hogwarts," she replied. Harry stretched his arms above his head, trying to work out the stiches in his side. "I've taken to carrying an Expanded pouch of supplies that I think we'd need at all times, because I haven't the slightest idea at which point during the schoolyear your fabled bad luck would strike again."
The wizard winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "That's probably a good idea."
Hermione nodded righteously, ensuring the bag on her hip was secured.
"Now," he continued, rolling his shoulders and turning to take in the room that they had entered blindly. "Let's get out of her—"
Harry froze again, his arm shooting out to prevent Hermione from moving an inch.
His best friend's body tensed up, her eyes snapping away from her pouch to look at the raven-haired teen. Upon seeing his expression, which was a mix of horror, fear and — oddly enough — amazement, she chanced taking a glance to her left.
Standing not five inches away from their position was a tank, filled to the brim with some viscous liquid that glowed a murky green in the dim lighting. Suspended within the liquid was a formless blob of something, which wriggled and writhed about to some unknown rhythm.
The container was cylindrical; probably ten metres in height and at least three in diameter, Hermione estimated. Her eyes trailed down the structure, spotting ancient runes running across the metallic seal so esoteric that even she did not recognise them.
Her gaze eventually fell upon a hand-written note, helpfully placed at eye-level on the transparent glass of the tank.
A warning, for those who it may concern.
It would be advisable for absolutely no sound at all to be made within five metres of this containment zone. He gets very cranky at any disturbance to his sleep.
Just ask Unspeakable Juliet-Ten what happens when you do — she's now sharing the tank with Steven.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Unspeakable Tango-Five, 'The Dragon'
Well, that wasn't ominous at all.
"Back away, very, very slowly," Harry mouthed to her, cautiously lifting his right foot and taking a good, one-and-a-half-metre-long step away from the tank. Hermione copied him immediately.
They continued this silent retreat, until they were — they hoped — at least five metres away from the tank.
Hermione exhaled heavily, releasing all the pent-up tension in her shoulders. "I wonder what that thing i—"
The shapeless ball of matter suspended within the tank screeched.
It made a loud, keening sound; so high and ear-piercing that Harry and Hermione were forced to clap their hands over their ears.
The creature rushed towards the Gryffindor duo, what the bushy-haired bookworm identified as a hand reaching through the glass to grab hold of them, obviously intending to drag them into its chamber and devour them whole. She fearfully raised her wand, despite somehow knowing with grim certainty that the instrument would be useless against it—
And then the arcane runes flared with eldritch light, the thing's spindly limbs impacting against some invisible shield.
Containment wards snapped into existence; encompassing the entire tank with a visible sheen of blue light. The magical barriers were so damn powerful that the young Gryffindor could feel the hairs on her arms stand up as the protections manifested on the physical plane of existence.
A wide, pitch-black hole in the floor opened suddenly, and the entire tank sunk down into it; the black blob of something thrashing about wildly as it tried to escape its confinement.
The strange entity contained within gave out one final shriek — which was abruptly cut off, returning the room to its eerie silence — and the top of the tank disappeared from Harry and Hermione's view.
The floor silently and instantly re-formed over the gaping cavity.
The teenagers stared vacantly at the place where the tank had previously stood, breathing more heavily than they had in their entire lives.
"Ho-how about we g-get out of here?" Harry shakily suggested, feeling as if he would collapse at any moment.
Hermione ducked her head forward, once; and then swayed as if the movement had upset her entire internal equilibrium. "Y-yeah, that s-sounds good. Let's do that."
And with that, the two best friends jogged over to the nondescript door on the other side of the room.
They took very good care to avoid the giant pool of some inky black substance, surrounded by a low stone wall, by at least ten metres.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, 18/06/1996…
"Moony, let me go— he's my godson, for Merlin's sake! He needs me!"
"I know, Sirius, I know. But don't you think he'd need you more out of Azkaban than inside it?"
Sirius Black briefly paused in his struggle to free himself from Remus's arms, seeming to consider his friend's words.
Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded his head at the sandy-haired wizard, spinning on his heel to stride through the activated Floo terminal.
The former Defence Professor had restrained the Black Lord before he could dive through the Floo after the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. The ragtag group of vigilantes had been dispatched to the Ministry by Dumbledore, after the old Headmaster had received word of what was going on within its depths.
