Chapter 4
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1998
Harry Potter was not dead. He understood as much when, one moment he was, in fact, dead, and the other he was in front of Lord Voldemort, the life in his crimson eyes fading to nothing. The powerful yet simple Expelliarmus had broken into the green trail of the Killing Curse and struck the mortal Dark Lord right in his chest.
Harry was exhausted. His clothes were torn and soaked in sweat, and his hair was plastered to his head by blood, but he still stood on his sore feet in the Great Hall. With McGonagall shadowing him, insisting he visited the Infirmary every three steps and trying to steer him to the dorms every five, he tended to the wounded and offered the insufficient words of comfort he could give to the people who had lost their loved ones in the battle.
The victims were many, half an army, lying still on crimson sheets, staring up at the ceiling. He could pretend they were looking at the sky, blue and clear, but he knew it was a lie he had no right to entertain. These people had turned into soldiers and died for him.
Dead like Dumbledore. Dead like his parents. Like Sirius. But no more.
Lavender Brown had just woken up. Harry lingered not too far away from her, in a corner of the hall, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding: Flitwick sat by the girl's cot, bracing himself for what he was going to say. He started talking in a soft murmur that barely withheld the tremor of his voice.
"It's the shock..." he was saying, treating her major wounds. "When that's over, I promise that you still won't remember what- what happened."
His former classmate asked what had exactly happened. Harry swallowed and tried not to flee as the teacher answered.
"Hey."
Harry sighed in relief at the appearance of Ron in the doorway. His red hair was dishevelled and his face tired, dark circles under his eyes being the evidence of the long night they had been through.
He gave him a small smile. "Everyone's fine. Dad took them to Aunt Muriel's. Mum doesn't want to be alone..."
There was no need to explain, Harry understood perfectly. He didn't want to be alone either. Right now, he just wanted to be with his friends and forget it all, if just for a few hours.
"Where's Hermione?" he asked, searching the hall for a familiar glimpse of bushy hair.
"The Hospital Wing?" Ron shrugged. "They transferred the serious injuries there, she's probably helping out."
Maybe. But Harry tried to think back to the last time he had seen her and couldn't help the feeling that something was amiss- because he couldn't remember.
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"Curious, isn't it? How the library still stands."
Harry nodded, eyeing the bookshelves towering over him, casting slanted shadows across the floor. Luna Lovegood preceded him inside, walking up to the table they'd been using for the last three days, piles of books and parchment scattered over it. Ron was sitting where Harry had left him half an hour ago, his long nose buried in another book.
He looked up, his face strained in exhaustion. "Nothing."
With a groan, he tossed the book among the discarded tomes and rubbed his eyes.
Nothing. No spells to locate Hermione, no traces of her anywhere.
The first day, they had checked the Hospital Wing. She hadn't been in any of the common rooms either. Not the Burrow or Muriel's. Not her parents' house.
"They took her," Harry said, slumping in a chair. Elbows on knees, he cradled his head, his fingers digging into his scalp; he waited for a familiar pain to burn his forehead, for a hiss to call and taunt him- We have her, Harry. I took her. The voice didn't come. "The Death Eaters have her."
"No, Harry," Ron croaked, shaking his head. "No."
"It's a possibility," he said tersely. He didn't want to consider the idea of Hermione imprisoned in a putrid cell a possibility, but they had to be real. The probability of her being in enemy hands was high, way too high. Anyone could have disappeared during the battle, a quick spell and they were gone, no Anti-Disapparition Jinx in their way.
Luna took a seat beside Harry. Her voice was weary. "The Aurors are still searching the grounds for the... victims."
Harry clenched his jaw, trying to keep in the anger. His best friend was out there, held hostage, or unconscious on the grounds, dark creatures like Greyback stalking the night-
He banged his fist on the table, cursing the Order for locking him inside the castle, leaving him to sit idly and do absolutely nothing to help out.
"You've done enough, Potter," McGonagall had said, shooting him a stern look that had left no room for arguments. "The castle or a safe house of the Order, you choose."
They still treated him like he needed protection, as if he hadn't just killed Lord fucking Voldemort.
Of course, Harry had chosen to stay at Hogwarts. No way he would go to a safe house while Hermione was missing.