The restrained man's shoulders drooped in defeat, and the werewolf hesitantly released his grip on the last individual among the living of his best friends.
"There, there," Remus said consolingly, patting the man on the shoulder. He collapsed into a thin-legged chair at the rickety kitchen table, surreptitiously massaging his temples. A quiet sigh escaped his lips. "I'm sure the Order will soon be back with Harry and his friends."
Sirius shrugged despondently, slumping against the brick mantelpiece and glancing longingly into the still-green fire; as if Harry himself would emerge from it if he stared long and hard enough into the hearth.
"Now, why don't we sit down and have a cup of te— NO! SIRIUS, DON'T—"
Remus's chair clattered against the floor; the weary wizard having jumped to his feet as a whoosh of green flame flashed in the corner of his eye.
"Dammit, Sirius!"
Moony slapped his hand against the unsteady kitchen table — which swayed precariously before returning to its previous position — and continued to spit uncomplimentary adjectives about a certain, black-haired Animagus under his breath.
Drawing his cypress, ten-and-three-quarters wand, Remus strode into the fireplace of Grimmauld Place's rundown kitchen.
A few short seconds later and the werewolf emerged in the Ministry Atrium, quickly spotting the form of Sirius trying (and failing) to hide behind the golden statue that held centre stage in the large room.
"What were you thinking?" he hissed, reaching the Grim Animagus and seizing a handful of his robes. Remus's sharp eyes darted around the silent chamber, devoid of occupants except for him and the black-haired man.
"What would you have done if there was someone else in the Atrium when you arrived, hmm? Did you even think that far ahead?"
Sirius wriggled out of the werewolf's strong grip and smiled winningly at him.
"Well, Moony, I would have charmed the pants off of that person, using my bedazzling charisma and personality," he boasted, buffing his fingernails on the shoulder of his robes. Remus rolled his eyes in response. "They would've been too spectacularised to do anything from that point forward!"
The sandy-haired former Professor sighed, calmly proceeding towards the security checkpoint with his wand clutched at the ready.
Well, he reasoned at last, there was no point in trying to send the stubborn man back to the safety of his ancestral home.
"Is spectacularised even a word, Padfoot?" he enquired, chuckling lightly, eyes furtively glancing around the Atrium.
It was as empty as one would expect at ten o'clock in the night.
"But of course, my good Moony!" the aforementioned man-dog responded, cheerily skipping across the open space of the Atrium. Despite his carefree attitude, his wand was clenched in his fist; the whiteness of his knuckles the only sign of his agitated state. "How dare you assume otherwise! Would I, the great Sirius Bla—"
Remus clapped his hand over his old friend's mouth, preventing him from announcing his identity for all to hear.
He only removed it after the immature man had licked his palm.
"You are a disgusting man, Padfoot," the werewolf outright stated, wiping his hands off on his robes. Sirius grinned unrepentantly in reply. "And do you want the entire Wizarding World to know that the most wanted wizard in Britain is right in their Ministry?"
The Black Lord winced, the thought finally registering in his brain that he should perhaps try to keep his identity under a wrap.
Moony nodded sagely, witnessing the realisation flit across his quite possibly insane yet still good friend's face.
The two adults soon reached the ornate golden elevators that the Ministry was well-known for; the escaped 'convict' pressing the button for Level Nine immediately upon their entry.
The trip down to the bottom floor of the Ministry was spent in silence, no witty banter from either party permeating the tense quiet.
There was a small ding; the tones of a smooth female voice drifting in their ears.
Welcome to Level Nine — Wizengamot Chambers, Courtrooms One through Ten and the Department of Mysteries.
And then they heard it.
A screech — high, but muffled; as if it had come from quite far away — echoed through the elevator doors, raising the hairs on the backs of Remus' and Sirius' necks.
Their shoulders tensing, the two ex-Gryffindors proceeded out into the darkly tiled hallway once the golden grate had fully risen; worried thoughts at what had caused the sound reverberating through their minds.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
The Death Chamber, Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, 18/06/1996…
"Nice hit, Prongs!"
The black-haired man jumped to the side, flicking his wrist in a completely silent gesture. The grey-red spell headed for his chest impacted a translucent Protego, and the Death Eater who had fired the spell was catapulted into the far wall with another jerk of Sirius' wand.
A maniacal grin had lit up the Black Lord's face the entire time he had been engaged in battle.
Harry glanced strangely at his godfather, slinging a Reducto and a Cutting Curse at the robed figure trying to sneak up on their flank.
However, he had no time to comment on the man's possibly non-functional recognitive abilities — the raven-haired teen was forced to duck under an unknown, cobalt blue spell that fizzled through the space his head had previously occupied.
In some distant part of his mind, Harry thought about how the current situation had come to pass.
He and Hermione had exited the room that held the formless, screeching thing, and a pool consisting of a substance so black that Harry could see a perfect reflection of the roof, when he'd glanced into it — the young wizard would, he'd decided, from the point of his and Hermione's near-deaths, try his absolute best to not return to the Department of Mysteries. Ever. There were just too many things trying to kill him here! — and emerging into that room of rotating doors from before.
Unfortunately, Hermione's Flagrate on the entrance they had used to get into the DoM had, for some reason, disappeared; so, the two best friends had picked a door at random and hoped for the best.
A large, square cavern had been revealed to them, the roof — peppered with small stalactites — arcing high over their heads; the air holding a stale and musty taste. Around the room's perimeter were multiple, descending levels of stone; benches cut out of the grey rock.
And in the very centre of the room, upon a rocky, dark-grey-almost-black dais, stood an archway — fashioned out of three crumbling monoliths.
When Harry had shifted to the side, he had caught sight of a cloudy, tattered veil — which was swinging back and forth as if in a light breeze; yet the air in the chamber was completely stagnant.
The lowest hints of whispers had drifted into the wizard's ears; tantalisingly soft yet still very much present.
He had found himself ambling closer to the dais, dangerously certain that if he'd just move the veil out of the way, he'd hear the voices clearer—
And then Hermione had latched onto his arm, bodily dragging him away from the innocent-looking arch.
She had wound her arms around his midsection, securely pinning him against a rather tall bench, and squeezed so tightly that Harry thought he would burst.
Her babbling about how she'd called his name multiple times but to no response went directly into Harry's brain, snapping him out of the foggy trance he was in previously.
Upon realising the utter stupidity of trying to touch an unknown object in the Department of Mysteries itself, the young wizard grimaced, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging the distraught girl back.
"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, Hermione," he apologised, resting his nose in the bushy mess inches away from his face. "I'll be more careful next time. Promise."
Hermione's head was buried in the crook of his neck, and, judging by the strength of her grip, she wasn't going to move any time soon.
She pulled back enough to slap him on the shoulder, her tear-rimmed eyes meeting his.
"You'd better be careful, Harry Potter. If you somehow get yourself killed—"
Her distraught gaze suddenly turned into a threatening glare.
Harry, consequently, felt like he was three inches tall and standing before a very large predator.
"—then I will find a way to bring you back. And then I would kill you, again, with my bare hands. You hear me?"
Harry bobbed his head very quickly indeed.
"Good," the bushy-haired witch responded. She sighed, reluctantly relaxing her grip on the back of his robes and absently brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes.
Her gaze fell upon the doorway through which the pair had entered, and her entire body suddenly froze.
The unfrozen teenager craned his neck to try and get a glimpse of what she had seen.
"There he is! Get the prophecy!"
Harry had dropped to the floor the second he had heard the commanding voice, dragging Hermione along with him. The stone bench they were huddled behind shuddered as it was peppered by an onslaught of spells and curses, pebbles and bits of rock falling down onto the pair of teenagers.
His best friend scrambled to her feet, remaining in a low crouch, and quickly moved to the far end of the stone structure; an urgent tug on his wrist encouraging the black-haired Gryffindor to follow her.
The next few minutes passed in a haze of Harry and Hermione frantically clambering around the expansive chamber, ducking into and out of cover whenever necessary. When possible, they returned spellfire against the Death Eaters, attempting to keep the crumbling arch between them and Voldemort's followers.
The countless DA Dodging and Evading sessions — where the two best friends had tried to avoid being pelted with a flurry of paintballs, which had been gleefully fired by the younger members of the club — were finally paying off.
Harry had just begun to think that they would, perhaps, make it out of the Ministry with their heads still attached when all the doors to the Death Chamber suddenly slammed open; countless skull-faced figures dressed in black streaming into the room and quickly taking up positions around it.
There was a pause in the magical skirmish — the two best friends, standing back-to-back in practically the centre of the room; their wands half-raised against the seemingly impenetrable wall of black surrounding them.