Later that night, a house-elf appeared in the Gryffindor common room to get a fire started. Harry ignored him, too preoccupied to pace back and forth across the room.
A minute. Ten. Twenty, back and forth, scowling at the carpet. When he turned around, he wasn't surprised to find the small creature staring at him, standing by the merry fire. Its submissive but curious eyes travelled from Harry's scar to the lips pursed into a grim line, to finally the object he was holding in his hand by his side, and it spoke volumes. Had the Boy Who Lived finally gone mad?
He could give them mad. Harry could start screaming right now, the sounds ready to be let out of his stomach, and the elf would go back to the kitchens and tell his friends, It's true, Harry Potter went barmy, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named broke something in his head. It would have been so easy. But Harry didn't do it. The shouting and the breaking of furniture belonged to a sixteen-year-old in the headmaster's office. He was an adult now, he thought, watching the house-elf disappear, so he would deal like one, with what he had at his disposal.
He couldn't stay still, he had found out days ago, and couldn't sit without jumping to his feet a minute later. He certainly couldn't go to sleep, feeling no fatigue whatsoever. So pacing it was, one of the two things he could do to take the edge off.
Sensing his mood, the wand in his back pocket gave him a shock that rippled up his spine. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of burning wood that wrapped the tower.
He had thought about it. He needed only apply pressure on both ends of the slender wooden stick and it would be done. The Elder Wand would be no more. However, he couldn't do it, so he'd started wearing it on him, half-forgotten; he would find a better place for it later. Dumbledore's grave? A safe? Gringott's? No, the wand had a will of its own and Harry didn't doubt it could find its way out of those places quite easily, craved by some lunatic or aspiring Dark Lord.
The Hallow couldn't go for good, not yet.
At least the blasted thing had successfully fixed his Holly wand.
Harry heaved a deep breath and went to stand in front of the window. No light blinked in the sky outside, but the common room was dark enough for the landscape to be visible, the edge of the forest that spread beyond his visual a sharp reminder that he was here, alive.
Cheers. Harry took a swig of Firewhisky. The liquid hitting his tongue was a welcome sensation, at least till it reached his palate and seared its way down his throat. He took another sip from the bottle he had nicked from Slughorn's office last night- the man possessed quite the collection in his liquor cabinet. Drinking took the edge off better than pacing... and this bottle refilled itself, which was good for him, because pacing could do only so much.
He wasn't drunk, Harry told himself. His vision wasn't sharp, but he could hear his thoughts loud and clear. And he deserved a drink after what he had been through. He deserved to know what it was like, to stoke an addled brain to the point of passing out. No dreams, no chance to revisit his memories and nightmares. After all, there was no Sleeping Draught available, the Infirmary had run out of vials days ago.
"We're making more, Harry," the matron had reassured him before suggesting he should take Muggle pills. He would never resort to that kind of medicine. A couple of pills wouldn't restore his sleep and he couldn't trade his insomnia for an addiction. Ironic, considering he was drunk- sober. He was sober.
This evening, Ron had offered punching him good in the face, that ought to take him out for a while. Harry had declined, knowing an untouched bottle of Firewhisky was waiting hidden under his pillow in the dorms. As the first taste of the drink had invaded his mouth, he'd regretted not taking Ron up on the offer.
And here he was, taking another mouthful of the disgusting but good old Ogden's Old. His thoughts were starting to get deliciously twisted around his mind. He threw the bottle on the couch, not looking as it fell and rolled on the carpet, spilling brown liquid, and braced his hands on the wall at either side of the window. He stared out into the night, allowing himself to remember. His eyes sought out the forest, the treetops blanketing the ground for miles.
He had died in there. He had seen death in the eyes and miraculously come back from the other side. He had-
Harry stopped breathing.
He had seen her.
A blurred shape running towards him, halting at the edge of the clearing.
"Harry!"
She had been there to-
He was shaking his head, pleading with his eyes for her to run away. Look away. You can't watch this. Save yourself.
Hermione.
He had died saying her name.
In the forest.
Perhaps- No, surely, she- She couldn't possibly still be out there-
The thought cut through the haze and his heart hammered in his chest. His neck and ears burned. He was breathing in and out, squeezing his eyes closed, remembering, seeing the images he had blocked out, thinking, thinking bloody hard-
When he looked back out of the window, Firewhisky-induced courage belatedly kicked in.
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In another life, Harry would have never even pictured himself entering the forest again, but this was his reality, a cursed disaster, and to work it out was required his presence. At least he had a feeling about it. It wasn't good, but it was something, making the trek through the darkness worth it.
Harry had forgotten what fear was. After his experience with death, he'd believed the emotion had slipped out of him, as if nothing could have surpassed the feeling of red light ending his life, but now- now that his mind conjured a hundred visions of Hermione lost in the forest, one more terrifying than the other, he was like he had been at the start. Uncertain, inadequate... and scared.
His footsteps were deceptively steady; the hand gripping his wand wasn't shaking, the small comfort of familiarity fuelling his determination. A soft white glow revealed the dark of the forest to him and the blue tint washing it.
And the silence- it was so dense it stood like an entity of its own, waiting to be torn apart by the snap of a twig or the sound of trampled leaves.
Harry walked on for what felt like ages, stepping over the protruding roots and scanning his surroundings. Sparse undergrowth eventually left its place to fallen twigs and bare trunks, and the smell of soil turned from earthy to something else. The odor grew persistent the farther he moved, humid and biting his nostrils with a metallic tang.
Harry slowed down his steps until he stopped, the light of his wand faltering. Tendrils of mist had gathered around him, stretching at his back, concealing the ground he had covered. He could barely make out the outline of the trees.
Snap!
Harry swung around, his wand held high in front of him. "Who's there?"
The light that penetrated the thin fog caught subtle movement. It was gliding towards him, shadows crawling out of its way, closer, quietly.
"WHO THE FUCK IS THERE?"
Movement stilled and Harry zeroed in on it.
"Expe-"
"Wait! It's me!"
The shape of a man emerged out of the fog and Harry had a split second to redirect the curse. It exploded into a bush of thorns with red sparks and splinters.
"What the hell, Nott!" Harry barked. He stalked towards the young man, who was holding up his hands in surrender, anticipating what the other was going to do- strangle him and kick him in the stomach for creeping up on him like this. "What the fuck are you doing!?"
Harry stood in front of him, prompting Theodore Nott to lower his hands by lowering his wand- still, the grip on it stayed firm. He didn't like the expressionless intensity lurking in the man's eyes, normally blue and now so dark they were almost black.
Yes, Harry called bullshit whatever this man would say to explain his presence in the forest, at night, a foot away from him.
He was not disappointed. "Taking a stroll in the woods, Potter."
"You're following me, aren't you?"
Nott didn't deny it or pause before mocking him. "Parents didn't tell you it's dangerous to be out alone on a full moon?"
Typical of Slytherins. He and Malfoy belonged to each other.
"Go back, Nott," Harry said, turning away from him. "I don't want you here."
Harry disappeared back into the fog. At first, Nott followed him from a distance, but before long he was stepping closer to walk by his side. Harry thought he should have disarmed the prick and left him unconscious for the werewolves or whatever inhabited the forest when he'd had the chance.
"You won't find her here," Nott started. Of course he knew about Hermione's disappearance. "You know that."
Harry didn't respond.
"You haven't thought that, maybe, she decided to run away, Potter?"
Harry's fingers curled at the sound of his gruff voice. "Shut up."
"She must be shocked after one year of running from You-Know-Who. You know, tired. I suspect she's trauma-"
"Shut. Up." Surprisingly, he did.
Silence descended once more. The fog dissipated, uncovering more dead trees, but there was a dim light filtering through the canopy. The desolate vegetation thinned out in the distance, the trunks growing bigger, older.
The smell didn't let go, fouler and impregnating the air. Nott brought a hand to his mouth. Something was wrong here. It poked at Harry's senses.
Ba-bump
Harry stopped in his tracks. The ground vibrated beneath his feet and the sound echoed around them-
Ba-bump
Nott halted beside him. "What is it?"
"You hear it too?" Harry tended his ears, but Nott just looked at him. He couldn't hear it.