Breathing hard, Harry craned his neck to take in the entire room.
Yep, there was no doubt about it.
They were trapped.
An arrogant chuckle emanated from his right, the teenagers spinning to face the source.
The aristocratic features of Lucius Malfoy gleamed in the low lighting; smug satisfaction written upon them. The man casually approached the two Gryffindors, his ornate cane clicking on the dark rock beneath them.
A smirk appeared on the Death Eater's lips. Harry felt the urge to punch it right off of the man's face rise up within him.
"Did you actually think, Potter," he began, slowly strutting around the teenagers; his long, high-quality robes billowing out behind him. Harry and Hermione rotated with his movement, careful not to present their backs to the man. "That you, a mere child, would escape the Dark Lord's finest? How utterly naïve of you."
Raucous laughter echoed out across the cavernous chamber, the Death Eaters on its perimeter highly amused at Lucius's witty remark.
Harry glared at the blond-haired man, but said nothing. His hand found its way into Hermione's; their grip tightening on each other near simultaneously.
"I'll make this very simple, so that a boy of your pitiful intelligence can understand it," Lucius said. The laughter returned, some individuals stamping their boots against the stone beneath them in amusement.
"You give me the prophecy, now, or your friend—"
Three Death Eaters had snuck up behind the teenagers, grabbing hold of Hermione and wrestling her out of his grip. Harry lunged at them, an incoherent yell ripping itself out of his mouth, but was hindered by some kind of invisible wall.
The robed figures manhandled the girl over to the archway— the bushy-haired witch writhing in their grip frantically, but to no avail — and positioned her so close to the veil that a single push would send his best friend careening right through it.
"—faces an immediate and painful death. So, you have a choice."
Harry's glare intensified greatly, feeling utmost hatred for Voldemort, his followers and the unfairness of the situation well up in his gut.
Lucius ignored the look, pretending that it hadn't affected him at all.
The teenager had spotted the slight flinch in the older man's frame, though, so he felt a little vindicated.
Against his will, Harry felt his hand take hold of the palm-sized ball of glass in his pocket — which had somehow, miraculously, remained intact for the past few hours — and pull it free of its storage place.
"Don't give it to him, Harry!" Hermione suddenly shouted, a sudden burst of energy allowing her to stomp, hard, on the toes of the Death Eater restraining her.
A howl of pain erupted from the robed man, who briefly released his best friend to massage his booted foot.
However, the other two quickly seized onto her flailing arms, forcing Hermione so damn close to the veil that the tattered material floated mere centimetres away from her face.
A quiet whimper escaped the girl's throat, the short-lived defiance leaking out of her frame.
The Boy-Who-Lived mentally cursed the situation, very reluctantly extending his hand towards the elder Malfoy; the fabled prophecy held within it.
However, a split second before he relinquished his grip on the crystal ball, Harry paused.
His eyes were directed over Lucius's shoulder, and had gone wide with something that the Death Eater failed to identify.
Malfoy snapped his gaze behind him, spotting the roguish and slightly emaciated features of one Sirius Black.
The escaped convict was standing not two metres behind the blond-haired man, and, as the other figure moved his hand, something golden glinted on his knuckles.
"Good night, Luscious Lucy," Black said.
Lucius's hand started to move towards his wand. "Black! Yo—"
Sirius drew his fist back and clocked the taller man square in the jaw.
Malfoy bonelessly collapsed to the floor, his cane clattering to the rocky dais and blood pouring out of his ruined face.
With his godfather's action, it seemed like an invisible dam had been broken.
Around the room, multiple pillars of white smoke rushed down from somewhere, impacting against the Death Eaters and ruining their entire formation. Now with some illusionary spell broken, Harry could see that there had been — at most — twelve of Voldemort's followers in the room, rather than the forty or fifty he had guesstimated earlier.
One of the white pillars flew at the Death Eaters restraining Hermione, taking all three out in a single swipe.
Thus with her captors gone, the bushy-haired witch let out a squeak of surprise and frantically threw out her arms like a bird trying to fly horizontally, desperately attempting to avoid shuffling off the mortal coil.
Harry darted towards her, just in time to see his best friend fall on her bum and scramble away from the tattered veil, which was still swaying in some invisible breeze.