Ba-bump It resonated from the ground, through the trees, suspended into the air, now faint, now loud, distant and near at the same time.
Harry strained his eyes on the change of light not far from them.
Ba-bump
He charged ahead. Nott called him back, but Harry didn't stop. He ran.
Ba-bump
It was here, he thought, searching blindly through the darkness, squinting for that sliver of light... There!
Harry stumbled into the clearing. Where he had died.
The thudding sound pushed across the soil, down every pebble, up the trunk of the trees to the branches that spread against the moonlit sky.
He stood where she had been that night, on the other side of the clearing. Nothing much had changed in the last few days, but, again, he couldn't imagine the forest changing for anything after all these centuries.
"Potter!"
Harry turned around to see Nott kneeling at the foot of a tree whose shadow skirted the edge of the clearing. "Look."
Drawing near the spot, an awful smell of decay attacked his nostrils and he had to clamp his mouth shut.
"What the hell is this?" he said into his palm.
Nott held up his hand. A dark substance coated his fingers.
"Resin?" Harry asked, lifting Nott's hand by the wrist.
"I don't think so." No, it was too dense, too black. "I smell metal."
Harry's gaze moved from the stains to the tree, its bark grey and wrinkled. It was broken where the roots met the ground, forming a gaping crack underneath it.
"Hollow," Nott said through his fingers, moving his wand to shed light into the cavity. For a moment, the darkness seemed to absorb the light.
Then, something moved. Drip.
"Fuck." They both gasped, watching in horror as fat drops of black liquid fell heavily from somewhere above, merging with the unmoving mass gathered beneath the ground. This wasn't resin. Far from it.
Harry stepped back from the tree, leaving Nott to study the hole on his own. Daring to drag in air through his nose, he circled the thick trunk and came to stand on the other side. From this angle one couldn't guess what lay under the ground. The roots disappeared evenly into the soil, dead leaves scattered between them-
Through the leaves, something winked at him. Harry jumped back.
"Nott!" he called him without thinking.
Nott was by his side in an instant, a troubled look on his face, but when Harry jutted his chin, his eyes fixed on the ground, he relaxed, quirking an eyebrow at him. Brushed the leaves away with his boot, Nott didn't hesitate. He bent his back and reached for it.
Harry squinted at what the man was holding in his hands. He released a ragged breath.
A tiny, purple bag stared back at him. Hermione's beaded handbag.
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The library was too warm. Luna had picked up the bad habit of using the Warming Charm she had recently perfected every time she entered the room, which was often.
Harry was perched on a desk, sweating in his hoodie and jeans, the spare clothes he'd found in Hermione's purse. His and Ron's stuff were in a shrunken backpack Hermione had kept in a pocket inside her jacket while on the run. That too was gone.
Harry was hot and tired, but he kept skimming one of Hermione's books - though he guessed they were actually Dumbledore's - pausing on random pages to take in what words caught his attention. Of course he couldn't make sense of anything. The letters were starting to get confused, mirrored and upside down. He blinked his sleep-deprived eyes. Now it was all a jumbled mess of signs against the white of the page, the colour too bright to look at.
"I don't understand any of it!" Harry finally closed the book and tossed it on the expanding pile behind him. "There's nothing in here."
"Told you." Theodore Nott was leaning back in a chair with a leg over his knee, his gaze lost somewhere behind Harry, out of the window, where sunlight kissed the castle's ruins.
"Why are you still here, again?"
"Have no better place to be," Nott said distractedly, clicking his silver pocket watch open and closing it with a snap. He did it again. He had been doing it for the last hour.
"You're enjoying this."
At this, the man sat up on the edge of the chair and regarded Harry with a wrinkled nose. "I certainly do not enjoy watching your pathetic attempts to find your best friend with a spell that doesn't even exist."
Harry could tell him, again, to get the fuck out of here if he made such a pathetic sight.
Instead, he gritted out, "What do you suggest?"
He didn't know what they had witnessed last night, but that Hermione was still missing was the only certainty at the moment and he would go by it. Her beaded bag lay on the desk among useless books, accusing him of his incompetence. He needed all the help he could get, even if it came from an arrogant bastard like Theodore Nott.
Nott looked up at him through an impassive mask. "What are you willing to sacrifice, Potter?"
"To find Hermione? Everything."
"Even your pride?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "My pride doesn't matter."
Nott seemed to study him, trying to gauge his reaction. Slowly, he said, "There's a potion you can use to locate her, but-"
Harry pushed off of the desk. "No."
"You'll need help, it's too complicated-"
"No!"
"Damn it, Potter!" Nott shot to his feet. "If you want to find Granger, swallow your fucking pride!"
Harry turned away from him and raked his fingers through his hair, only to find Ron standing in the doorway. His chest deflated.
"What's going on?" Ron asked with a crooked smile, his eyes darting between Harry and Nott. "What-"
He saw it. The moment he did, colour rushed out of his face.
"Is that- Is that hers?" Ron approached the desk cautiously, as if Hermione's purse could jump away any moment. Gingerly, he grazed the beads with a finger, checking it was real.
He cleared his throat. "Is something in here that-"
"No." Harry couldn't look at him in the eye, not with Nott's glare on the back of his head. The man read his silence with no problem and left the library at once, the sound of his footsteps matching the disdain he held for Harry. And for good reason.
Harry knew he was being unreasonable. Had it been anyone else, he would do it. Swallow his pride, ask for help, beg if necessary. But not with-
"I got you some clothes," Ron's voice jolted Harry out of his thoughts. "They might be a little too big, but I figured you could fix them with a charm."
"Thank you." Harry watched Ron put a satchel on a chair. "Everything good at home?"
"Yes, Mum is doing better, and Dad is back to work." Ron hesitated. "They miss you."
Harry just nodded. Mrs Weasley had sent him a letter to invite him over this morning but he couldn't reply or leave. He was stuck here by his conscience because it'd been only four days and the more time they let pass, the less likely it was that...
"We're doing the best we can, Harry," Ron assured him, but Harry lifted his head to find him looking worn-out, his expression shattered. Not confident at all.
Sunlight retreated and Ron left again. Harry had stood still in front of the window for hours and now night was blotting out his hopes again. Time was running out.
He had no choice.
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At a far end in the dungeons, Harry dithered in front of a door, his hand poised to knock.
This was stupid. Incredibly stupid. It was eleven p.m.-
Harry didn't have the time to look back the way he'd come that the door swung open and a tall figure loomed on the threshold.
"Potter," a cold voice greeted him. A man with a hooked nose stepped out of the quarters. He was dressed in practical, dark robes that seemed to hang about his body like a curtain of black smoke, and his skin was pale, more than usual. A thick gauze band framed his neck, covering what, Harry knew, the reminder of a war fought for years was slowly healing into a scar.
"Sir." Harry forced himself to keep a light tone. He didn't look away from the obsidian gaze staring down at him, the contempt he was accustomed to currently absent- an after effect of the several potions he was taking, he imagined.
"Well?" The man folded his arms across his chest and Harry desired more than ever to be anywhere else. Because this was someone who had sacrificed most of his life to serve a headmaster and a monster. The teacher who had detested and protected him. How did one act around someone like Severus Snape?
For starters, be civil, Hermione would warn him.
"How- are you?"
Snape arched an eyebrow.
Smooth, Harry. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I thought, if you could-"
This was going to be painful. He didn't know how to be civil.
"Let me put you out of your misery, Potter," Snape interposed. "Does this have anything to do with Granger?"
Harry's breath clogged in his throat. He had never been good at Occlumency- hell, add it to Snape's never-ending list of things Harry Potter failed at.
"Yes." Harry lifted his chin. "Yes. I need to locate her and Nott said there may be a potion to do it. The Aurors are taking too long."
"I see." Snape tilted his head, his face as unreadable as ever. "Of course Nott failed to inform you that said potion is dark magic, of the dangerous sort. Or else you wouldn't be here."
"Whatever it takes." Harry registered his words a second later and Snape didn't mask his surprise.
Whatever it takes.
Snape's lips briefly curled upwards.
"Tomorrow morning, Potter." He stepped back. "Eight sharp."
The door slammed shut.
Harry grinned.
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A/N: Short chapter. The truth is that I haven't finished editing it so I split it. I'll do my best to post the second part on Sunday!