Upon reaching her seated form, the black-haired boy wrapped his arms around her, feeling such a powerful wave of relief and something else course through him that he very nearly fainted in the spot.
"Hermione— thank God— I was so scared—" he blabbered into her hair, briefly increasing the strength of his grip. She patted his hand consolingly, breathing rather rapidly.
And then she forced him down onto the ground, the sickly green tinge of a Killing Curse whizzing through the space Harry had previously occupied.
Harry shook his head for the third time that night, resolving to think about the happenings of the past few hours at a later time.
Having Stunned another Death Eater, the raven-haired teen glanced around the room.
He saw peg-legged Mad-Eye Moody squaring off against four of Voldemort's followers simultaneously — and, amazingly, winning — as his magical eye revolved wildly around its socket.
Tonks and a tall, bald man — Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry thought — were fighting furiously against the robed form of Bellatrix Lestrange.
The insane witch was cackling crazily, swinging her wand around with admittedly effortless grace and successfully holding the two Order members off.
There was Remus, his former Defence Professor, utilising his werewolf-enhanced abilities to duck and dodge between the multiple beams of light careening towards him; his wand a flashing blur of brown wood.
Multiple other Order members were present, too — Harry glimpsed an unknown witch with another unknown wizard successfully take down another two Death Eaters; though the man looked quite unsteady on his feet — and engaging the black-robed figures.
He felt a grin start to worm its way onto his lips; pounding adrenaline coursing through his system as the crackling and bangs of magical combat echoed in his ears.
And then Hermione yanked him out of the way of another curse; the Boy-Who-lived briefly sending a grateful smile in her direction.
Harry shot back to his feet, looking around for another Death Eater to fight.
A darkly robed figure, blood pouring out the side of his head yet still standing upright — Antonin Dolohov, Harry thought — raised his wand towards Harry and Hermione.
The two Gryffindors dived in opposite directions, Dolohov's purple spell flying to harmlessly splash against the stone wall behind them.
They rose as one, wands flashing through their spell-forming motions—
"Expelliarmus!" shouted Harry. He took a further two steps to the left, trying to get a good angle on the Death Eater's back. "Impedimenta!"
"Bombarda!" Hermione yelled, a glimmering Protego protecting her from a Reducto. Her shield shook from the impact of the powerful spell, but it held. "Locomotor Mortis!"
The man ducked and weaved between the spells, spinning to keep the teenagers within his line of sight.
He silently flicked his wand at Hermione, a sickly yellow spell smashing clean through her Protego and striking her right in the forehead—
Her eyes suddenly widened; the young witch crumpling to the ground as the slightest "oh!" of surprise escaped her parted lips.
She hit the ground with a slight thump and did not move again.
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Author's Note:
21/08/2020: The H.M.S Harmony discord link is dis cord (d0t) gg / C— remove the '(d0t)' and any spaces. The link should work after that.
Righto! There's the first chapter done; many more will follow. Stay tuned! :)
Cheers,
Avaxius
If you would also like to take part in the Jily Meets Harmony Challenge, its requirements are helpfully attached below.
The Jily Meets Harmony Challenge
There have previously been challenges such as Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge which, while beloved and an inspiration for many great stories, has been done many times. It is past time that a new challenge was presented to the Harmony community. This challenge is aimed to be much different in tone and to utilise the potential in a setting that is not seen enough in H/Hr fics. Enjoy the challenge :)
Must Include:
1. James/Lily and Harry/Hermione strictly.
2. James and Lily must be alive. Either by surviving Halloween, coming back to life, or their canon deaths never happening/being avoided. (Can include either Time Travel or a Canon Divergence event)
3. Sirius should also be alive and be free/exonerated.
4. Lily must at some point braid Hermione's hair.
5. James and Harry must at some point fly together.
6. Harry cannot have a Boy Who Lived (Or Wrong Boy Who Lived) sibling.
7. No Jily bashing.
8. Include the requirements and description of the challenge in an Author's Note.
Optional:
1. Line from James: "Are you sure you don't fancy Hermione?"
2. Line from Lily: "You know, Harry is lucky to have you."
3. Line from Sirius: "I'm trying to decide which pair of you lovebirds is more [_]."
4. Preferably avoids common tropes (overdone bashing, love potions, etc)
You can read more details about this challenge in the H.M.S Harmony discord. The link is written above. Happy writing!